HRH mm I BHH Ml i ■ i ■ i H ■■■ BHH89 BRH H I H BW Hail ISIIHn HI LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 00001b72bbb if ■■■ H 1H '':'■"':■ 6* •ft «:- ti* -H »•< ° 4 *0^. > *+ TL LETTERS T O A YOUNG LADY ON A COURSE OF ENGLISH POETRY. BY J. AIKIN, M. D. Hail, ye mighty masters of the lay, Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth, Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay, Amused my childhood, and inform'd my youth: For well I know, wherever ye reside, There harmony, and peace, and innocence abide. Minstrel. SECOND EDITION. LONDON : PRINTED FOR j. johnson, st. Paul's church-yard, BY RICHARD TAYLOR AND CO., SHOE-LAN E. . ISO/. - There are weeds in it, but, I think, no poisonous or offensive plants. I shall next desire you to take down the works of Prior, a poet whose fame is indeed somewhat obscured by time, but who has just claims to a reader's attention. You will find his versification generally me- lodious, and well varied in its pauses ; his diction elegant and animated, and his ideas copious and poetical. He is apt to run into prolixity, and the subjects of many of his serious pieces are such as would afford you little entertainment; for what is less in- teresting than the incense bestowed upon royal and titled personages, after they have ceased to be the living objects of a respect which, perhaps, always belonged more to their stations than to themselves ? When these temporary pieces, and others which I cannot with propriety recommend to your perusal, arc abstracted, Prior's works will shrink to a small compass. His " Henry and Emma" is too celebra- ted among amatory compositions not to de- mand S6 LETTER IV. mand your notice. The story belongs to an older writer, but has been so much adorned and amplified by Prior, that it may almost pass for an original production. 1 le has, however, spun it rather too fine, and has assigned to it a refinement of manners and sentiment which destroys all the costume of the age in which the scene is laid. Yet if you can overcome the dis- taste you will naturally feel for the hard and unfair trials to which Emma is sub- jected, and her too fond compliance with unreasonable requisitions, you will not fail to derive pleasure from the beauty of the poetry. The poem of " Solomon" is the author's principal work of the serious kind, and it is certainly no ordinary performance. You will not read it as a guide either in natural or moral philosophy, for in these points it lias many defects ; nor is the general infer- ence, " all is vanity," a maxim which it is practically useful to inculcate. Though a voluptuous monarch missed his way in the pursuit rnioit. ol pursuit of happiness, it does not follow that private virtue and wisdom may not attain such a share of it as is permitted toman in his present imperfect condition : at least, all things are not equally vain, and reason has sufficient scope for exercising a choice, f Jut comfortless as the doctrine of human misery appears, it lias always been a favour- ite topic with rhetoricians and poets, who seem to have found in it a source of that sublime which consists in dark and awful ideas. Prior has dwelt upon it with un- usual energy^ and the following moral cli- max upon the subject is truly poetical : Happy the mortal man, who now at last Has thro' this doleful vale of misery past; Who to his destin'd stage has carried on The tedious load, and laid his burthen down ; Whom the cut brass, or wounded marble, shows Victor o'er life and all her train of woes! He, happier yet, who privileged by fate To shorter labour, and a lighter weight, Keceiv'd but yesterday the gift of breath, Order'd tomorrow to return to death. But O ! beyond description happiest he, Who ne'er must roll on life's tumultuous sea ; Who *S LETTER IV. Who, with blest freedom, from the general doom Exempt, must never force the teeming womb, Nor see the sun, nor sink into the tomb ! } To give any sense to this latter clause, the notion of a pre-existent state must be admitted, which has met with several grave assertors, though apparently little conform- able to reason or revelation. The most pleasing part of the poem of " Solomon," is that in which the loves of the Jewish king with the Egyptian maid, and with Abra, are described. The con- trast between the two females is finely drawn ; and the empire gradually esta- blished over the royal lover by the gentle and complying Abra is an instructive piece of moral painting. It is possible that this poem may tire you before you have got through the three books : yet the matter is well varied, and the narration is skilfully broken by senti- ment and reflection. But it is Prior's fault that he cannot resist an occasion to am- plify 5 and he often indulges in a trite ser- monizing PRIOR. SB mortizing 1 strain, which all (he splendour of his language does not prevent from be- coming tedious. You will observe here and there in his verse a quick succession of triplets, which have an unpleasant effect on the ear by breaking the regularity of the measure, and seem merely a luxuriance of the faulty redundance of his style. I shall not set you to read any of his prolix compositions called Odes, in which he celebrates William and Anne, or la- ments for Mary. Neither the subjects, nor his manner of treating them, would probably interest you. But I wish it were easy for me to direct your eye to the best of his smaller puces, which are unfortunately interspersed among so much inferior and so much improper matter, that many pages must be turned over to get at them. I will, however, point out a few, which you may find by the help of the table of contents. Prior has given us some of the best speci- mens of those short amatory poems in stan- zas, 40 LETTER IV. zas, of returning measures, which are usu- ally called songs , thotigh, perhaps, they may never be set to music. It is remarkable, that in twenty-eight actual songs, set by the most eminent masters, he has scarcely given one worth reading. But some really good ones are interspersed in his works, which may serve to give you a taste of this pleasing species of composition. The piece beginning 44 The merchant to secure his treasure 1 ' inge- niously compares the different appearances of real and of pretended love.* 4 If wine and music have the power," is a. poetical ode up- on the Horatian model. Pathetic tenderness characterizes the two short pieces of which the first lines are " Yes, fairest proof of beauty's power," and "In vain you tell your parting lover." That entitled " Phillis's Age" is an example of the witty and sati- rical manner. The " Despairing Shepherd" beautifully paints that pure and exalted passion which is the soul of romance. When love of this kind was in credit, "He bow'd, obey'd, and died," must have been the PRIOR. 41 the very perfection of amorous allegiance. In " The Garland" a touching moral is deduced with great elegance from a cir- cumstance well adapted to poetical descrip- tion. The " Lady's Looking-glass" may rank with this in subject, though not writ- ten in stanzas. " The female Phaeton" is a piece of great sprightliness, wrought to an epigrammatic point, founded, like Wal- ler's Phoebus and Daphne, upon a classical allusion. The extravagance of " set (he world on fire" would be admired at a time when men of wit and gallantry thought they could not go too far in complimenting a lady. Among the pieces called ballads, by which were meant a species of nar- rative songs in a familiar and humorous style, you will be amused with u Down- Hall," and " The Thief and Cordelier." It is mortifying that the talent for which Prior is particularly famous, that of telling a story with ease and pleasantry, should have been exercised upon such topics as absolutely to preclude a young lady from 42 liETTfcil IV. enjoying it. I can only venture to give you a taste of his manner by "the English Padlock/' which is written with his cha^ racteristic vivacity, and contains a very good moral. You cannot at present be prepared to relish his comico-philosophical poem of " Alma;" and I think we have already dwelt long enough upon the works of art author, whose beauties are of a kind not the most favourable to the formation of a correct taste, Adieu ! LETTER r 43 j LETTER V. We will next, my dear Mary, turn to an author, one of whose praises it is, never to have written " a line which, dying, he would wish to blot"— the moral and ele- gant Addison. He ranks, indeed, much higher as a writer of prose than of verse, yet he first came into notice for his talents in the latter capacity. He had the fortune to live at a time when the union of poetry with loyalty bore a high value, and his praises of William and Marlborough were rewarded with pensions and public employ- ments. The subjects of these pieces pro* bably will not much recommend them to you; yet the second, entitled " The Campaign," retains considerable celebrity among poems of its class. It is composed with care, and supports an uniform and polished dignity : several of its passages even 44r LETTER V. even rise to a degree of sublimity. The simile of the destroying angel, to whom Marlborough at the battle of Blenheim is- com pared, has been much admired: So when an angel by divine command With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past, Calm and serene he drives the furious blast : And pleas'd th> Almighty's orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm. An objection has been made against this simile, that it too nearly resembles the pri- mary object; for the Angel and Marl- borough are both represented as performing a task of destruction under the command of a superior, and both are rational beings exerting similar mental qualities. But if this circumstance be a deduction from the ingenuity of the thought, it is none from its grandeur, or from the value of the pa- rallel as enhancing the idea of the poet's hero. No greater conception of a chief in battle can be formed, than that of a supe- rior being, in tranquil security, directing the ADDISON. 45 the furious movements of a resistless force, and intent only upon executing the com- mission with which he is charged. The " Letter from Italy" has long held a distinguished place among descriptive poems. It possesses the advantage of local topics well adapted to poetry ; for nature and art seem to contend in decorating the happy region which is its subject : there is little, however, of the enthusiasm of ge- nius in Addison's sketches, and his pencil seems rather guided by cool reflection than ardent emotion. The praise of liberty is the theme on which he is most animated, yet his encomiums on it are vague and uncharacteristic. The " goddess heav'nly bright, Profuse of bliss and pregnant with delight," has no attributes to distinguish her from any other beneficent deity. Of his miscellaneous pieces, none is so worthy of attention as that addressed " to Kneller on his Picture of the King." The parallel between the heathen gods and a series 4(5 LETTER V. series of the English kings is singularly ingenious and happy. His " Hymns" have deservedly obtained a distinguished place in collections of sa- cred poesy. With sufficient polish and elevation, they preserve that simplicity of language which is requisite for the clear expression of sentiment, and which ap- pears more favourable to devotion than the lolly obscurity of metaphorical dic- tion. A great portion of Addison's verse con- sists of translation from the Latin poets. These do not rise beyond a kind of elegant mediocrity, and are of little value in them- selves. It may, however, be worth your while to read those from Ovid, as amusing tales, which will initiate you in those an- tient fictions to which so many allusions are made hf modern poets. The story of Phaeton is one of the most splendid of these, and perhaps the most poetical pro- duction of its author: nor has the trans- lator •PATtNETX. M ia tor been wanting in diligence to render it agreeable to the English reader. It would be unjust to the relative merit of Addison not to remark, that the force of his poetical powers is principally di- splayed in his tragedy of u Cato," a per- formance to which the plan of my present letter does not extend, but which will un- doubtedly at some period come within the •compass of your reading. With respect to his opera of u Rosamond," it is a tune** -ful trifle which you may turn over when- ever you find it engage your curiosity. It w ill supply you with some new specimens of singularly melodious versification. Parnell is a poet who may be put into your hands with a certainty of affording you pleasure; nor is there any need of se- lection in Iiis works, as far as those con- tained in Pope's edition, which terminates with the " Hermit." These, however, do not constitute a third part of the matter in •the modern editions of Parncll's poems. Of these copious appendages Dr. Johnson says, 48 LETTER V. says, u I know not whence they came, nor have ever inquired whither they are going;" and if, in an express criticism on the author, he thought himself justified in treating them with so much indifFerence, I may surely take the same liberty, when it is my sole object to point out such pieces as may most agreeably impress you with his characteristic excellencies. These are, uncommon sweetness and clearness of lan- guage, melodious versification, lively ele- gance of sentiment, and force of descrip- tion. The first piece in the volume, entitled " Ilesiod, or the Rise of Woman," is a sprightly and ingenious fable, of which he is indebted to the old Grecian bard only for the bare outline. It is somewhat saucy with respect to your sex ; yet I think you will excuse the following list of the talents conferred by Venus on the first woman, on account of the beauty with which they are enumerated. Then PARNELL. 49 Then in a kiss she breath'd her various arts Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts ; A mind for love, but still a changing mind ; The lisp affected, and the glance design'd • The sweet confusing blush, the secret wink ; The gentle-swimming walk, the courteous sink ; The stare for strangeness fit, for scorn the frown ; For decent yielding, looks declining down; The practis'd languish, where well-feign'd desire Would own its melting in a mutual fire ; Gay smiles to comfort ; April showers to move ; And all the nature, all the art, of love. Tlie u Fairy Tale" is a very pleasant sport of the fancy employed to produce an interesting moral. I know nothing of the kind in English poetry that equals it. Much imagination is displayed in the " Allegory on Man," particularly in the picture of Young Time, a new personage in poetry. The doom pronounced upon Man, of having Care assigned him through life for an inseparable companion, has too serious a truth for its foundation ! In the " Night-piece on Death/' the meditation among the tombs is finely in- troduced with a solemn and majestic land- e scape. 50 LETTER T. scape, "which gives a suitable preparatory impression to the mind. The sudden change of scene at — Ha ! while I gaze pale Cynthia fades, The bursting earth unveils the shades ! is one of the most striking incidents to be met with in descriptive poetry. But the most popular production of this poet is " The Hermit/' a tale, in the em- bellishment of which, he has manifestly exerted his highest powers. The story itself, intended to elucidate the doctrine of a particular providence, is of antient inven- tion, and Parnell has only the merit of tell- ing it in a poetical manner. In his nar- ration he has preserved a due medium between dry conciseness and prolixity ; and though his diction is cultured, it is not overloaded with ornament. Of the smaller pieces in the volume, the songs, odes, eclogues, &c, the general cha- racter is sprightliness and elegance. The translation of the " Battle of the Frog* and PARNELL. 51 and Mice, commonly attributed to Ho- mer," is well executed ; but it has been justly remarked that the humorous effect of the proper names, which are all signi- ficative in the Greek, is lost to the En- glish reader. Swift, in one of his familiar poems, says, — Have you nothing new to-day From Pope, from Parneil, or from Gay ? All these authors were his friends, and entertained the public at the same time : but though he has mentioned them toge- ther, he certainly did not estimate them all at the same rate. Pope's superiority could not be a subject of question. The other two, though considerably different in their merits, might bear a comparison with each other in point of genius. Gay, however, as the more copious and various writer, makes a greater figure than Parneil in the gallery of English poets, and has acquired a degree of reputation which renders his name familiar to all readers of poetry. Gay 5? LETTER V. Gay is an original author, who drew his images and sentiments from the store of his own observation. He has no claim to sublimity, and has little of the warmth and enthusiasm which denote a poet of the higher order ; but he is easy and natural, sometimes elegant, often pleasant, gene- rally amusing, and never tiresome. His works are extremely varied in subject and manner, and require selection both in re- spect to merit and propriety. I shall, as in other cases, content myself with pointing out such as will afford you a competent view of his poetical character, and at the same time furnish you with suitable enter- tainment. If his first essay in verse, the " Rural Sports," be compared with Pope's juvenile Windsor Forest, the difference will appear strongly marked between one, who, with only ordinary powers of language and ver- sification, describes what he has himself observed ; and one, who, skilled in all the mechanism of poetry, gives a splendid colouring GAY. 53 colouring to objects borrowed from the stock of written description. Country sports, indeed, have frequently been the theme of poets, but Gay introduces many incidents which are exclusively his own. Originality is, however, much more strongly stamped upon his next poem, " Trivia, or The Art of walking the Streets in London," in the plan and execution of w Inch he has undoubtedly the claim of an inventor. The piece is an example of what may be termed the grave comic, or bur- lesque-heroic, in which, ludicrous or vul- gar subjects are treated in a style of mock- elevation. Its matter is professedly didactic or preceptive ; and it is indeed so seriously instructive in the art it proposes to teach, that were not the art itself of a low kind, and attended with comic circumstances, it would Lose the character of burlesque. A young lady cannot fully enter into the hu- mour of this production, for it is not to be supposed that she has been an unpro- tected 54 LETTER V. tected pedestrian at all hours in the streets of the metropolis ; yet many of the inci- dents may be easily conceived, and are ex- tremely amusing. The stop in the street at the pass of St. Clement's is described in a manner which will excite the shuddering recollection of every practised walker. If you have ever seen a fire, you will recog- nise the accuracy and force with which it is painted : At first a glowing red enwraps the skies, And borne by winds the scattering sparks arise ; From beam to beam the fierce contagion spreads; The spiry flames now lift aloft their heads ; Thro' the burst sash a blazing deluge pours, And splitting tiles descend in rattling showers, &c. The origin of the Patten is a pretty my- thological fiction. That which relates the birth of the shoe-blacking art, was pro- bably derived from one of those hints which the poet acknowledges to have re- ceived from his friend Swift, and too much partakes of the uncleanliness of his imagi- nation. GAY. 5j nation. On the whole, while I confess " Trivia" to be a favourite of mine, I scarce- ly expect that it will become yours. Gay doubtless rather aimed at pleasing his fair friends by his poem of " The Fan," in which he has exerted all the elegance and delicacy of his invention. This piece also comes under the head of burlesque poetry, on account of the disproportion between its subject, and the weight of machinery it employs. By this term is understood that agency of supernatural powers, which, whilst it aggrandises the lofty topics of the epic muse, serves, by way of contrast, to enhance the humour of light and ludicrous compositions. As an acquired taste is requisite for entering into the spirit of such fictions, I know- not whether -you are yet prepared to relish the mock-solemnity of a council of the Gods debating upon the decorations of a fan ; but a classical critic will tell you that there is much beauty of adaptation in the subjects proposed by different doilies (<>r 56 LETTER V. paintings on the mount ; and you will be sensible of the elegance of description in various parts of the detail. Your attention is next called to " The Shepherd's Week/' a set of Pastorals ; but some information concerning the occasion of their composition will usefully precede the perusal. I have already observed to you, that Pope's Pastorals have little other merit than the melody of their versification and splendour of their diction, and that they paint neither the scenery nor the man- ners of the country. They were received, however, with an applause, which seems to have excited the envy of Ambrose Phi- lips, a cotemporary poet, who attempted to correct the public taste by a specimen of pastoral poetry written upon a plan which he conceived more suitable to this species of composition. His pastorals were, therefore, in their language and in- cidents, of a much more simple and rustic cast ; in which they certainly made a nearer approach to the original Greek models, and GAY. 57 and gave a more natural representation of rural life. This simplicity, however, in some instances was capable of being set in a ludicrous point of view ; and Pope ex- cited a laugh against them by an ironical paper in the " Guardian." Gay entered the field as an auxiliary to Pope ; and by way of exaggerating the ridicule thrown upon vulgar pastoral, un- dertook to write a set of pieces in which the real manners of country clowns should be painted, without any fictitious softening. But the result was probably very different from what either he or his friends expect- ed ; for these burlesque pastorals became the most popular compositions of that class in the lan^ua^e. The ridicule in them is, indeed, sufficiently obvious to a cultivated reader ; but such is the charm of reality, and so grateful to the general feelings are the images drawn from rural scenes, that they afforded amusement to all ranks of readers ; and they who did not comprehend the jest, enjoyed them as faith- ful 58 LETTER V. fill copies of nature. Gay, as I have al- ready remarked, was a curious observer ; and whether in the streets of London, or in a Devonshire village, he noted down every thing that came in his view. Whatever he thus had stored in his memory, he brought forth in his compositions in the same mixed groups that nature herself pre- sents, where the elegant and the vulgar, 1 he serious and the comic, march side by side. Thus, in the Pastorals before us, while he pursues his primary design of bur- lesque parody, he paints rural scenes with a truth of pencil scarcely elsewhere to be met with ; and even pathetic circumstances are intermixed with strokes of sportive humour. The death of Blouzelind, in the fifth pastoral, with some omissions would make a scene more touching, because more natural, than most of the lamentable talcs of our modern sentimentalists. This sin- gular combination distinguishes several of Gay's productions, especially his dramas. I shall not recommend to you his epistles, GAY. 59 eclogues, talcs, and other miscellaneous pieces. There is entertainment in them, but they want more selection than it is worth your while to bestow. But you will not neglect his two celebrated ballads of " All in the Downs," and " 'Twas when the seas were roaring," which have been sung and repeated by the grandmothers of the present generation. He has some other pleasing pieces of the song kind ; and his " Molly Mog" and " Song of Similes" are familiar in humorous poetry. Of all Gay's works, none, however, is so well known as his u Fables," many of which have probably already come in your way as part of (he juvenile library. I able, as a poetical composition, requires an union of various excellencies in order to render it perfect. It should be ingenious in its construction, and not merely the illustra- tion of some common moral, by attribut- ing to brutes the actions and sentiments of men. Its descriptions should be exactly copied from nature, and include us much 60 LETTER V. as possible of the natural history of the animals who are made the persons of the drama. Its style of narration should be easy and sprightly, but not coarsely fami- liar. In the first of these qualities Gay has little claim to merit ; for very few of his fables display ingenuity of invention or refinement of moral. The " Jugglers" and the " Court of Death" perhaps stand the highest in this respect. His talent for minute observation makes him often happy in description ; and thougli his ani- mals act like mere men, they are generally introduced with appropriate portraiture and scenery. His language is for the .most part sufficiently easy without being vul- gar ; but it is destitute of those strokes of shrewd simplicity which so much charm in La Fontaine. As to the scope of his Fables, it is almost entirely satirical ; and you will probably be surprised to find, up- on consideration, how little suited many of them are to the avowed design of in- structing a young prince. But moral judg-< merit GAY. 61 ment was by no means the forte of this writer. This epistle has run out to an unreason- able length, so I hasten to conclude it with an affectionate adieu. Yours, &c. LETTER C 62 ] LETTER VI. I now, my dear Mary, mean to treat you with a rarity — a writer perfect in his kind. It may be a doubt whether perfection in an inferior branch of art indicates higher ta- lents than something short of perfection in a superior; but it cannot be questioned that, by way of a study, and for the culti- vation of a correct taste, a perfect work in any department is a most valuable ob- ject. Dean Swift is in our language the mas- ter in familiar poetry. Without the peru- sal of his works no adequate conception can be formed of wit and humour moving under the shackles of measure and rhyme with as much ease as if totally unfettered ; and even borrowing grace and vigour from the constraint. In your progress hitherto, although it has been through some of our most SWIFT. 63 most eminent poets, you cannot but have observed, that the necessity of finding a termination to a line of the same sound with that of the preceding, has frequently occasioned the employment of an impro- per word, such as without this necessity would never have suggested itself in that connexion. Indeed, it is not uncommon in ordinary versifiers to find a whole line thrown in for no other purpose than to in- troduce a rhyming word. How far rhyme is a requisite decoration of English verse, you will judge from your own perceptions, after perusing the best specimens of blank verse. It is manifest, however, that when employed, its value must be in proportion to its exactness, and to its coincidence with the sense. In these respects, Swift is without exception the most perfect rhymer in the language ; and you will admire how the very word which by its meaning seems most fit for the occasion, slides in without effort as the echo in sound to the terminat- ing word of the preceding line. Even dou- ble 64 LETTER VI. ble and triple rhymes are ready at his call, and, though suggesting the most heteroge- neous ideas, are happily coupled by some of those whimsical combinations in which comic wit consists. The diction of Swift is the most complete example of colloquial ease that verse af- fords. In aiming at this manner, other writers are apt to run into quaintness and oddity ; but in Swift not a word or phrase occurs which does not belong to the natu- ral style of free conversation. It is true, this freedom is often indecorous, and would at the present day be scarcely hazarded by any one who kept good company, still less by a clergyman. Yet he has known how to make distinctions ; and while many of his satirical and humorous pieces are grossly tainted with indelicacies, some of his best and longest compositions are void of any thing that can justly offend. It is evident, indeed, that Swift, though desti- tute of genius for the sublimer parts of poetry, was sufficiently capable of elegance, had SWIFT. 63 had he not preferred indulging his vein for sarcastic wit. No one could compliment more delicately when he chose it, as no one was a better judge of proprieties of behaviour, and the graces of the female character. From the preceding representation, you will conclude that I cannot set you to read Swift's works straight forwards. In fact, your way through them must be picked very nicely, and a large portion of them must be left un visited. It should be ob- served, however, to do him justice, that their impurities are not of the moral kind, but are chiefly such as it is the scavenger's office to remove. The first of his poems which 1 shall point out to your notice is the longest and one of the most serious of his compositions. Its title, " Cadenus and Vanessa," denotes his own concern in the subject; for Cadenus is Decanus (the Dean) transposed; and Vanessa is the poetical name of miss Varl- komrigh, a young lady whose unfortunate F love 6.6 LETTER VI. love for him met with a cold return. This piece, under an ingenious mythological fiction, contains a fine compliment to the lady, and much severe satire on the greater part of her sex, as well as on the foppish part of ours. You must, indeed, in read- ing Swift, arm yourself with patience to endure the most contemptuous treatment of your sex; for which, if really justified by the low state of mental cultivation among the females of that period, you may console yourself by the advantageous com- parison afforded by that of the present age. The poem does not finish the real story ; for it says, what success Vanessa met Is to the world a secret yet. The melancholy truth was, that after uniting himself secretly with another wo- man, he continued to visit Vanessa, and she retained her hopes of softening his ob- duracy, till a final explanation broke her heart. This poem was in her possession, and swot. o* and by her direction was published after her death. The " Poems to Stella" will naturally follow. This was the lady to whom the former was sacrificed ; but she seems to have had little enjoyment in the preference. His pride, or his singularity, made him re- fuse his consent to the publication of their marriage, and they continued to live apart as mere friends. Yet he appears to have sincerely loved her, probably beyond any other human being ; and almost the only sentiments of tenderness in his writings are to be found in the poems addressed to her. This affection, however, does not in general characterize them, and the writer's disposition to raillery breaks out in the midst of his most complimentary strains. A Frenchman would be shocked at his fre- quent allusions to her advancing years. His exposure of her defects, too, may seem much too free for a lover, or even a hus- band ; and it is easy to conceive that Stella's temper was fully tried in the connection. Yet 68 LETTER VI. Yet a woman might be proud of the seri- ous approbation of such a man, which he expresses in language evidently coming from the heart. They are, indeed, Without one word of Cupid's darts, Of killing eyes and bleeding hearts ; but they contain topics of praise which far outlive the short season of youth and beauty. How much superior to frivolous gallantry is the applause testified in lines like these ! Say, Stella, feel you no content Reflecting on a life well spent ? Your skilful hand employ'd to save Despairing wretches from the grave, And then supporting with your store Those whom you dragg'd from death before ? Your generous boldness to defend An innocent and absent friend - y That courage which can make you just To merit humbled in the dust ; The detestation you express For vice in all its glittering dress ; That patience under tort'ring pain Where stubborn stoics would complain ? In SWIFT. 69 In the lines " To Stella visiting him in sickness/' there is a picture of honour, as influencing the female mind, which is mo- rally sublime, and deserves attentive study : Ten thousand oaths upon record Are not so sacred as her word ; The world shall in its atoms end Ere Stella can deceive a friend -> &c. There is something truly touching in the description of Stella's ministring in the sick chamber, where with a soft and silent tread Unheard she moves about the bed. In all these pieces there is an originality which proves how much the author's ge- nius was removed from any thing trite and vulgar : indeed, his life, character and writings were all singularly his own, and distinguished from those of other men. May I now, without offence, direct you by way of contrast to the " Journal of a Modern Lady ?" It is, indeed, an outra- geous satire on your sex, but one perfectly harmless 70 LETTER VI. harmless with respect to yourself or any whom you love. I point it out as an admi- rable example of the author's familiar and colloquial manner. It also exhibits a spe- cimen of his powers in that branch of poe- tical invention which is regarded as one of the higher efforts of the art. A more ani- mated group of personifications is not easily to be met with than the following lines exhibit : When, frighted at the clamorous crew, AAvay the God of Silence flew, And fair Discretion left the place, And Modesty, with blushing face. Now enters overweening Pride. And Scandal ever gaping wide, Hypocrisy with frown severe, Scurrility with gibing air, Rude Laughter, seeming like to burst, And Malice, always judging worst, And Vanity with pocket-glass, And Impudence with front of brass, And study'd Affectation came, Each limb and feature out of frame, While Ignorance, with brain of lead, Flew hov'ring o'er each female head. The SWIFT. 71 The poems of Swift are printed in a dif- ferent order in different editions: I shall therefore attend to no particular order in mentioning them to you. As I have com- mended the last for the easy familiarity of its style, I shall next refer to one which perhaps stands the first in this respect ; and in which, not only the language of the speakers, but their turn of thinking, is imitated with wonderful exactness. This is, " The Grand Question debated, whe- ther Hamilton's Bawn should be turned into a Barrack or a Malt-house." The mea- sure is that which is classically called ana- paestic, chiefly consisting of feet or por- tions composed of two short and one long syllable, i^ex^t to that of eight syllables, it is the most used for light and humorous topics ; and no kind of English verse runs so glibly, or gives so much the air of con- versation. The satire of the piece is chiefly directed against the gentlemen of the army, for whom Swift, probably through party prepossessions, seems always to have en- tertained 72 LETTER VI. tertained both aversion and contempt. It is, however, irresistibly pleasant. Another conversation piece which rivals the last in ease, though not in humour, is " Mrs. Harris's Petition." The singularity of it is the long loose measure in which it is written, and which indeed is scarcely to be called verse, though divided into lines terminated with rhyme. Swift was fond of oddities of all kinds, some of which sink into mere puerilities. The number of these, raked together by injudicious editors, would have injured his reputation, had it not been solidly founded upon pieces of real excellence. The story of " Baucis and Philemon," imitated from Ovid, is one of the happiest examples of that kind of humour which consists in modernising an antient subject in the way of parody. It will be worth your while first to read a translation of the original tale, which you will find in Dry- den's Fables. The dexterity with which Swift has altered it to his purpose, cannot fail SWIFT. 73 fail to strike you upon the comparison. The particulars of the transformation are fancied with all the circumstantial propriety for which this author is famous, and are described with great pleasantry. The par- sonifying of Philemon gives occasion to some sarcastic strokes against his own pro- fession, in which he frequently indulged, though he could not readily bear them from others. His imitations from Horace, those, espe- cially, which begin " Harley the nation's great support," and " I've often wish'd that I had clear," are equally excellent. They do not, like the former, borrow a subject from antiquity, but follow allu- sively the train of thought and incident presented by the original. You must, I fear, be content to lose the pleasure de- rived from this allusive resemblance; but you cannot fail of being entertained by the ease and humour with which he tells his story. In these qualities he is certainly unrivalled ; and the pieces in question would aflbrd an useful study to one who should investigate 74 LETTER VI. investigate the means by which this air of facility is obtained . The colloquial touches in the following lines are admirable in this view: >Tis (let me see) three years and more, (October next it will be fo^ur.) — My lord — the honour you designed — Extremely proud — but 1 had din'd. — Though many more entertaining pick- ings may be made from this author, and even some pieces of considerable length might be safely recommended to your perusal, (as, for example, the " Rhapsody on Poetry," and the " Beast's Confes- sion,") yet I shall bring my remarks to a conclusion, with the u Verses on his own Death," a piece written in the maturity of his powers, and upon which he evidently bestowed peculiar attention. Its founda- tion is a maxim too well suited to Swift's misanthropical disposition ; and he must be allowed to have illustrated it with much knowledge of mankind, as well as with a large portion of his characteristic humour. Yet SWIFT. 75 Yet it may be alleged, that his temper was too little calculated to inspire a tender affection in his friends, to render the man- ner in which his death would be received, an example for all similar cases. Still it is, perhaps, generally true> that in the cala- mities of others, Indifference clad in wisdom's guise All fortitude of mind supplies; and that the ordinary language of lamen- tation at the decease of one not intimately connected with us, and whose life was not greatly important to our happiness, is little more than, as he has represented it, the customary cant of feeling. We must likewise assent to the remark on the force that selfishness gives to sympathy, which he has so finely expressed in the following lines : Yet should some neighbour fee] a pain Jus. in the parts where 1 complain, How many a message he would send ! What hearty prayers that I should mend ! Inquire 76 LETTEft TI. Inquire what regimen I kept, What gave me ease, and how I slept j And more lament when I was dead Than all the snivellers round my bed. The lamentations of Lis female friends over their cards will amuse you, as one of his happiest conversation-pieces. The greater part of the poem is devoted to the justification of his character and conduct ; and, unless you have acquainted yourself with his life, will not greatly interest you. Indeed, I recollect reading it with greater pleasure in the earlier editions, when there was less detail of this kind. So much may suffice for an author who, upon the whole, is regarded rather as a man of wit than as a poet* Though in- imitable in one style of writing, his excel- lence is limited to that style. His works are extremely amusing, but the pleasure we take in them is abated by a vein of malignity which is too apparent even when he is most sportive. Farewell! pope. 77 LETTER VII. MY DEAR MARY, You doubtless bear in mind, perhaps with some little chagrin, that I tore you, as it were, from the perusal of one of our most charming poets, precisely at the time when it was becoming peculiarly interest- ing to you. I then gave you the reason for such an exercise of discipline ; and I am persuaded you now feel the benefit of having been introduced to various modes of poetic excellence, before your taste was too firmly fixed upon one. I should probably take you a still wider excursion before returning to the volumes of Pope, did I not wish to engage you in the study (do not be alarmed at the word !) of one of his great performances, for the purpose of enlarging your acquaintance with poetic history ; that is, with the per- sonage?, 78 LETTER VII. sonages, human and divine, and the inci- dents, which are so frequently alluded to in modern as well as in antient poetry. I refer to his translation of Homer's " Iliad," a work of remote antiquity, which stands at the head of epic poetry, and has a greater share of fame accumulated around it than perhaps any other literary composition. The Trojan war, its heroes and its gods, are a common fund upon which all poets draw at pleasure. They furnish an inex- haustible store for simile, allusion, parody, and other poetical uses ; and every writer takes it for granted that all the circum- stances belonging to them are perfectly familiar to his reader. Moreover, the whole frame of the epic, as a species of composition, is modelled upon the Iliad of Homer, and its companion the Odyssey ; whence the perusal of one or both of these pieces ought to precede that of all later pro* ductions of the same class. Pope's translations of Homer have al- ways been esteemed as first-rate perform- ances pope. 79 ancesof the kind ; and indeed, no poetical versions surpass them in beauty of versifi- cation and elegance and splendour of dic- tion. They are faithful, too, as far as to the substance of the originals ; they nei- ther omit nor add circumstances of narra- tive or similes, and they adhere to the general sense of the Greek in speeches and sentiments. Bat with respect to the dress and colouring, it must be confessed that Pope and Homer differ in all the points that discriminate the writers of an age of refinement from those of an age of simpli- city. The antient bard, though lofty in his diction where the subject is elevated, relates common things in plain language, is sometimes coarse and frequently dry, and has many passages which exhibit nothing of the poet but a sonorous versification. The translator, on the other hand, never forgets that he is to support the dignity of modem heroics : and though he has too much judgment to scatter ornament with a lavish hand; yet, to soften what is harsh, to 80 LETTER VII. to raise what is low, to enrich what U poor, and to animate what is insipid, are accommodations to a cultivated taste which he does not scruple to employ. The manner of Homer is therefore lost in Pope's representation of him ; and one whose object is to know how a poet wrote three thousand years ago, must have re- course to some version formed upon dif- ferent principles : of this kind a very good one has been given by the late excellent and lamented Cowper. But as an English poem, Pope's is certainly an admirable work ; and you will derive from it all the instruction on account of which I am now principally recommending it, while at the same time you are improving your relish for the beauties of verse. The Odyssey, though less poetical in the original than the Iliad, and less in- debted to the care of the translator, who employed two inferior hands to assist him in his labour, is not less worthy of your attention, on accouut of the more minute views POPE. SI Views it gives of the manners of antiquity > and the popular fables which it contains. Some parts of it, likewise, especially those including moral sentiment, are rendered with exquisite skill and beauty* If the task which I have enjoined you should prove tiresome before it is finished, you may interpose between the two trans- lations the perusal of the remaining origi- nal works of the same poet ; such, I mean, as I can properly recommend to a lady's view. Whether the u Epistle of Eloisa to Abe- lard" be among this number, is a point which I feel a difficulty in determining; yet its celebrity will scarcely suffer it to be passed over in silence. They who are afraid of the inflammatory effect of high colouring applied to the tender pas- sion-, will object to a performance which, as the most exquisitely finished of all the author's productions, is, from its subject, rendered the more dangerous on that ac- count. And true it is, that if the picture v G Of 82 LETTER VII. of violent desires, unchecked by virtue and decorum 5 is to be regarded as too se- ductive, notwithstanding any annexed re- presentation of the sufferings to which they give rise, not only this poem, but much of the real history of human life, should be concealed from the youthful sight. But surely such a distrust of good sense and principle is unworthy of an age which en- courages a liberal plan of mental cultiva- tion. To be consistent, it ought to bring back that state of ignorance, which was formerly reckoned the best guard of inno- cence. The piece in question, it must be confessed, is faulty in giving too forcible an expression to sentiments inconsistent with female purity ; but its leading purpose is to paint the struggles of one, who, after the indulgence of a guilty passion, flew to a penitential retreat without a due prepara- tion for the change ; of a .-...wretch believ'd the spouse of God in vain, Confess'd within the slave of love and man. Such pope. 83 Such a condition is certainly no object of emulation ; and the poet has painted its mi- series with no less force than the inconsi- derate raptures which led to it. The impres- sion supposed to be left by the story up- on better regulated minds, is that which prompts the prayer, O may we never love as these have lov'd ! The " Rape of the Lock," styled by the writer an heroi-comical poem, though one of his early productions, stands the first among similar compositions in our lan- guage, perhaps in any other. Besides pos- sessing the author's characteristic elegance and brilliancy of expression in a supreme degree, it exhibits a greater share of the inventive faculty than any other of his works. The humour of a piece of this kind consists in the mock dignity by which a trifling subject is elevated into impor- tance. When such a design is executed with judgment, all the parts should cor- respond; the moral therefore should be ironical, 84 LETfEU Til. ironical, and the praise satirical. For at- taining consistency in these points, the spirit of the age and the character of the poet were well suited. I must here let you into a secret, which, while it may justly excite your indignation, may preserve you from deception. That extravagant devotion to your sex which, perhaps, was a serious passion in the age of chivalry, came in process of time, and especially as modified by the licentiousness and levity of the French nation, to be a mere affair of compliment. The free ad- mixture of women, which gave so much splendour and amenity to the French court, soon vitiated their manners ; and even while they enjoyed the greatest influence, they ceased to be respectable. Wholly occu- pied with the care of rendering themselves desirable to the men, they neglected the culture of their minds and the duties of their sex. They who possessed beauty, relied upon that solely for their power of attraction; while those less favoured by nature pope. 85 nature sought a compensation in the graces. Although thus realty debased, they did not exert a less absolute dominion over cour- tiers and men of pleasure as frivolous and vitiated as themselves ; but in the mean time they lost the attachment of the sober and rational, and became objects of con- tempt to men of wit. In this state of things^ the high-flown language of adoration was intermixed with sly strokes of satire ; and at length, so much irony was joined with the praise, that a woman of sense would have regarded' it as an insult. Pope had been educated in the French school of literature. His earliest ambition was to be reckoned a man of wit and gal- lantry in the modish sense ; and having naturally a cold and artificial character, he was well fitted to assume the part most conducive to the interests of his reputa- tion. The personal disadvantages, too, un- der which he laboured, and which preclu- ded his success as a real lover, accustomed him to fiction in his addresses to the sex, and probably infused a secret exaspera- tion 86 LETTER VII. tion into bis feelings when they were con- cerned. These observations are meant to be in- troductory not only to the burlesque poem before us, but to other pieces, in which the female sex is mentioned in a more serious manner. The Rape of the Lock is particularly ad- mired for the elegant and fanciful machi- nery introduced into it. Of the use of this part of an epic poem you will now be a bet- ter judge, in consequence of your acquaint- ance with Homer. You will have seen from his works, that its chief purpose is to vary and elevate flie fable by the ministry of a set of beings different from man, and surpassing him in faculties. That this mix- ture of supernatural agency is liable to de- tract from the consequence of the human personages, is an obvious objection to its use in serious compositions, whieh, how- ever, poets have thought to be counter- balanced by its advantages. In burlesque, the objection has no place. Pope, in his mock-heroic, has adopted a machinery de- rived POPE. &7 rived from a fantastic kind of philosophy termed the Rosy crucian, but with such al- terations and additions as suited his pur- pose. He has formed it into one of the most amusing fictions to be met with in poetry ; airy, sportive, elegant, giving scope to descriptions of singular brilliancy, and admirably accommodated to his subject. The mode of action of these fairy-like beings is very happily fancied ; and never were guardian spirits better adapted to their charge than his Sylphs. It is theirs To save the powder from too rude a gale, Nor let th' imprison'd essences exhale ; To draw fresh colours from the vernal flow'rs ; To steal from rainbows ere they drop in show'rs A brighter wash ; to curl their waving hairs, Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs. The Gnomes are much less distinctly re- presented ; but the Cave of Spleen affords a striking specimen of the poet's talents for allegorical personification, and the figures of Ill-nature and Affectation are excellent sketches. The 88 LETTER VII. The story of the piece is a trifling inci- dent that really happened, and, though not of an humorous nature, is well calculated to display that frivolity belonging to every thing in which the fair sex is concerned, which he assumes as the subject of his satire. A favourite figure by which he effects his purpose, is that of comic and degrading parallel ; as in the following lines : Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law, Or some frail China jar receive a flaw; Or stain her honour, or her new brocade ; Forget her pray'rs, or miss a masquerade; Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball ; Or whether heav'n has doom'd that Shock must fall. You will smile at these petty effusions of malice, which, in truth, have more of flippancy than wit ; and you will not the less enjoy the exquisite polish of the style, and dazzling lustre of the imagery, in this performance, which are surpassed by no- thing in the language. His parodies of Homer, a species of humour well adapted to pope. 89 to the mock-heroic, and which he has managed with singular dexterity, will par- ticularly entertain you while you have his translations of that author fresh in your memory. The Rape of the Lock is our poet's principal effort in that great province of his art, creation. It might have been sup- posed that his success in this attempt would have encouraged him to proceed to others of a similar kind : but the exercise of the inventive faculties is the most labo- rious and exhausting of mental operations ; and many writers who have gained reputa- tion by one or two productions of this class > have found the exertion too great to be continued. Pope's genius is chiefly cha- racterized by the talent of expressing the ideas of other men, or the dictates of com- mon good sense, with peculiar beauty and energy. Hence he is an excellent transla- tor, a happy imitator, and a powerful in- structor on moral and critical topics. A performance of the latter kind was one of the 90 LETTER VII. the products of his early youth, and prin- cipally contributed to the establishment of his poetic fame. This is his " Essay on Criticism/' a work abounding in valuable literary precepts, expressed generally with neatness, and often with brilliancy. In poetical merit it stands high among didac- tic pieces; yet it has many marks of juve- nility in the thoughts, and of incorrectness in the language; and by no means deserves to be proposed as a guide in the critical art, with that authority which some have ascribed to it. It is, however, well worthy of your perusal ; and you will recognise several of its maxims as having received the sanction of popular application. Pope assumes a still more important cha- racter as a didactic poet in his celebrated " Essay on Man." The subject of this work is no less than a philosophical inquiry into the nature and end of human beings : it therefore comprehends the fundamental principles both of morals, and of natural religion. As this work is written upon a systematic POPE. 91 systematic plan, it is proper that the reader should endeavour to become master of it, and trace the design of the whole, and the mutual connexion of the parts. This is a serious task, and would be apt to prove irksome to one accustomed to read for mere amusement ; yet without the habit of oc- casionally fixing the attention upon a grave investigation, the mind will remain feeble and unsteady, incapable of any solid instruc- tion. Writings in prose, which have in- formation for their sole object, are, indeed, best fitted to engage attention of this kind ; nor can it be affirmed that Pope's excellence lay in the clearness and consistency of his argumentative processes. It will be suffi- cient if you peruse with care his own view of the general design of this piece, and his sketches of the contents of each book. Warburton's elaborate commentary, were you even capable of fully comprehending it, would be more likely to mislead than to instruct you, since his intention was rather to disguise, than fairly to represent, the system 92 LETTER VII. system of his author. After all, the Es- say on Man is chiefly remembered for the beauty and sublimity of its detached passages, and the elevated sentiments of morality and religion which it inspires, and which stand independent of the par- ticular system in which they are inserted. You may justly admire the energetic con- ciseness of expression in the reasoning and didactic parts, which verify the au- thor's assertion, that he chose poetry as the vehicle of his thoughts, on account of the superior brevity with which he could deliver them in that form. For example, what combination of words could possibly give the sense of the following lines w r ith more precision or in less compass : Most strength the moving principle requires: Active its task, it prompts, impels, inspires. Sedate and quiet the comparing lies. Form'd but to check, deliberate, and advise. Self-love still stronger, as its objects nigh ; Reason's at distance, and in prospect lie : That sees immediate good by present sense; Reason, the future and the consequence. it pope. 93 It was such passages that Swift had in his eye, w hen he said with the candour of true friendship, When Pope can in one couplet fix More sense than I cau do in six. On the other hand, his illustrations and amplifications are often given with all that splendour of diction, and richness of ima- gery, which distinguish those works in which he shows himself the most of a poet. From the Essay on Man, you will natu- rally proceed to the author's " Four Moral Essays" on the respective subjects of the Characters of Men; the Characters of Women ; and the Use of Riches ; the lat- ter occupying two epistles. In these you will find much acute observation of man- kind, much vivacity of remark and force of description, but not always justness and accuracy of thinking. You will also occa- sionally bedisgusted with a certain flippancy of expression, and still more with a taint of grossness of language, which, if not a per- sonal 94 LETTEH VII. sonal rather than a national defect, would afford an unfavourable distinction between our literature in Anne's and George's reigns, and that of France in the age of Louis the Fourteenth. Boileau, whom Pope imitated, and who was not less severe in censure than he, is beyond comparison more deli- cate in his language. There is a kind of coarseness, consisting in the use of com- mon words, which conduces so much to the strength and vigour of style, that one would not wish to see it sacrificed to fasti- dious nicety; but Pope frequently goes beyond this, and betrays rather a conta- mination of ideas than a carelessness of phraseology. This remark, however, ap- plies more to some subsequent productions than to those at present before us. Of he particular epistles, you will pro- bably read with most interest that " On the Characters of Women." It is, I believe, generally reckoned more brilliant than cor- rect; more satirical than just. Whilst it assigns to your sex only two ruling pas- sions, pope. 95 sions, " the love of pleasure and the love of sway/' it chiefly dwells, in the descrip- tion of individual characters, upon that mutability and inconstancy of temper which has been usually charged upon the female mind. By thus representing the ends as unworthy, and the means as inconsistent, it conveys the severest possible sarcasm against the sex in general. Woman, it seems, is even a at best a contradiction;" and his concluding portrait of the most es* tunable female character he can conceive, is but an assemblage of contrary qualities " shaken all together." Yet this outra- geous satire is almost redeemed by the charming picture he has drawn, (one would hope from the life,) of that perfection of good-temper in a woman, which is cer- tainly the prime quality for enjoying and imparting happiness : Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray- Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day ; She, who can love a sister's charms, or hear Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear ; She, 96 LETTER VII. She, who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules ; Charms by accepting, by submitting sways, Yet has her humour most when she obeys. I confess, this delightful portrait is mar- red by the concluding stroke, " Mistress of herself though china fall," which you may justly despise, as one of those flippant sneers which degrade this poet. The epistles on the use and abuse of riches are very entertaining. They abound with maxims of good-sense and taste, illus- trated by lively and poetical descriptions. A writer, so prone to satire in his moral works, might be expected to become a bitter satirist when professedly adopting that character. And, in fact, Pope had too much irritability of temper to be spa- ring in retaliation for a personal attack, and too honest an indignation against vice to treat it with lenity. Though he often af- fects an air of sportive humour in his strictures, yet he is habitually keen and caustic ; and sometimes, especially when vindicating POPE. 97 vindicating himself, he exchanges plea- gantry for serious warmth. He has con- veyed a considerable porlion of his satire under the form of imitations of Horace. Like his friend Swift, he has not shackled himself with a close parallel in imitating that writer, but has followed his general train of ideas, improving his hints, and making excursions of his own as the occa- sion prompted. You must be content, as in the former case, to lose the humour of allusion in those pieces, and read them like original productions. The first of these imitations will show you how much in earnest he applied the censorial rod ; and certainly the profession of a satirist was never represented with so much dignity as in the lines thus intro- duced : What? arm'd for virtue when I point the pen, Brand the bold front of shameless guilty men; Dash the proud gamester in his gilded ear; Bare the mean heart that lurks beneath a star, &c Jf Tins 98 LETTER VII. This passage, Dr. Warburton justly ob- serves, is not only superior to any thing in Horace, but equal to any thing Pope him- self has written. After such a lofty as- sumption, however, he should not have condescended to make his satire the wea- pon of party rancour or private resentment. There are very different degrees of merit in his imitations of Horace's satires and epistles, and they have so many references to persons and incidents of the time, that they cannot be understood without the aid of notes. The versifying of Donne's satires was one of his least happy attempts. If you read them (which is scarcely worth your while) you will pity a genius held down by the awkward fetters which he has volunta- rily assumed. The Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, entitled " Prologue to the Satires," and the two dialogues styled " Epilogue," are per- formances of great spirit, in which his per- sonal feelings have given a keen edge to his sarcasm. pope. 99 sarcasm. In the first, his character of Ad- dison under the name of Atticus has been universally admired for its polished seve- rity: how far it was morally justified by the provocation he had received, I shall not here inquire. Bishop Atterbury, it seems, was so well satisfied with it, that he expressed to the author his hope that he would not suffer such a talent to remain unemployed. Indeed, were the pen of sa- tire that " sacred weapon left for truth's defence," which he boasts it to have been in his hands, to wield it with skill would be as noble an employment of philanthropy as of genius. But Pope, though radically a lover of virtue, had too great an alloy of human infirmity in his character to act the part of a censor with uniform dignity and propriety. His personal and party preju- dices, and his peevish irritability, continu- ally warped him in the choice of objects for his attacks. Of this failing he has given a melancholy proof in the poem which next claims attention, the " Dunciad." That 100 LETTER VII. That so great a poet as Pope, in the full maturity of his powers, should consecrate his best efforts to immortalizing in ridicule a set of enemies whom he aflccted utterly to despise, and most of whom, without his notice, would soon -have been consigned to oblivion, is a lamentable instance of the misapplication of genius, through want of that solid dignity of mind which philosophy alone can bestow. Although in this per- formance there is great beauty of versifi- cation, and much poetical description, I cannot recommend it to your perusal. Not only the scope of it is sufficient to inspire disgust, but there is so much grossness of imagery blended with its plan, that it is unfit for a female eye. How strange is it, that a writer so polished in his style, and who possessed the unusual -advantage of familiar intercourse with the best company (as we are willing to suppose it to be), should have fallen into a vitiation of taste which could be expected only in the lowest class of authors ! The apologists of Pope lay POPE. 101 lay the fault to his intimacy with Swift ; and possibly the admirers of Swift would accuse Pope : it cannot be doubted , how- ever, that in this particular, as well as in their arrogant contempt of cotemporary writers, they spoiled each other. The two latter books of the Dunciad are tolerably free from this contamination ; but from their subject they are intelligible only to readers well versed in the literature of that period. The smaller and miscellaneous poems of this writer I shall commit without remark, to your judgment and discretion. There is one production, however, which is such a master-piece in its kind, that I would point it out to your particular attention. This is his " Prologue to Cato." Pro- logues to plays are singular compositions, of which the proper character is scarcely to be determined by the practice of writers. Those of Dry den, which were famous in their day, are generally attempts at licen- tious wit or petulant satire. His example was 102 LETTER VII. was imitated ; and scarcely any thing grave or dignified had been offered to the public in this form, till Pope, inspired by the no- ble subject of Addison's tragedy, composed this piece, which not only stands at the head of all prologues, but is scarcely sur- passed in vigour of expression and eleva- tion of sentiment by any passage in his own works. I now close my long letter ; and remain, Yours, &c. LETTER YOtWG. 10; LETTER VIII. As one of our latest subjects was satire, I shall now, by way of comparison, direct you to another satirist of considerable note, of whom, however, we shall probably have more to say under another class. This is Dr. Young, a cotemporary of Pope, and one of the poetical constellation of that period. This author has left us, un- der the general head of " Love of Fame, the universal Passion," seven satires, in which he illustrates by example this as- sumed principle of human conduct. Like all other theorists on the mind, who aim at simplicity in their explanation of the varie- ties of human character, he has laid more stress upon his fundamental principle them it will properly bear ; and in many of the portraits which he draws, the love of fame can 104 LETTER VIII. can scarcely be recognised as a leading feature. In reality, Young was a writer of much more fancy than judgment. He paints with a brilliant touch and strong colouring, but with little attention to na- ture; and his satires are rather exercises of wit and invention than grave exposures of human follies and vices, fie, indeed, runs through the ordinary catalogue of fashionable excesses, but in such a style of whimsical exaggeration, that his examples have the air of mere creatures of the ima- gination. His pieces are, however, enter- taining, and are marked with the stamp of original genius. Having much less ego- tism than those of Pope, they have a less splenetic air ; and the author's aim seems to be so much more to show his wit, than to indulge his rancour, that his severest strokes give little pain. It has been observed, that Young's sa- tires are strings of epigrams. His sketches of characters are generally terminated by a pointy YOUNG. JOS a point, and many of his couplets might be received as proverbial maxims or sen- tences. Such are the following : Men should press forward in fame^s glorious chace; Nobles look backward, and so lose the race. — There is no woman where there 's no reserve, And 'tis on plenty your poor lovers starve. — 1 he man who builds and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away. — A common figure of speech with him is the antithesis, where two members of a sentence, apparently in opposition to each other, are connected by a subtle turn in the sense. Thus, And satirise with nothing but their praise. — 'Tis inhumanity to bless by chance. — A shameless woman is the worst of men. — Because she's right, she's ever in the iuro?ig. — With wit, or the association of distant ideas by some unexpected resemblance, he abounds. Almost every page affords in- stances 106 LETTER VIII. stances of his inventive powers in this re- spect ; some, truly beautiful ; others, odd and quaint. I shall produce one as a spe- cimen, which you may classify as your judgment shall direct: Like cats in airpumps, to subsist we strive On joys too thin to keep the soul alive. There is little of the majestic or digni- fied in Foung's satires ; not that he was incapable of sublimity, but because the view he took of men and manners gene- rally excluded it. Yet his account in the seventh satire of the final cause of that principle, the love of fame, is introduced by some very noble lines, which Pope could scarcely have surpassed : Shot from above, by heav'n's indulgence, came This generous ardour, this unconquer'd flame, To warm, to raise, to deify mankind, Still burning brightest in the noblest mind. By large-soul'd men, for thirst of fame renown'd, Wise laws were fram'd, and sacred arts were found : Desire of praise first broke the patriot's rest, And made a bulwark of the warrior's brea.-t. Ttie YOUNG. 107 The purpose of the passage, indeed, is to offer incense at the shrine of royalty ; for Young bestowed adulation as largely as censure, and always with a view to his in- terest; in which he is disadvantageous^ distinguished from Pope. Two meaner lines will not easily be found than the fol- lowing in his praise of queen Caroline : Her favour is diffused to that degree, Excess of goodness ! it has beam'd on me. ~ These are at the close of his second satire on women ; for his politeness did not pre- vent him from employing the lash with even peculiar force on the tender sex. I think, however, you will feel yourself lit- tle hurt by these attacks ; for his ridicule consists in presenting a series of carica- tures, drawn rather from fancy than obser- vation ; and he does not treat the whole sex with that contempt which is perpetu- ally breaking out in the writings of Pope and Swift. Before you, for the present, lay down this 108 LETTER VIII. this author, I will desire you to peruse a piece of descriptive poetry, in which he has shown himself master of a very dif- ferent style. This is his " Paraphrase on Part of the Book of Job/' a composition in its original the most sublime of those sacred writings which it accompanies, though y as in all other Hebrew poetry, its grandeur is allied to obscurity. Young has made little addition to the primitive imagery, but has rendered it more clear and precise, while it retains all its force and splendour. The descriptions are not always accurate, and the language some- times borders upon extravagance ; but his object was poetical effect, and this he has produced in an uncommon degree. Thus, after his highly wrought picture of the lion in his nightly ravages, he fixes and con- centrates the impression of terror, by the figure of the flying shepherd, who .... shudders at the talon in the dust. This is a stroke of real genius ! Having ELEGIAC VERSE. 109 Having now made you acquainted with some of the best specimens of rhymed verse, in heroic and familiar poetry ; before we take a temporary leave of rhyme, I shall present it to you in a form of frequent use in English poetry, chiefly in connec- tion with a particular class of topics. That kind of measure in which the heroic line of ten syllables is disposed in stanzas of four verses, of which the rhymes are placed alternately, is usually termed the elegiac. This name is given it, because it has been thought peculiarly suited to theserious and pathetic strain of elegy. Formerly, in- deed, long poems of the epic or narrative kind were often composed in this measure; but although it is not deficient in majesty, the uniformity of a perpetually recurring stanza appeared tiresome and languid in a performance of considerable length. The necessity, too, of filling up the four lines either with a single -sentence, or with simi- lar and connected clauses, was found an obstacle to the rapidity of animated narra- tion* J 10 LETTER VIII. tion, and favoured the insertion of trifling and superfluous matter. This effect is less injurious where the subject is of the senti- mental kind; yet it must be acknow- ledged , that even here, the expression of strong and varied emotion does not well comport with the slow and even march of the elegiac stanza, which is better adapted to the tender and the pensive than to the impassioned. The " Love-Elegies" of Hammond are among the happiest of this class of com- positions, both in respect to their style, and their turn of thought. The latter, indeed, is almost entirely borrowed from Tibullus, a Roman poet, the most admired of the elegiac writers in his language. A classic reader would find much to commend in the ease with which he has transfused the beauties of the original into English, and the skill he has shown in forming new compositions out of its detached and trans- posed passages. He has, however, under- gone some heavy censure for adopting so lars-e HAMMOND. Ill large a share of the rural imagery and hea- then mythology of Tibullus, which, being with respect to himself purely fictitious, impairs the reality of his assumed character of a lover. And it is true, that his elegies have the air of being the elegant exercises of an academic, rather than the effusions of a heart touched with a real passion. But there is something in the simplicity of pastoral life so sweetly accordant with the tender affections, that the incongruity of times and manners is easily pardoned, and genuine feelings are excited under feigned circumstances. I am persuaded that, with- out criticising too deeply, you will receive true pleasure from the perusal of these pieces, especially from that in which a picture is drawn of connubial love in a country retreat, (Elegy xin.) with circum- stances only a little varied from those which might really take place in such a situation among ourselves. It is the En- glish farmer who speaks in the following stanza : With 112 LETTER VIII. With timely care I'll sow my little field, And plant my orchard with its master's hand ; Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield, Or range my sheaves along the sunny land. He appears afterwards under a more re- fined form, but still suitable enough to a ferme ornce : What joy to wind along the cool retreat, To stop and gaze on Delia as I go ! To mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet, And teach my lovely scholar all I know ! I could point out to you another "elegy of Delia" on the Tibullian model, writ- ten by one of your sex whom you love and honour; which, with equal tenderness, is more purely an English composition : but happily it has not yet the claim to be quoted among those pieces which are sanc- tioned by posthumous fame. Farewell ! LETTER BLANK VERSE. 1 1.5 LETTER IX. Hitherto, my dear Pupil, we have view- ed English verse with the accompaniment of rhyme. The device of marking the ends of lines with the recurrence of similar sounds, unknown to Greek and Latin po- etry, was introduced in those periods when the Roman empire was overrun by the barbarous tribes of the North, and true taste gave way to puerility and caprice. The modern languages, in their gradual progress to refinement, retained an orna- ment which long use had rendered almost indispensable ; and to this day, rhyme is commonly admitted in the verse of every European nation, and to some is regarded as absolutely essential. The meanness of its origin, and the difficulties to which it subjects a writer, have, however, produced various attempts for emancipating poetry i from 114 LETTER IX. from what was considered as a de^radin^ imposition ; and these attempts have in no country been so well supported as in Eng- land. The dramatic writers led the way in the disuse of rhyme ; undoubtedly, be- cause they found that more was gained by such an omission in approximating dia- logue to common speech, than was lost in disappointing the ear of an accustomed jingle. After the public had been taught to relish the noble passages of Shakespcar and his cotemporary tragedians in un- rhymed verse, it required no extraordinary courage to venture upon the same liberty in other compositions, where the elevation of the matter might divert the reader's at- tention from a degree of negligence in the form. At length, Milton wrote his Para- dise Lost in blank verse, and its reputation was established. But it is only in one kind of measure, the heroic, that the absence of, rhyme has obtained general toleration. Jn the shorter measures, and in those diver- sified by lines of different lengths, and complicated BLANK VERSE. 115 complicated into stanzas, the practised ear has never been brought to acquiesce in the want of a gratification to which it has been accustomed. Indeed, some of these mea- sures, as the elegiac, are entirely dependent on the rhyme. There has been much discussion con- cerning the comparative merit of blank verse and rhymed couplets in the heroic measure, and it is not likely that different tastes will ever, by any process of reason- ing, be brought to agree on this head. It may be useful, however, to give a brief statement of the case. I have already mentioned, that this measure is formed of ten syllables, alternately short and long, with the occasional irregularity of two long or two short successively. This produces a modulation so simple, and so little dif- ferent from prose, that without some art in recitation, it is not easily distinguished to be verse. Moreover, as there is nothing to mark to the ear the tenth or terminating syllable but the rhyme; where that is omit- ted, 116 LETTER IX. ted, measure, properly speaking, is en- tirely lost in the modern way of reading, which is directed solely by the sense, and makes no pauses but as indicated by the punctuation. If, indeed, a suspension of the sense is always made to coincide with the close of a line, the voice will mark it ; but it is universally agreed, that such a monotony is one of the greatest faults of blank verse, and that the skill of the com- poser is principally shown by his judicious variation of the pauses, so that they may fall upon all the different parts of the line in turn, though not in any regular order. But such a distribution cuts the matter into portions of unequal lengths; which renders it a mere fallacy of the mode of printing to assign any particular rneasnreio such versification. Try, for example, to reduce to ten-syllable lines the following passage of a great master of blank verse, Akenside : " Thee, Beauty, thee the regal dome, and thy enlivening ray the mossy roofs adore : thou, CLANK VERSE. 117 thou, better sun ! for ever beamest on h' enchanted heart love, and harmonious wonder, and delight poetic." 1 think, therefore, it must be acknow- ledged, that whatever gratification the ear may derive from the return of equal por- tions of syllables or combinations of sylla- bles, it is lost in the construction of our heroic verse without the aid of rhyme. All that is then left, is the melodious flow of the periods into which the sentences are divided, produced by a succession of such words as afford the al ternary of long and short syllables, judiciously broken by an intermixture of others. And the advo- cates for blank verse contend, that the un- limited variety of pauses consequent upon such an unfettered freedom of versification, is an advantage in point of melody, greatly surpassing the pleasure afforded by a jingle in the sound, which they stigmatize as a childish barbarism. As the only appeal in this case is to a well-exercised car, and to a taste cultivated by familiarity with the best 118 LETTER IX. best models, it will be my object to enable you to judge for yourself on this, as on other poetical topics. I shall therefore now offer to your perusal a series of the most eminent writers of blank verse, in different manners, and on various subjects. Whatever the result be with respect to your general preference of this kind of verse, or that which has preceded it, I ex- pect that you will be led to relish what is most excellent in both. There is one circumstance of which I think it proper to apprize you, before you take up any of the authors I mean to re- commend. The writers of blank verse have been so sensible of their near ap- proach to prose in the versification, that they have been solicitous to give their lan- guage a character as different as possible from that of common speech. This pur- pose, while it has favoured loftiness and splendour of diction, has also too much promoted a turgid and artificial style, stif- fened by quaint phrases, obsolete words, and MILTON*. 119 and perversions of the natural order of sentences. When the subject is some- thing appertaining to common life, this affected stateliness is apt to produce a lu- dicrous effect. Such has particularly been the case in the poems termed didactic, several of which have been written in un- rhymed verse, on account of the facility with which it is composed. I do not mean to put into your hands productions of an inferior class ; but you will find in some of those which enjoy deserved reputation, enough to exemplify the fault above men- tioned. As, in order to form your taste for ver- sification in rhymed heroics, I thought it right to bring you immediately to one of the masters in that mode of composition ; so I shall now direct you to one of the greatest poets, and at the same time of the most melodious composers in blank verse, that our language affords, the immortal Milton; and his " Mask ofComus" is the 120 LETTER IX. the piece with which we will make a com* mericement. That kind of drama called a Mask, con- sisting of a fable in which the characters of antient mythology, or abstract qualities personified, arc the actors, frequently em- ployed the invention of Ben Jonson and others of our early dramatists, for the en- tertainment of the learned and somewhat pedantic times in which they lived. These pieces were almost solely addressed to the understanding and the imagination, and had scarcely any power of exciting the sympathetic feelings; they were therefore strongly discriminated from the common theatrical representations of human life rind manners, and range under the head of poems rather than of plays. Milton, who from his youth was animated with the ge- nuine fire of poetry, and whose mind was exalted by the noblest sentiments of philo- sophy, naturally adopted a species of com- position in which his fancy would have free MILTON. 121 free scope, and at once gave it a perfec- tion beyond all former example. " Comus" is a moral allegory, founded upon a classical conception, but greatly improved both in its imagery and its mora- lity. It represents the triumph of virtue over lawless pleasure ; and the author de- serves high applause for the skill with which, after exhilarating the mind with the festal gaiety of Comus, and even assailing the reason with sophistical arguments in favour of licentiousness, he finally brings over the reader to the side of sobriety by the charms of poetic eloquence. The ex- alted and somewhat mystic strain of the philosophy, borrowed from the Platonic school, suits extremely the romantic cast of the fable,, and the high poetry of the description. As a recompense for the hu- miliation you may have felt on viewing the female character as pourtrayed by Pope and. Swift, you may justly pride yourself on the lustre thrown around it in its virgin- purity, by this superior genius, lie soars, indeed, 122 LETTER IX. indeed, into the region of fiction, but it- is fiction with the base of reality : Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow, Fair silver-shafted queen, for ever chaste, Wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness, And spotted mountain -pard, bui set at nought The frivolous bolt of Cupid : Gods and men FearM her stern frown, and she was queen o' th' woods. What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield That w r ise Minerva wore, unconquer'd virgin, Wherewith she freez'd her foes to congeal'd stone. But rigid looks of chaste austerity, And noble grace, that dash'd brute violence With sudden adoration, and blank awe ? No one can peruse this piece without being sensible of an elevation of soul which, for a time, lifts it above the allure- ments of sensuality, and sanctifies all its emotions. That it was composed for the domestic representation of a family of high rank, is a circumstance truly honourable to the manners of the age. The splendour of poetry displayed in it was scarcely ex- ceeded by the after-exertions of Milton himself; but with respect to the versifica- tion, MILTON. 123 lion, it may be observed, that he had not yet attained the free and varied melody of his maturer productions. The pause for many successive lines falls upon the last syllable, producing that monotony, which it is the happiest privilege of blank verse easily to avoid. The measure is occasion- ally changed to that of seven or eight syl- lables with rhyme, the sprightliness of which well accords with the character of Comus addressing his crew, and with the aerial nature of the Attendant Spirit. Some lines in this measure are remarkable exam- ples of the consonance of sound with sense: Midnight Shout and Revelry, Tipsy Dance and Jollity : &c. Of this excellence you will meet with many more instances in the two poems which were the next productions of our author, and which I recommend to your perusal by way of interlude before you pro- ceed to the serious study of his great heroic 124 LETTER IX. heroic performance. These are the very- popular pieces U L' Allegro" and "II Pense- roso," meant as contrasted portraits of the cheerful and the contemplative man, accompanied with the scenery proper to each. The animated strain of the verse, the variety and beauty of the imagery, and the soul of sentiment by which they are inspired, render them perhaps the most captivating pieces of the descriptive kind that all poetry affords. They are read with renewed delight till they are in- delibly imprinted on the memory ; and they have given birth to numerous imita- tions, several of which possess consider- able merit. On a critical examination, the attention should be directed to the con- formity of the scenery and circumstances of each piece, to the affection respectively intended to be excited ; namely, innocent mirth, and elevated seriousness. In this view you will find them presenting a dou- ble set of pictures, so well characterised, that there never can be a doubt to which series MILTON. ]2j series th£y individually belong. Jf, indeed, the observation of Jessica in Shakespear be just, (" I'm never merry When I hear sweet music,") the " soft Lydian aire'* and u melting voice tkrough mazes run- ning,'' are somewhat misplaced as one of the pleasures of L'AUegro, though he might be consistently delighted with the " merry bells" and " jocund rebecs." But as you are a practitioner in this art, I leave you to determine the disposition of mind with which the different strains of music arc accompanied. If, in casting your eye through Milton's smaller pieces, you should be attracted to his Monody of " Lycidas," you will meet with a poem of a peculiar cast, concern- ing which you will probably find it difficult to fix your judgment. Tributes of sor- row to the memory of the dead under the fictitious form of pastoral were at that time very common, and they have been justly censured by Dr. Johnson and other for that want of reality which almost entirely destroys 126 LETTER IX. destroys their interest. In this piece, the ecclesiastical state of the country at that period is allcgorically shadowed out under the pastoral fiction, and the writer has in- dulged his religious zeal while lamenting his friend. Moreover, it borrows its form from classical imitation, and abounds in allusions drawn from that source, The constructions are also occasionally harsh, and the language obscure. All these cir- cumstances will deduct from your pleasure in reading it; yet there are passages in which I think you cannot fail to recognise the master-hand of a true poet. I should now proceed to " Paradise Lost," but it will be proper to allow you a pause before entering upon so dignified a subject. Adieu then for the present. Yours, &c. LETTER EPIC POETRY 127 LETTER X. It will give you an exalted idea of the rank epic poetry holds amidst the productions of human genius, to be told, that there are scarcely half a dozen compositions of this class which have commanded an ad- miration unlimited by age or country. I believe, indeed, that strict poetical ortho- doxy admits in the list of capital epic poems no more than the Iliad of Homer, the Eneid of Virgil, the Jerusalem Deli- vered of Tasso, and the Paradise Lost of Milton. It might be suspected that the admission of the two moderns into the favoured number was the work of national partiality: but enlightened Europe has long concurred in paying this honour to the Italian, whose language has been suf- ficiently familiar to the votaries of polite literature in different countries, to render them 128 LETTER X. them adequate judges of his merit. With respect to the Englishman, it cannot be denied that his own countrymen were till a late period almost exclusively the heralds of his fame: but the increasing prevalence of the English language, and reputation of its writers, upon the continent, have produced a very extended impression of his superior genius ; and his peculiar cha- racter of the sublimest of poets is acknow- ledged in Italy and Germany as much as in liis own country. The " Paradise Lost" is founded upon the history of the Fall of Man as recorded in the book of Genesis, to which Milton has closely and literally adhered as far as it would serve him as a guide. His additions chiefly relate to that interference of supe- rior agents which constitutes the machinery of the poem, and which his own fancy has erected upon the groundwork of an obscure tradition concerning a defection of the angelic host, headed by Satan, and terminating in the expulsion cf the rebels from MILTON. 129 from the celestial mansions. It is peculiar to this poem 5 that what in others consti- tutes only an appendage to the story, here forms the principal subject ; for, as it was impossible that the adventures of a single pair of human beings in their state of sim- plicity should furnish matter for copious crnd splendid narration, it was necessary for the poet to seek elsewhere for the great fund of epic action. He has therefore exercised his invention in forming a set of superhuman personages, of opposite cha- racters, to whom he has adapted appro- priate scenery, and whom lie has employed in operations suited to their supposed na- ture. Thus he has been borne in the regions of fancy to a height, never before reached by a poet; for the most ardent imagination can frame no conceptions of novelty and sublimity which may not find scope in scenes where the mightiest of created beings, and even the Creator him- self, are actors, and where the field of action is the immensity of space, and the k regions ISO LETTER X. regions of heaven, hell, and chaos. At the same time, the plan of the work pro- Tides an agreeable repose to the mind fa- tigued by the contemplation of dazzling jvonders, in occasional descents to a new world, fresh in youthful beauty, and as yet the abode of peace and innocence* Milton's genius has been supposed best suited to the grand and elevated, chiefly because his subject was most fertile in images and sentiments of that class; but his pictures of Paradise display ideas of the graceful and beautiful, which, perhaps, no poet has surpassed. The excellencies and defects of Paradise Lost have occupied the pens of so many able writers, that I think it unnecessary to detain you with any minute discussion of them. You may find some very entertain- ing papers of Addison in the Spectator upon this subject, and some masterly cri- ticism by Dr. Johnson in his life of Milton prefixed to the edition of English Poets. I shall, however, make a few general ob- servation MILTON. 131 servations in order to prepare you for the perusal. It is reckoned essential to every epic poem to have a hero, one on whom the principal interest of the reader is fixed on account of qualities and deeds which ex- cite admiration. Who is the hero of Pa- radise Lost ? It has been invidiously an- swered — Satan! and certain it is, that as far as courage to dare, fortitude to endure, wisdom to plan, vigour to execute, inviola- ble fidelity to a party, and a mind unsub- dued by change of fortune, are heroic qua- lities, he has no competitor in the poem. The angelic host are precluded from the exertion of these virtues by a consciousness of that support from almighty power which assures them of victory in the contest ; nor are they, in fact, subjected to any trials which can exalt them by successful resist- ance. Adam, whose weakness is the cause of the great catastrophe, has still less pre- tension to heroism, although the poet has thrown about him as much dignity as cir- cumstances 132 LETTER X. cumstances allowed, and has taken especial care to assert his superiority to his frail consort. If Satan, however, is made an object of admiration on account of his great qualities, the cause in which they are ex- erted renders him detestable; and he loses, in the progress of the poem, all the splen- dour with which he was invested at the commencement. It is, indeed, a poetical fault of the piece, that a character once so conspicuous in it, should sink to insignifi- cance and contempt before the conclusion. But Milton never forgets his mam purpose of inculcating pious and virtuous senti- ments, and to this, every other considera- tion is sacrificed. It is in conformity with the practice of other epic poets, that a large part of the narrative in the Paradise Lost consists of a retrospective view of preceding transac- tions, given in the way of information by one of the personages. I know not whe- ther, to a plain reader, unbiassed by autho- rity, such a deviation from the natural order of M1LT0&. 133 df events would prove agreeable. It cer- tainly tends to produce a confusion of ideas* which is scarcely rectified till the story has become familiar by a second perusal. Yet there is a spirit and animation in breaking at once into the midst of the action at some important period, that perhaps more than compensates this inconvenience; and the precipitation of the fallen angels into their infernal prison is a momentous point of the history which affords a favourable opening. The anticipation of future events con* tained in the visionary prospect offered to Adam of his posterity, is also authorised by the practice of other poets ; and is em- ployed to relieve the languor consequent upon the completion of the great incident of the piece. It gives scope to some fine description ; yet I confess it seems to me too much to infringe the uniformity of the design, and to disturb the imagination by mixing the turbulence of the after-world with the quiet and solitary scenery of Paradise. In 13b LETTER X. In the language of Milton you will find much to distinguish it from any poetic style with which you have hitherto been conversant. On a fund of simplicity are ingrafted bold and lofty figures, antique phrases, singularities of construction and position, the general effect of which is to give it an air of remoteness from common and prosaic use, and to appropriate it to solemn and elevated topics. It abounds in Latinisms, which you will discover by their deviation from the vernacular idiom, aid will not have prejudice enough to admire. It has also a strong infusion of scripture phraseology, the associations of which ren- der it peculiarly suited to his subject. It is not unfrequently obscure, through learn- ed affectation and studied brevity ; but, up- on the whole, it is nervous, rich, and ex- pressive. In point of versification, it is agreed, that whatever can be done with blank verse to produce melody, variety, and consonanc e of sound with sense, has been effected in . a supreme MILTON, 133 a supreme degree by Milton in this per- formance. You will particularly remark, that it is rare to meet with two contiguous lines which have corresponding pauses ; and that the termination on the tenth syllable occurs with no greater frequency than is necessary to mark the prevailing measure. There is a considerable intermixture of lines so imperfectly versified that they are scarcely distinguishable from prose. It is probable that the author sometimes designed these irregularities, as productive of some effect correspondent to the subject ; but they may often be more justly attributed to that negligence which is so apt to intrude in a long work, and which the poet's infirmity of blindness rendered almost unavoidable. I confess, that even the authority of Milton would make me unwilling to admit that discords are ever necessary to prevent the ear from being satiated with the melody of our blank verse ; and I conceive that change in the pauses will produce all desirable va- riety of modulation, without any infraction of the rules of so lax a metre. The 136 LETTER X. The perusal of Paradise Lost has hem represented by some of its most magnifi- cent eulogists rather as a task than a plea- sure. Accomplish this task, however, once with attention. Make yourself mistress of the whole plan of the work : endeavour to understand all the classical and theological allusions in it as far as notes will explain them to you, and for that purpose pro- vide yourself with Newton's edition, or tiny later one equally furnished with explana- tions : mark in your progress the passages that most strike and please you :- — and then assure yourself that you are possessed for life of a source of exquisite entertainment, capable of elevating the mind under de- pression, and of recalling the taste from a fondness for tinsel and frivolity, to a re- lish for all that is solidly grand and beau- tiful. When you have gone through the Pa- radise Lost, you will probably feel little inclination directly to undertake the " Pa- radise Regained;" and indeed I would re- commend the interposition of some other author MILTON. 137 author before you take up the resembling, but inferior, work of the same poet. I shall here, however, in order to preserve a continuity of subject, subjoin a few ob- servations on this production of Milton's declining years. Paradise Regained was written as a theo- logical supplement to Paradise Lost, and it bears every indication of its subordinate character. It is grave and argumentative* little enlivened by flights of fancy or in- teresting situations. It has more of dia- logue than action, for the latter is com- prised in one event, the temptation of Christ in the wilderness; in which, the only two persons concerned are so unequal in dignity, that no doubt can ever arise as to the result. The versification of the poem is still more careless than that of the most neglected parts of the former work ; and the diction is frequently flat and unani- mated. Yet it contains many pleasing sketches of rural scenery ; and its pictures of the three capitals, Rome, Athens, and Ctesiphonj 138 LETTER X. Ctesiphon, are unrivalled in that species of descriptive poetry. Many of its moral sentences are likewise worthy of being re- tained, if you can separate them from the general mass of theological matter. I do not mean to insinuate that moral duties are best considered apart from religious prin- ciples ; but Milton's system of divinity is not perhaps the most rational to which you miffht be directed. Yet it would not be easy to find a passage of purer theology, than that which he gives as the reply of our Saviour to Satan's defence of the love of glory, on the ground that God himself requires and receives glory from all na- tions : And reason ! since his word all things produc'd, Though chiefly not for glory as prime end, But to show forth his goodness, and impart His good communicable to every soul Freely ; of whom what could he less expect Than glory and benediction, that is, thanks, The slightest, easiest, readiest recompense From them who could return him nothing else? The last work of our great poet is his " Samson MILTON. 139 u Samson Agonistes," a dramatic com- position, but still less than his Comus adapted to a modern stage. In this piece lie has copied the severe simplicity of the Grecian theatre, whose u lofty grave tra- gedians," according to his own descrip- tion, taught " moral wisdom in senten- tious precepts." This mood best suited his declining years, in which fancy was cooled, whilst every serious impression was en- hanced, and had acquired additional auste- rity. It would be vain to expect either high poetry, or impassioned tenderness, in this performance; but what the author intended, he has well executed. He lias furnished a store of weighty philosophical and pious maxims, expressed with nervous brevity ; and has exhibited a striking exam- ple of patient endurance and resignation in adversity, accompanied with invincible cou- rage. Indeed, Milton had been brought up in no school of passive submission ; and it is easy to see to what events of his time he alludes in the following spirited lines : Oh! 140 LETTER X. Oh ! how comely it is, and how reviving To the spirits of just men long oppress'd, When God into the hands of their deliverer Puts invincible might, To quell the mighty of the earth, th' oppressor. The brute and boisterous force of violent men, Hardy and industrious to support Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue The righteous, and all such as honour truth ! His main purpose in this piece was to inculcate inviolable attachment to country and true religion. It has indeed been said that one of his objects in it was to write a satire against bad wives; and it must be confessed that, in the person of Dalila, he has not spared them. He has also, still more directly than in Paradise Lost, main- tained the divine right of " despotic power" inherent in husbands; for it is not to be concealed, that Milton, whom you have seen almost deifying the female sex in his Comus, was in reality, both by principle and practice, a most lordly assertor of the superiority of his own. Though I would wish you to be impressed with an almost boundless MILTON. MI boundless admiration of the genius of this great man, and with high veneration of his piety and morals, yet I cannot desire you to regard him, in conformity with the re- presentation of a late panegyrical biogra- pher, as one of the most amiable of man- kind. Adieu I LETTER [ 142 ] LETTER XI. The age in which Milton wrote his prin- cipal poem, my dear Mary, was, on various accounts-, unfavourable to its reception. He had not only the misfortune of lying under the discountenance of the prevailing party on a political account, but the literary taste of the time was become totally ad- verse to that simple sublimity of language and sentiment by which he is characterized. What that taste was, will hereafter be con- sidered. It gave way at length to another school of poetry; while, in the meantime, Milton continued to stand alone, an in- sulated form of unrivalled greatness. His excellencies, however, gradually impressed the public mind, till he obtained that ex- alted place in posthumous fame among the English poets, which the revolution of another century has only served to render more JOHN PHILIPS. 143 more secure and conspicuous. The period of imitators naturally commenced with that of his established reputation ; and, indeed, the reign of blank verse in gene- ral may be dated from the prevalent admi- ration of Milton's poetry. While the Miltonic style is fresh in your memory, it may entertain you to peruse one of those writers who professed to copy it with the greatest assiduity. Take up, then, the volume containing the works of John Philips. The first of his po- ems, entitled " The Splendid Shilling," is a noted piece of burlesque, in which the great poet's diction is happily employed in that grave humour, which consists in cloth- ing a ludicrous subject in lofty terms which have already acquired associations of an op- posite kind. It is unnecessary to point out the passages in which this comic resem- blance is most successfully supported : you will readily discover them, and will enjoy the harmless mirth this trifle was intended to excite. I shall 1M LETTER XI.. I shall not urge you to read a second de- scription of the battle of Blenheim, after that in Addison's " Campaign." Poetry employed upon such topics can be expect- ed to interest only while the events are re- cent, unless they possess extraordinary me- rit, which is by no means the case with this of Philips. But his poem of " Cyder," which still maintains a respectable place among compositions of its class, may be recommended to your notice. You have already had examples of the poems called didactic in Gay's "Trivia," and Pope's "Essay on Criticism:" but the first of these is rather comic and burlesque than seriously instructive ; and the second is more employed in cultivating the taste, than in laying down rules for critical prac- tice. The poems strictly referable to this department are those in which verse is gravely and methodically applied to the teaching of some art or science; and of these, many instances both antient and mo- dern are to be met with. Of the former, one DIDACTIC POETRY. 145 one of the most celebrated is the " Geor- gics," or Art of Husbandry, of Virgil, which is said to have been a task enjoined upon that poet for political purposes by the prime minister of Augustus. Mecaenas could scarcely be ignorant that real practi- cal instruction in agriculture would be bet- ter conveyed in plain prose: but it was probably his design to foster a taste for that useful art in the Roman nobility, by allying its precepts with the charms of poetry ; and in that view he could not have chosen his writer more happily. Some other didactic poems may have had a si- milar purpose of alluring readers to an useful pursuit, by first presenting it to the mind under an agreeable form ; but tor the most part, no other motive in com- posing works of this kind need be looked for, than that of gratifying the perpetual thirst for novelty, which, when more eli- gible topics are exhausted, directs the choice to the most unpromising, provided they are yet untouched. That the rules of a L practical 146 LETTER XI. practical art are in fact little adapted to shine in verse, is sufficiently obvious, and it is no wonder that some of these didac- tic attempts sink into mere prose. Others, however, have been rendered entertaining and poetical, by the writer's judgment in two points; first, in choosing a subject con- nected with grand or beautiful objects in nature; secondly, in the skilful use of digressions. Of both these excellencies the Georgics above mentioned afford an example, which has been admired and imitated by many later poets. The art of making cyder is a branch of rural occupation not unpleasing in its gene- ral aspect, and associated with much agree- able imagery. It is the English vintage ; the product of a kind of culture perhaps not less grateful to the senses in all its ac- companiments than that of the grape. Po- mona is no mean rival to Bacchus, and a Herefordshire landscape may vie with the scenery of Burgundian hills or Andalusian plains. Philips, however, does not paint nature ARMSTRONG. 147 nature like one deeply enamoured of her charms. His principal art is shown in his digressions, which are well-varied and skil- fully managed. The manner in which, after an excursion, he slides back to his orchard and cyder-press, has been much admired : in this, indeed, Virgil was his pattern. I do not, upon the whole, pre- sent Philips to you as a great poet ; but his " Cyder" will serve as a good specimen of the plan and conduct of a didactic poem, and will afford you some pleasing imagery. His imitation of Milton's style consists rather in copying some of his singularities of diction, and irregularities of versifica- tion, than in emulating his spirit and dig- nity. The " Art of Preserving Health," by Dr. Armstrong, is, in my opinion, a poem of a much superior rank. Its sub- ject will, perhaps, at first view, seem to you too professional, and you may feel as little inclination to study physic in verse as in prose. But the author is in this work more 148 LETTER XI. more of a poet than of a physician, and you may be assured that his purpose was not to lay open to the uninitiated the mysteries of his art. In the view he takes of his sub- ject, it is connected with the grand sy- stem of the animal economy, both corpo- real and mental. The heads under which he arranges his matter will give you an idea of the variety of entertainment you may expect: they are, Air, Diet, Exercise, and the Passions. Of these, three at least are manifestly fertile of poetical imagery, and sufficiently detached from technical discussions. Armstrong was well qualified to make use of his advantages: he conceived strongly, and expressed himself with vi- gour. Sometimes, indeed, his strength is allied to coarseness, and more delicacy in avoiding objects of disgust would have been desirable : yet the mixture of this kind is not considerable ; and upon the whole, he has presented a succession of images which agreeably affect the imagination. Some passages are eminently poetical, and will bear ARMSTRONG. J49 bear a comparison with similar ones in our most admired writers. One of these is his description of the "Reign of the Naiads/ 5 introductory to his praise of water-drink- ing; I hear the din Of waters thund'ring o'er the ruin'd cliffs. What solemn twilight ! What stupendous shades Enwrap these infant floods ! Thro' every nerve A sacred horror thrills, a pleasing fear Glides o'er my frame: &c. Moral sentiment is occasionally inter- mixed with good effect, as it is neither ob- trusive nor tedious. Thus, the precepts of temperance happily introduce an ex- hortation to beneficence in imparting the stores of superfluous wealth.: Form'd of such clay as yours, The sick, the needy, shiver at your gates. Even modest want may bless your hand unseen, Tho' hush'd in patient wretchedness at home. The last of these lines is, to my percep- tions, one of the most exquisitely pathe- tic that I have ever met with. The 150 LETTER XI. The fourth book is, from its subject, al- most entirely moral, and contains many valuable lessons for the conduct of life. The author moralizes, however, like a poet, and addresses the imagination as forcibly as the reason. His Picture of Anger is touched with the hand of a master : For pale and trembling, Anger rushes in, With falt'ring speech, and eyes that wildly stare, Fierce as the tiger, madder than the seas, Desperate, and rous'd with more than human strength- The diction of this poet is natural and unaffected, approaching to common lan- guage, yet warm and picturesque. Per- haps no blank verse can be found more free from the stiffness and constraint which so commonly characterize it. The versifi- cation bears a similar stamp of ease. With- out much art in. varying its cadences, it has the spontaneous melody w 7 hich liows from an exercised ear, and is never harsh or defective. I shall now put into your hands a spe- cimen of didactic poetry burthened with a topic DYER. 151 a topic little favourable to the muse; in order that you may discern how far a poe- tic genius is able to free itself from such an incumbrance, and where it is forced to sink under it. This is " The Fleece" of Dyer, a poet of no mean fame, and who united the art of painting to that of verse. He gives the design of his work in these words : The care of sheep, the labours of the loom, . And arts of trade, I sing. The first of these heads is in some mea- sure associated with poetry by its connec- tion with pastoral life ; but the practice of a mechanic art, and the details of traffic, seem totally irreconcileable to the diame- ter of a species of writing which produces its effects by imagery familiar to the gene- rality of readers, or, at least, easily con- ceived by them. A view of human hap- piness is, indeed, always capable of afford- ing pleasure; but the condition of mankind in a commercial state is too remote from nature IDZ LETTER XI. nature and simplicity to produce those situations which poetry delights to repre- sent. An artisan silting at his work may be a very useful member of society ; but he makes an insipid figure in description, com- pared to the shepherd piping to his flock, or the huntsman ranging the forest. The spirit of Dyer's " Fleece" is truly didactic, and he has given it all the regu- larity which would have been expected in a prose work on the same subject. In his first book he is a breeder of sheep ; in his second, a wool-stapler; in his third, a weaver; and in his fourth, a merchant. In all of these capacities his object seems to be serious instruction, and he leaves no part of the topic untouched. He teaches, however, like a poet, and neglects no op- portunity of uniting entertainment with precept. He judiciously dwells most upon those parts which afford matter for senti- ment or poetical description ; and frequent- ly digresses into collateral paths which lead to scenes of beauty, and even of grandeur. He DYER. J 53 lie has also the merit of much local and appropriate imagery , which I have reason to notice with gratitude, on account of the flowers which I have borrowed from his work for the decoration of my " Eng- land Delineated." Every where he shows himself a man of benevolent and virtuous principles, and a good patriot. You will be warmed with the praises of Britain in his first book; "Hail, noble Albion, &c. ;" and you will admire the dexterity with which he has turned to its advantage that humi- dity of its climate, which has been so often made a topic of splenetic reproach : round whose stem cerulean brows White-winged snow, and cloud, and pearly rain, Frequent attend with solemn majesty: Rich queen of Mists and Vapours ! these thy sons With their cool arms compress, and twist their nerve* For deeds of excellence and high renown. This passage, contrasted with Arm- strong's bitter philippic against the climate for the very same reason, curiously exem- plifies the different ways in which a cir- rum stance 154? LETTER XI. cumstance may be considered by minds differently disposed. The work before us possesses great va- riety, but I will not affirm that it is calcu- lated to please all tastes. To many I ap- prehend it must appear essentially unpoe- tical in its subject; and the perpetual refe- rence to purposes of trade and commerce will, to some nice perceptions, give a taint of vulgarity to his highest-wrought descriptions. I shall leave you to take as much or as little of it as your inclination may prompt; and I shall not desire your further attention to a class of compositions which, after every effort, must remain the least inviting of the products of the pon- tic art. Before we dismiss this writer, let us take notice of the two other poems by his hand, which maintain a respectable place in the descriptive class. His u Grongar Hill" is perhaps the mdsf pleasing piece in the langnage, of those which aim at local description. No at- tempt. DYER. 155 tempt, for the most part, is less successful, than that of imparting by words, distinct ideas of particular scenes in nature. The great features of wood, water, rock, moun- tain, and plain, may be brought before the imagination ; but it groups and figures them according to models already impressed on the memory, and the picture it forms with these materials has a very faint resemblance of the reality. Dyer has judiciously at- tempted no more than to sketch such a prospect as may be conceived to be in view from almost any elevated summit in a pic- turesque country ; and he has chiefly dwelt on circumstances of generality ; such as those on ascending a steep and lofty hill, in the following lines : Still the prospect wider spreads, Adds a thousand woods and meads, Still it widens, widens still, And sinks the newly risen hill. Now I gain the mountain's brow, What a prospect lies below ! &.C. It is not necessary to have climbed Gron- gar 156 LETTER XI. gar hill, to feel the descriptive beauty of such a passage, or of most of the subse- quent imagery, which consists of objects common to all similar situations. In like manner, his moral reflections on the ruined castle which forms a distinguished object in the scene, are universally applicable ; as well as those on the course of the rivers, and of the optical delusions produced by distance. The facility with which the reader enters into the ideas, sensible and intellectual, of this piece, has, doubtless, been a principal cause of its popularity ; to which, its familiar style and measure, and its moderate length, have further con- tributed. The autiior has taken a loftier flight in his blank verse poem of " The Ruins of Rome," which is likewise a combination of the moral and the descriptive. Few themes, indeed, can be imagined more fertile of strik- ing imagery and impressive sentiment, than that of the decline of such a mighty seat of empire, still displaying in its relics the lineaments DYER. 157 lineaments of its former grandeur. Dyer formed his draught on the spot, and ex- pressed with the pen what he had first copied with the pencil : hence his perform- ance abounds with touches of reality, which give it a spirit not to be found in pictures drawn from fancy or recollection. For, objects of so singular a kind as the ruins of antient art and magnificence must be seen to be adequately represented ; and no one, from his general stock of ideas, can figure to himself what bears the peculiar stamp of individuality. One might be cer- tain that such a description as the follow- ing was taken upon the spot : I raise The toilsome step up the proud Palatin, Thro' spiry cypress groves, and tow' ring pines Waving aloft o'er the big ruin's brows, On numerous arches rear'd ; and, frequent stopp'd. The sunk ground startles me with dreadful chasm, Breathing forth darkness from the vast profound Of ailes and halls within the mountain's womb. The historical allusions, and moral and political reflections, are accommodated to the 158 LETTER XI. the scenery, but are sufficiently obvious. One of the most striking passages of this kind is that in which the poet indulges a strain of pensive meditation on The solitary, silent, solemn scene, Where Caesars, heroes, peasants, hermits lie. It appears to me that this performance lias not enjoyed its due share of reputation. The subject is peculiarly happy, and its execution must surely be allowed to display no common measure of poetical genius. Adieu ! Yours, &c. LETTER AKENS1DE. 159 LETTER XII. otill keeping in the walk of blank verse ; I now, my clear Mary, offer to your peru- sal a poem, in which the art is employed in unfolding its own nature and origin. The " Pleasures of the Imagination" by Dr. Akenside is a piece of the philoso- phical or metaphysical kind, the purpose of which is to investigate the source of those delights which the mind derives from the contemplation of the objects presented to the senses by nature, and also from those imitations of them which are produced by the arts of poetry and painting. You have already had examples of the manner in which moral and theological argumentation ally themselves w ith poetry ; and perhaps the effect has been to convince you that reasoning and system-building are not the proper occupations of verse. If this be admitted 160 LETTER XII. admitted as a general truth, an exception may be pleaded for reasonings of which poetry itself is the object ; especially if the positions advanced are made good rather by illustration, than by logical demonstra- tion. The work before us affords a proof of the justness of such an exception; for a more splendid poem, more replete with rich and lofty imagery, will not easily be found within the range of English compo- sition. It is true, a previous habit of spe- culation, and an acquaintance with the common theories of the human mind, are requisite for entering into it with a thorough relish, nor can it be fully comprehended without a close and attentive perusal. It it is not calculated, therefore, to become a favourite with cursory readers, who will always prefer the easy gratification afford- ed by narrative and descriptive poetry. I recommend it to you, however, as an in- structive exercise, which, in the first in- stance, will usefully employ the intellec- tual faculties, and will furnish your memory 7 with AKENSIDE. 161 with a store of exquisite passages, formed to dwell upon the mind after they have been well fixed by a clear view of the whole plan of which they are a part. It will be an useful preparation to read those papers of Addison, in the Spectator, on the Plea- sures of the Imagination, which have served for the groundwork of this poem, and which are very elegant and beautiful prose compositions. Akenside's own account of his design, and the heads of his books, should also be attentively perused. I do not fear the imputation of partiality in further recommending to you Mrs. Bar- bauld's critical essay on this poem, pre- fixed to an ornamented edition of it pub- lished by Cadell and Davies. You cannot meet with a guide of more acknowledged taste and intelligence. The versification of Akenside is perhaps the most perfect specimen of blank verse that the language affords. If it lias not the compass of melody sometimes attained by Milton, it is free from his inequalities. m Not J 62 LETTER XII. Not a line is harsh or defective, and the pauses are continually varied with the skill of a master. His diction is equally the re- sult of cultivation. It is rich, warm, and elegant ; highly adorned when the subject favours ornament ; chastely dignified at other times; but never coarse or negligent. It might, perhaps, be accused of stiffness, were his topics more allied to common life : but a philosophical disquisition may demand a language remote from vulgar use ; and his particular school of philoso- phy was accustomed to a stately phraseo- logy. His sentiments are all of the ele- vated and generous kind ; his morality is pure and liberal ; his theology simple and sublime. He was the perpetual foe of ty- ranny and superstition, and stands promi- nent in the rank of the friends of light and liberty. Another considerable performance of this author, also in blank verse, is his u Hymn to the Naiads." The character of one of the most classical poems in the English AKENSIDE. 163 English language will perhaps but dubi- ously recommend it to } r our favour. In fact, it sounds the very depths of Grecian mythology; and a mere English reader may well be startled at the mystical solem- nity with which his " song begins. " First of things Were Love and Chaos. Love, the sire of Fate, Elder than Chaos. If, however, you will venture upon read- ing a piece with the chance of but half un- derstanding it, you may derive some fine ideas from this Hymn, which is a product of poetry as well as of erudition. The " Inscriptions" which follow are written upon the same classical model of lofty simplicity. They possess imagery and sentiment, but are too stiff and studied to interest the feelings. I shall reserve the " Odes" of Akenside for a future occa- sion. It would be strange if among the writers in blank verse an early place were not al- lotted 164 LETTER XII. lotted to the well-known name of Thom* son. The " Seasons" of that amiable writer yields, perhaps, to no other English poem in popular iry ; and, being of the de- scriptive kind, would properly have been one of the first offered to your notice, had not a precedence been given to the compo- sitions in rhymed verse. It is the most considerable of all the poems which have description for their direct object ; for al- though the moral and religious lessons to be deduced from a survey of nature were probably before the author's mind when he fixed upon his plan, yet they are rather the improvements of his subject then an essen- tial part of it. The successive changes in the face of external nature, as modified by the changes of the year, are the proper ar- gument of his work. Each of the four Seasons, indeed, is a separate piece, having its distinct opening and termination ; and nothing appears to connect them into a general design but the concluding Hymn. They really, however, form a whole; for they THOMSON. 165 they compose the natural history of the year ; a period marked out by astronomical laws for a complete circle of those inci- dents and appearances which depend upon the influence of the sun upon our earth. In all the temperate climates this revolution also has a similitude to that round of being which is comprehended in the life of man. The year may be said to commence its birth with the revival of nature from the torpidity of winter. The season of Spring, therefore, is its infancy and youth, in which it puts forth the buds and blossoms of fu- ture increase. The Summer is its man- hood, during which its fruits are successive- ly proceeding to maturation. The Autumn completes its maturity, collects its stores, abates its ardour, and at length delivers it to the chill decline and final extinction of Winter. In this parallel consists that per- sonification of the year which gives unity to its poetical history. The seasons ar- range themselves into natural order, like the acts of a well-constructed drama, and the 166 LETTER XII. the catastrophe is brought about by an in- evitable cause. But although Thomson found the gene- ral outline of his work ready drawn to his hand, yet to fill it up adequately required both a copious stock of ideas, and judg- ment for selecting and disposing them. It also demanded in an eminent degree that warmth and force of painting which might give an air of novelty to objects for the most part familiar to his readers. Further, as a series of mere descriptions, however varied, could scarcely fail to tire in a long work, it was requisite to animate them by a proper infusion of sentiment. Man was to be made a capital figure in the land- scape, and manners were to enliven and dignify the rural scene. Nor would the character of this writer suffer him to forget the Great Cause of all the wonders he de- scribed. In his mind religion mingled it- self with poetic rapture, and led him from the glories of creation to the greatness of the Creator. All the changes of the year are THOMSON, 167 are regarded by him but as cc the varied God ;" and this conception affords another point of union to the miscellaneous matter of the poem. It is an advantage of the laxity of Thom- son's plan, that it lays him under no obli- gation to enter into details of an unpoetical nature. Of natural pha3nomena or human occupations he is only bound to take such as sufficiently mark the revolving seasons ; and of these there is an ample choice capa* ble of being rendered striking and agree- able in description. He is not, like the poet of the Georgics, obliged to manure and till the soil before he paints the harvest waving' in the wind ; or, like Dyer, after the cheer- ful sheep-shearing scene, compelled to fol- low the wool into the comber's greasy shop. Art and nature lie before him, to copy such parts of their processes as are best fitted to adorn his verse. The proper scene of the Seasons is the poet's native island, and the chief fund of description is afforded by British views and manners. 168 LETTER XII. manners. Yet he has not thought it ne- cessary to confine himself to these limits when any kindred subject suggested itself, capable of adding grandeur or beauty to his draughts. Thus he has exalted the splendour of his Summer by a picture of the climate and productions of the torrid zone ; and has enhanced the horrors of his Winter by prospects taken from the polar regions. He has also introduced many views of nature of a general kind, relative to the great system of the world, and de- rived from the sciences of astronomy and natural philosophy. These strictly apper- tain to his subject, as presenting the causes of those changes in the appearances of things which he undertakes to describe. The magnitude and sublimity of these con- ceptions elevate his poem above the ordi- nary level of rural description; whilst at the same time he has judiciously avoided any parade of abstruse speculation which might prove repulsive to the generality of his readers. So extensive is the range which THOMSON. 169 which his subject fairly permits him to take, that there is little in his work which can properly be called digression. The most deserving of this title are his des- cants upon civil polity, and bis sketches of characters drawn from history, which have but a remote and forced connection with his peculiar topics. Thomson was one of the first of our poets who ventured upon minute and cir- cumstantial description. He viewed na- ture with his own eyes for the purpose of copying her; and was equally attentive to the beauty and curiosity of her smaller works, as to her scenes of awful grandeur and sublimity. His mind, however, seems most in unison with the latter, and he succeeds in his pictures, in proportion to their magnitude. His language also is best suited to themes of dignity : it is expres- sive and energetic, abounding in compound epithets and glowing metaphors, but in- clining to turgidity, and too stifFand stately for familiar topics. He wants the requisite ease 170 LETTER XII. ease for narrative ; and his stories, though interesting from the benevolence and ten- derness of the sentiments, are told with- out grace or vivacity. He has only once attempted a scene of humour, and has en- tirely failed. In the art of versification he does not excel. His lines are monoto- nous, and afford few examples of pleasing melody. They are such blank verse as is composed with little effort, and indulges the indolence of the writer. But whatever may be the defects of this poem, it is one that can never cease to give delight as long as nature is loved and stu- died, and as long as liberal and dignified sentiments find sympathetic breasts. No poetical performance may more confidently be recommended to the juvenile reader, whose fondness for it is one of the most unequivocal marks of a pure and well-dis- posed mind. Make it the companion of your walks ; lay it beside you on the gar- den-seat; and doubt not that its perusal will always improve your sensibility to the charms THOMSON. 171 charms of nature, and exalt your ideas of its great Creator. You will have discovered from the Sea- sons that Thomson was an ardent friend of civil liberty, and he lived at a time when writers of such a spirit met with distin- guished patrons. Thus doubly inspired, he devoted a large share of his exertions to the cause of freedom, and particularly com- posed a long work under the title of " Li- berty." As it is my present purpose to direct you solely in your poetical reading, I have no business to enjoin you a political task; and this piece of Thomson's is, in fact, little more than history in blank verse. Its sentiments are generous and soundly constitutional, and some of its pictures are well drawn; but it has more of the rhetorician than of the poet, and its gene- ral effect ts tediousness. His " Britannia" is a smaller work written for the purpose of rousing the nation to war — you will pro- bably pass it by. Nor can I much re- commend to you his " Poem on the Death of 172 LETTER XII. of sir Isaac Newton," the sublime concep- tions of which are only to be comprehend- ed by one familiar with the philosophy of that great man, and to such an one would appear to no advantage. This may suffice for the blank verse compositions of Thom- son : we shall hereafter meet with him upon other ground. But I have given you enough to occupy your attention for some time; so, for the present, farewell! LETTER 30MERVILLE. 173 LETTER XIII. Somerville's poem of "The Chace" is another production in blank verse which , I think, will repay your perusal. The sub- ject, indeed, cannot be supposed highly interesting to a young lady, whose occu- pations and amusements have been properly feminine : but you may feel a curiosity to be informed what those delights are, which prove so captivating to our rougher sex ; and may receive pleasure from the new views of nature opened by the scenes here represented. Although this work assumes the didactic form, and the poet speaks of his " instructive song," yet I regard it as almost purely descriptive ; for it cannot be supposed that our sportsmen would deign to learn their art from a versifier, and the ordinary reader of poetry has no occasion for instruction on these points. I observe, however, 174 LETTER XIII. however, that a prose " Essay on Hunt- ing," written by an able practitioner, makes large quotations from Somerville ; which I consider as a valuable testimony to his ac- curacy in description. You will probably pass lightly over the directions concerning the discipline of the kennel, and dwell chiefly upon the pictures of the different kinds of chace. These are wrought with a spirit which indicates them to be copied from reality, and by one who felt all the enthusiastic ardour which these pastimes are calculated to inspire. If you compare them with the corresponding draughts in Thomson's Seasons, you will perceive the difference between a cold re- flecting spectator, and an impassioned actor. Perhaps, however, you will be most en- tertained with the scene he has drawn from the description of travellers only, assisted by his imagination ; I mean his splendid view of a chace conducted with all the pa- rade of oriental magnificence, and of which the objects are some of the noblest of qua- drupeds. SOMERVILLE. 175 drupeds. He has wrought this with much poetical skill, and it forms a striking va- riety in the piece. Indeed, there would be danger of his throwing his English pic- tures quite into the shade, did not the mi- nute and animated touches of the latter compensate for their want of grandeur. In his stag hunt he has decorated the canvas with the ladies of the court, who at that time were accustomed to partake in this diversion ; and though Thomson has repre- sented the exercise of the chace as incon- sistent with feminine softness, yet it would be a fastidious delicacy not to admire Their garments loosely waving in the wind, And all the flush of beauty in their cheek. The rapture with which this poet has re- peatedly described the music of the chace will probably give you a longing to hear such heart-cheering melody ; but much of its effect is owing to association, and would be lost upon one who did not follow it over hedge and ditch. I question, however, whether 176 LETTER XIII. whether the most elaborate strains of mo- dern music could produce an effect so ani- mating as that represented in the following lines : winged zephyrs waft the floating joy Thro' all the regions near: afflictive birch No more the school-boy dreads : his prison broke, Scamp'ring he flies, nor heeds his master's call: The weary traveller forgets his road, And climbs th' adjacent hill-, the ploughman leaves Th' unfinish'd farrow ; nor his bleating flocks Are now the shepherd's joy: men, boys and girls Desert th' unpeopled village; and wild crowds Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet phrensy seiz'd. These are feats worthy of Orpheus him- self, and are related with a spirit congenial to the subject. The diction of Somerville is well suited to the topics which he treats. It is lively and natural, and free from the stiffness usually accompanying blank verse- His versification possesses the correctness and variety which denote a practised ear. There remains among the blank verse poems a very celebrated work, of a kind totally different from those which we have hitherto YOUNG. 177 hitherto considered, the " Night Thoughts " of Dr. Young. The originality and high reputation of this performance undoubt- edly entitle it to the notice of all stu- dents of English poetry : yet I feel some hesitation in speaking of it to you in re- commendatory terms. Against any bad effect it might have upon your literary taste, I think you are sufficiently fortified by the number of excellent productions which have been submitted to your peru- sal ; but I cannot be so secure with respect to its influence upon your sentiments in more important points. " What ! (it will be said) can you doubt to put into the hands of a female pupil the admired work of the pious and seraphic Young ?" A short view of the spirit in which he wrote it, and the system upon which it is formed, wiil explain my doubts. The writer was a man of warm feeling, ambitious both of fame and advancement. lie set out in life upon an eager pursuit of what is chiefly valued by men of the world ; n attached 178 LETTER XIII. attached himself to patrons, some of them such as moral delicacy would have shunned, and was not sparing in adulation. His re- wards, however, were much inferior to his expectations ; he lived, as he himself says, " to be so long remembered, that he was forgot," and he was obliged to bury his chagrin in a country parsonage. He also met with domestic losses of the most affect- ing kind, and he possessed little vigour of mind to bear up against misfortune. In this state he sat down to write his " Com- plaint," (for that is the other title of the Night Thoughts,) at a time when he was haunted with the " ghosts of his departed joys," and every past pleasure "pained him to the heart." His first object, therefore, is to dress the world in the colours of that u night" through which he surveyed it ; — to paint it as a scene Where's nought substantial but our misery; Where joy (it joy) but heightens our distress. In his progress he endeavours to pluck up YOUNG. 179 up by the roots every comfort proceeding from worldly hopes or human philosophy, and to humble the soul to the dust by a sense of its own vileness, and the inanity of every thing terrestrial. This prepares the way for the administration of the grand and sole remedy for the evils of life — the hope of immortality as presented in the Christian revelation. His view of this scheme is of the most awful kind. He conceives a wrathful and avenging God, on the point of dooming all his offending, that is, all his rational, creatures to eter- nal destruction, but diverted from his pur- pose by the ransom paid in the suffer- ings and death of his Son. I do not take upon me to pronounce concerning the soundness of his theology; but so deep is the gloom it spreads over his whole poem, that, in effect, it overpowers the light of his consolation. There is a kind of captious austerity in all his reasonings concerning the things of this world, that charges with guilt and folly every attempt to 180 LETTER XIII. to be happy in it. Every circumstance is dwelt upon that can image life as vain