Lecture VIII IX, X, XI. — Of the Beauty of Thought in Poetry; or of Elegance and Sublimity
In our former Dissertation we treated of the Style of Poetry: From Words we pass on to Things, and propose to speak of the Beauty of Thought; to shew wherein the Elegance and Sublimity of it consists; the Reason and Foundation of it; and to enumerate its different Species.
Every one must be sensible, as well as myself, what a difficult Subject I engage in. If therefore I sometimes err, in so abstruse a Path, I trust I have a prevailing Plea for your Pardon.
In the preceding Dissertation we have abundantly shewn, that the Diction of Poetry is very different from that of Prose; but between the Thought of the one and the other (excepting only Fiction) the Difference is not so great. What, therefore, I shall say upon this Head, will, for the most part, be in common both to the Poet and the Orator; for the Beauty of Thought is generally the same, whether it is express’d in Verse or Prose. But because Poetry is our Province, I judged it proper to produce the Examples that illustrate my Subject, from the Writings of the best Poets.
Writers have taken much Pains to give us a complete Definition of Thought; and some have openly declar’d, that it is not capable of a Definition. Among these, our Countryman Cowley bears the first Place, who directly asserts, that Wit (for that is the Word we often use for those Expressions that are the Effect of it) can only be defin’d in negative Terms. But (with the Leave of the Learned) this Word, and the Idea affix’d to it, is as capable of a positive and adequate a Definition, as many others which we define the most logically, and boast of having the clearest Notion of. Wit, then, in the largest Sense of the Word, seems to be nothing else, but a Thought formed so agreeably to Nature and right Reason, and impressed upon the Mind with such Clearness, Vivacity, and Dignity, as excites Pleasure or Admiration.
Wit we take, as we said, in its largest Extent. For it is not here understood in that vulgar and narrow Sense by which it denotes only Jokes and pointed Turns; but contains every Conception of the Mind that is beautiful; whatever Elegance or Sublimity the Imagination is capable of.
A Thought formed agreeably to Nature and right Reason, is, in this Definition, the Genus; what follows contains the Difference. By the former Part of the Definition we understand a Thought that is founded upon solid and just Principles, which is twofold, either a Thought simply consider’d, or a beautiful Thought. Every ingenious Thought, then, is well founded, but every Thought that is well founded, is not an ingenious one.
It was necessary to make this the Genus of the Definition, that true Wit might be distinguish’d from false. Thoughts of real Beauty are always form’d upon Truth, Nature, and right Reason. If they are not built upon this Foundation, or flow from a less noble Spring, they are to be rank’d among those false Brillants, as they are term’d by our modern, and especially the French, Writers, which may serve to please Boys, and some others of as little Judgment, but will always be despis’d by Men of Taste, and of Understanding, who adhere to the infallible Maxim laid down by Horace:
Sound Judgment is the Ground of writing well.
Roscom.
Thoughts are the Images of Things, as Words are of Thoughts; and we all know that Images and Pictures are only so far true, as they are true Representations of Men and Things. Those Passages in Virgil, Terræque, urbesque recedunt, and the like, where Things are represented not as they are, but as they seem to be, are no Objection to what I advance. For Poets, as well as Painters, think it their Business to take the Likeness of Things from their Appearance. When they do this, their Thoughts are just, according to the strictest Rules of Reason; for in Description or Painting that is truly express’d, which is express’d as the Thing appears to be. Neither Metaphors, Hyperboles, Ironies, nor even equivocal Expressions, when properly used, nor Fiction or Fable, are any Deviation from this Rule of right Thinking: For there is a wide Difference between Falseness and Fiction, between that which is truly false, (if I may so speak) and that which is only so in Appearance. Tropes and Fictions are raised, as it were, upon the Foundation of right Reason. Truth is the Basis of them, and receives new Lustre from such airy Disguises. All this will be sufficiently plain in the Sequel of this Dissertation, and from the Examples to be produced in it. But, in the first Place, it may not be improper to give one or two Instances of false Wit; that so we may settle the Difference between what is true, and counterfeit.
We frequently meet with Passages that want even common Sense, and yet have somewhat of a ridiculous Brightness in them. A certain Poet gives us a miserable Description of the Fate of Pyramus and Thisbe, and tells us, that the Sword, when died with the Blood of the unhappy Lover, blush’d, from a Consciousness of its Crime. No,139 rather let the unhappy Writer blush, from a deep Sense of that Elegance which Boys would be asham’d to own. Another of the same Form, I know not his Name, tells us, that Lovers always abound with Wit, because Venus sprung from the salt Ocean. It would be endless to mention all the Turns of this sort, which take their Rise from the feign’d Names or Adjuncts of the Heathen Deities.
Modern Writers, all over Europe, are many of them wonderfully fond of these sort of Trifles, especially in their Epigrams and Love-Verses. And some cannot refrain from them even in their larger Compositions. Several of our Top Poets of the former Age, (for in the present these kind of Witticisms are in less Request) abound much with these shining Spots: Nor are the Ancients, (I instance in Ovid) wholly free from them. I can’t help here observing, what an inexhaustible Fund of Conceits our modern Poets are supplied with from the Eyes of the Fair Sex; which, as they are the fruitful Parents of various Mischiefs, so are they, likewise, it seems, of spurious Wit.
There is another Species of Thought which does not, like the former, deviate from Truth and right Reason, yet is a Violation of the Laws of Beauty and Accuracy, and is an Instance of false Wit, tho’ not of false Conception. In the Troas of Seneca, Hecuba lamenting that the Body of Priamus should lie unburied, thus expresses her Grief:
—Ille, tot regum parens,
Caret sepulchro Priamus, & flamma indiget,
Ardente Troja.——140
Priam, the Father of a Race of Kings,
Now wants a Grave, nor finds a Fun’ral Fire,
While his own City burns.
How poor a Thought, upon so great and sublime a Subject? How childish a Reflection, that while Troy was all in Flames, the Body of Priamus should want Funeral ones? How much better does Virgil describe the very same Circumstance?
141 Hæc finis Priami fatorum, hic exitus illum
Sorte tulit; Trojam incensam & prolapsa videntem
Pergama; tot quondam populis, terrisque, superbum
Regnatorem Asiæ: jacet ingens littore truncus,
Avulsumque humeris caput, & sine nomine corpus.
Such was the End of Priam’s Fate; the last
Concluding Scene which Destiny decreed
To Asia’s Lord; once o’er so many Realms
And Nations, sov’reign Monarch; having seen
His Troy in Flames, and tumbling to the Ground:
Upon the Shore the Royal Body lies
Expos’d; the Head from off the Shoulders torn;
A Trunk dishonour’d, and without a Name.
Here every Thing is great, full of Majesty, and suitable to the Subject. The Poet knew better than to sport with Conceits upon so solemn an Occasion; tho’ Ovid is perpetually hunting after them: But this is never Virgil’s Fault; and ought to have been as studiously avoided by Seneca: For Tragedy is of as sublime a Nature as Epic.
That celebrated Passage of Lucan, at first Appearance, I confess, sounds great:
142 —Cœlo tegitur, qui non habet urnam.
The Heav’ns entomb the Man that wants an Urn.
The Assertion is true, but the Wit is false. It is applied to the Soldiers that died in the Field, and lay unburied: And tho’ we should grant that the Heavens and the Stars were Materials of greater Value than Brass and Marble; yet they are a kind of Monument, that, like Death itself, is common to all; and, in spite of this Stoical Maxim of the Poet, all Mankind must think it more honourable to be laid at Rest in a Grave, than expos’d to Birds and Beasts, who at last may boast of the same Canopy of the Sky, that these unburied Heroes enjoy’d.
Sometimes it happens, that there is a Mixture of true Thought and false; or the Conception is partly one, partly the other. Thus in that noted Epigram by a Modern:
143 Lumine Acon dextro, capta est Leonilla sinistro;
Et potis est forma vincere uterque Deos.
Blande Puer, lumen quod habes concede sorori;
Sic Tu cæcus Amor, sic erit Illa Venus.
Strephon and Phyllis each one Eye have lost,
Yet may of Beauty more than Mortal boast.
Let his bright Orb to her the Boy resign,
He would a Cupid, she a Venus shine.
The Epigram seems elegant, and is really so; but the different Parts of it are not perfectly reconcileable. For if Strephon and Phyllis exceeded the Gods in Beauty, what great Wonder is it, he should become Cupid, she Venus? Besides, ’tis absurd to suppose that he should be either willing, or able to transfer his Eye to his Sister. There is, however, in these Lines a true epigrammatic Spirit; and nothing can have more of it than the last of them. For as in Reasoning a true Conclusion may be drawn from false Premises; so in Writing an elegant Thought may flow from false Wit. I would not have it objected, that I here draw a Comparison between Things that are no way allied; for all Beauty, not only in the argumentative Way of Writing, but even in polite Literature, depends upon the Rules of Logic, and strict Reasoning.
The Passages I have here produced are a few Instances of false Eloquence. Wit, therefore, differs from a plain solid Thought, as a polish’d Diamond from a rough one; and as that does not cease to be a Diamond by being polish’d, so a Thought loses nothing of its Solidity by its Elegance. We all know, that a Diamond is not less distinguish’d from other Stones by its Solidity, than its Lustre: The Difference, therefore, between true and false Wit, is much the same as between the Gems of the East, and those of our British Rocks.
Some Verses I have known (but not by what Means) that owe all their Success to popular Applause, and ill-grounded Fame, instead of Merit. No one can be a Stranger to the celebrated Epigram of Sanazarius upon the City of Venice; and who shall now dare to question its Title to Fame, after so long a Prescription?
Viderat Adriacis Venetam Neptunus in undis
Stare Urbem, & toti ponere jura mari.
Nunc mihi Tarpeias quantumvis, Jupiter, arces
Objice; & illa tui mœnia Martis, ait:
Si pelago Tyberim præfers, Urbem aspice utramque;
Illam homines dices, hanc posuisse Deos.
In th’Adriatic Gulf, when Neptune saw
Venice arise, and give to Seas the Law;
Now, Jove, said he, Tarpeian Tow’rs oppose,
And the proud Walls of Mars compare with those.
The Tyber to the Sea prefer! and then
One own the Work of Gods, and one of Men.
I submit with humble Deference to the Judgment of the Learned; but, if I may freely speak my Sentiments, I have often wonder’d at the good Fortune of Sanazarius, who, by six empty Verses, got not only so great a Name, but (which is more substantial) so great a Sum of Money. The Verses, indeed, are smooth and harmonious; they have the outward Appearance of an Epigram, and contain a poetical Fiction of Jupiter and Neptune: But take away these (and these, without somewhat else, signify little) what else, in the Name of Elegance, does the Poet tell us, but that Venice is preferable to Rome? In naked and simple Terms he says, that the former looks more like the Work of the Gods, than the latter. Where is the Acumen, the Wit, or the Turn? The Shell, indeed, of an Epigram, we see; but not so much as the Shadow of Wit.
The first, and principal Species of Wit, is, undoubtedly, that which does not depend on poetical Fiction, but upon Truth itself. What the French Poet144 says upon this Head, in the Preface to his Works, is very just; and I think I cannot do better than give you his Sentiments in an English Dress. “Now, if any Man asks me, says he, what this Agreeableness and this Salt is? I answer, That it is a Je ne sçay quoy, that may be better conceiv’d than describ’d. But yet, in my Opinion, it principally consists in offering nothing to the Reader but true Thoughts, and just Expressions. The Mind of Man is naturally full of an infinite Number of confus’d Ideas of Truth, which he often-times perceives but by Halves; and nothing pleases him more, than when any of these Ideas are presented to him well illustrated, and set in a good Light. What is a new brillant, extraordinary Thought? It is not, as the Ignorant persuade themselves, a Thought which no Body ever had, nor ought to have. But, on the contrary, a Thought which every Body ought to have had, and which some one bethinks himself of expressing first. Wit is not Wit, but as it says something every Body thought of, and that in a lively, delicate, and new Manner. Let us consider, for Example, the famous Reply of Lewis XII. to some of his Ministers, who advised him to punish several Persons that in the former Reign (when he was only Duke of Orleans) had made it their Business to prejudice him, A King of France, says he, revenges not the Injuries done to a Duke of Orleans. How comes this Saying to strike us so suddenly? Is it not plainly, because it presents to our Eyes a Truth which all the World is sensible of, and which expresses better than all the finest Discourses of Morality, That a great Prince, after his Accession to the Throne, ought no longer to act by private Movements, nor to have any other View but the Glory and general Good of his Kingdom?” Thus far that celebrated Author, who seems very happily to have illustrated the Subject we are upon.
We have many elegant Thoughts, likewise, founded upon Truth, with a Mixture of poetical Fiction; as in that Epigram of Martial address’d to Lucifer, the Night before Cæsar’s Return to Rome: After the first Invocation,
145 Phosphore, redde diem; quid gaudia nostra moraris?
Cæsare venturo, Phosphore, redde diem.
Thou bright Forerunner of the golden Day,
When Cæsar comes, what clogs thy rosy Way?
At some Distance he adds:
Quid cupidum Titana tenes? jam Xanthus & Æthon
Fræna volunt; vigilat Memnonis alma Parens.
Why hold’st thou Phœbus, lab’ring to be freed?}
His fiery Coursers arm themselves for Speed,}
And fair Aurora quits her dewy Bed.}
He then subjoins:
Tarda tamen nitidæ non cedunt sidera luci;
Et cupit Ausonium Luna videre Ducem.
But scarce the lagging Stars desert the Skies,
And pensive Cynthia for the Triumph sighs.
’Tis an undoubted Truth, that Time seems long to those that are big with Expectation. The Poet, therefore, having, for this Reason, chid the Tardiness of the Moon and Stars, nothing could be more elegant, than from this very Circumstance to take a further Occasion of complimenting the Prince, by finding out another Reason of their Delay; viz. that those bright Attendants (for the Poet suppos’d them endow’d with Sense) stay’d the longer, that they might be the happy Spectators of Cæsar’s triumphal Entry. He then gives a new Turn to his Reflections, and thus concludes the Epigram:
Jam, Cæsar, vel nocte veni; stent astra licebit,
Non deerit populo, Te veniente, dies.
Yet let not Cæsar wait the rising Morn,
Or damp our Blessings till the Day’s Return:
His Light shall cheer us with as bright a Ray,
And without Phœbus usher in the Day.
This is ingenious enough, but a little of the boldest. The Prince of Lyric Poets is more modest upon the same Occasion:
146 Lucem redde tuæ, Dux bone, patriæ;
Instar veris enim, vultus ubi tuus
Affulsit populo, gratior it dies,
Et soles melius nitent.
Ah! quickly come, and with you bring
A brighter Sun, a brighter Spring:
Plenty and Mirth with you appear,
The World looks gay, when you are here.
Olds.
He does not say the Approach of Cæsar would restore the Day, but only increase it; that is, would add to its Gaiety and Lustre: And true it is, that Men whose Breasts are fill’d with Joy, think every Thing about them partakes of that Quality.
There are other Thoughts, which tho’ founded more upon poetical Fiction than the former, yet come into the Number of true and elegant ones. Thus our foremention’d Martial, in his Epitaph upon Canace, after having beautifully describ’d the Disease of which the Lady died, in the following Verses:
147——Horrida vultum
Inficit, & tenero sedit in ore lues;
Ipsaque crudeles ederunt oscula morbi,
Nec data sunt nigris tota labella rogis.
A horrid Cancer seiz’d her beauteous Face,
Prey’d o’er her Charms, and rifled ev’ry Grace;
Nor spar’d those Lips that ravish’d with a Kiss,
The inexhausted Treasuries of Bliss!
Thus goes on:
Si tam præcipiti fuerant ventura volatu,
Debuerant alia fata venire via:
Sed Mors vocis iter properavit claudere blandæ,
Ne posset duras flectere lingua Deas.
Determin’d Fate, with his unerring Dart,
Might, without mangling, have attack’d the Heart;
But knowing well her Voice would Life prolong,
He seiz’d the Pow’rs of her enchanting Tongue.
These Kinds of Fictions, tho’ very numerous, are no ways repugnant to Reason, and have not only a Claim to our Pardon, but to our Praise and Imitation.
Ninth Lecture.
In these, and the like Instances, the great Care is, to have Truth for the Foundation of what we afterwards advance. As we see it is in the Example produced from Martial. We are allow’d in strictest Reason to describe others Merit, or our own Grief, in Terms a little heighten’d: If the Lady, then, whose Death the Poet laments, had, in reality, a soft and melting Voice, he might justly say it was persuasive enough to have restrained the Hand of Fate, could it but have found an Utterance: But Death, fearful of its Power, had seiz’d that Passage, and cut off the Force of Eloquence. Thus far a Poet may be allow’d to proceed; but, in good Truth, very little farther. He treads here, as it were, upon a Precipice; and this Expression of Martial, is, perhaps, the utmost Bound of poetic Truth; the next may carry him into the Ocean of false Thought. However, this is certain, that all these ingenious Devices must be built upon something that has an Existence in Nature, and that it is absurd to make Fiction the Basis, and the Superstructure too; as they do, more especially, who from the Heathen Mythology supply us with Fable in great abundance. The antiquated Stories of the Heathen Gods ought to afford Matter only for Comparison and Allusion, and even then ought to be brought in with Caution, and to be mention’d only as Beings once suppos’d to have an Existence. In short, even the lightest Excursions of Wit ought to be founded upon Reality; and those empty Trifles are justly contemn’d, which are neither Panegyric nor Satire, neither illustrate nor explain any Thing, but the wonderful Acuteness of the Writer. Tho’ a beautiful Composition of Thought and Words is the greatest Master-piece of Nature, yet ’tis possible for an Oration, or Poem, to be too full of them, tho’ never so much diversified. Whatever Subject, therefore, you endeavour to adorn, let not your Poem be loaded with Wit. Jewels have always been in Esteem, and ever will be so; yet to see a Garment disfigur’d all over with different Sorts of them, would be matter of Ridicule, rather than Admiration; and the most elegant Epicure would be but little pleas’d with an Entertainment that consisted of nothing else but Dainties. The same Rule is not less applicable to Poetry, than Prose; the Reason of it holds equally in both. Poetry, indeed, admits of greater Ornament, but right Reason always abhors Luxury, whether in Prose or Verse. The too great Plenty of whatever is exquisite, does not gratify, so much as satiate both the Senses and the Understanding; and what in itself is valuable, by Super-abundance becomes ridiculous. By this faulty kind of Writing the Mind is depriv’d of that Refreshment and Recreation it takes in passing to and fro from Things that are excellent, to those that are less so; and of that Delight which springs from Surprize; neither of which it is capable of, where all Things appear with undistinguish’d Lustre. ’Tis a foolish Ambition, therefore, to work up all the beautiful Thought and Diction you can possibly croud together. We ought always, indeed, to avoid in both whatever is mean or vulgar, and, as Longinus148 says, is below the Dignity of the Subject; to be always, I say, above the Populace, tho’ sometimes plain, and without Ornament. It is impossible for a Writer, from the Nature of his Subject, to be upon the Sublime from one End to the other: Some Things must occur, that require the common Style, but if they did not, the Rule ought still to be observ’d, for the Reasons I have before alledg’d. Let Authors take Example from Nature, who diversifies the great Poem of the World with Spring and Summer. In each Season, ’tis true, all Things appear pleasant; but how much less would they be so, nay, how distasteful, if the Fields were cover’d with nothing else but Flowers? Vivid and smiling they are throughout, but not all over beset with Nosegays. Flowers grow in their proper and peculiar Soil; so the Ornaments of a Poem should seem naturally to arise out of the Matter of it, not forced by Labour, but promoted only by proper Culture. We ought, indeed, to imitate Art, and it is no mean Specimen of it, when we intermix these Beauties so skilfully, that they mutually correspond, and set off each other; in the same Manner that the Florist disposes his party-colour’d Beds, and the Nymph her odorous Garlands.
149 ——Candida Nais
Pallentes violas, & summa papavera carpens,
Narcissum, & florem jungit beneolentis anethi.
Tum casia, atque aliis intexens suavibus herbis,
Mollia luteola pingit vaccinia caltha.
For thee the lovely Nais crops the Head
Of Poppies, and the Violet’s pale Flow’rs,
With the Narcissus, and sweet Anise join’d;
Then mingling Cinnamon, and other Herbs
Of fragrant Scent, with the soft Hyacinth,
The saffron Bloom of Marygolds adorns.
Afterwards,
150 Et vos, ô lauri, carpam, & te, proxima myrte;
Sic positæ quoniam suaves miscetis odores.
You, too, ye Laurels; and thee, Myrtle, next;
Because thus mix’d, you fragrant Odours blend.
Beauty in Writing may be consider’d as twofold: Either the Elegant, or Sublime. The latter is manifestly distinct from the former; for there may be Elegance often, where there is no Sublimity; but it may be question’d, on the other Hand, whether every Thing sublime is not elegant. To me, indeed, it seems not so; or, if we must determine otherwise, it must be said, that Elegance join’d with Sublimity is often a different Species of Elegance. Whatever, indeed, is sublime, is beautiful. So Pallas is describ’d by the Poets, but with a Beauty peculiar to herself, awful, majestic, surrounded with an amiable Grandeur, quite different from the Charms of Venus, who is possess’d with all the soft Attractives, who is all over elegant, but very little sublime. But however this Question be determined, in the Sequel of this Discourse I shall examine into the Properties of each of these Beauties distinctly, and afterwards join’d together.
That noble and happy Sublimity of Thought, which by Longinus is termed,151 το περι ταϛ νοησειστσ ἁδρεπηβολον, is impossible to be learn’d by Precept: ’Tis the Gift of Nature only, tho’ it may be much assisted by Art. This peculiar Turn of Mind Virgil thus at once describes, and remarkably exemplifies:
152 Me vero primum dulces ante omnia Musæ,
Quarum sacra fero, ingenti perculsus amore,
Accipiant, cœlique vias & sidera monstrent, &c.
Sin has ne possim naturæ accedere partes,
Frigidus obstiterit circum præcordia sanguis;
Rura mihi, & rigui placeant in vallibus amnes,
Flumina amem, silvasque inglorius.
Me may the Muses, whose vow’d Priest I am,
Smit With strong Passion for their sacred Song,
Dear above all to me, accept; and teach
The heav’nly Roads, the Motions of the Stars, &c.
But if the colder Blood
About my Heart forbid me to approach
So near to Nature, may the rural Fields,
And Streams obscure, which glide along the Vales,
Delight me; Groves and Rivers may I love.
He shews us he is abundantly endow’d with that Strength of Imagination he pretends to want, and at the same Time gives us a Specimen of it.
The same must be said of that Fire and Energy in Poetry, which Longinus calls153 το σφοδρον, και ενθουσιαστικον παθοϛ, viz. that it is owing to the Indulgence of Nature, and to be regulated only, not acquir’d by Precept. All we can do, is to produce some Examples of it, and make a few Observations upon them. The first shall be that of Virgil, in the sixth Æneis, where the Poet displays the sacred Rage of the Sibyl, and his own:
154 Ventum erat ad limen; cum virgo, poscere fata
Tempus, ait: Deus, ecce! Deus. Cui talia fanti
Ante fores subito non vultus, non color unus,
Non comptæ mansere comæ; sed pectus anhelum,
Et rabie fera corda tument; majorque videri,
Nec mortale sonans; afflata est numine quando
Jam propiore Dei. Cessas in vota, precesque,
Tros, ait, Ænea? Cessas?
And now they reach’d
The Portal: When the Virgin, ’Tis the Time
Now t’ enquire the Doom of Fate; Behold,
The God, the God, she cry’d. While thus she spoke,
Before the Doors her Looks, her Colour chang’d,
Sudden; her Hair in wild Confusion rose.
Enthusiastic Fury heav’d her Breast,
And throbbing Heart; more large her Form appear’d;
Nor spoke the mortal Accents; when inspir’d
By the more present God. Dost thou delay,
Trojan Æneas, thy Requests, and Vows?
Dost thou delay? she cry’d.
And after Æneas had ended his Supplication to her:
155 At Phœbi nondum patiens immanis in antro
Bacchatur Vates, magnum si pectore possit
Excussisse Deum; tanto magis ille fatigat
Os rabidum, fera corda domans, fingitque premendo.
But impatient in her Grot
Apollo’s swelling Priestess wildly raves;
Reluctant, lab’ring from her Breast to heave
Th’ incumbent God: So much the more he curbs
Her foamy Mouth, subdues her madding Heart,
And pressing forms her.
And lastly, at the End of the Sibyl’s Answer:
156 Talibus ex adyto dictis Cumæa Sibylla
Horrendas canit ambages, antroque remugit,
Obscuris vera involvens: ea fræna furenti
Concutit, & stimulos sub pectore vertit Apollo.
Thus the Cumæan Sibyl, from her Shrine,
Sings mystic Verse; and bellows in her Cave,
Involving Truth in Darkness: As she foams,
Apollo shakes the Reins, and goads her Breast.
This is one Species of poetic Pathos, or Enthusiasm; viz. which consists in the Marvellous, and raises Admiration, by impressing upon the Mind something great, unusual, and portentous, and is styled by the Greeks ὁρμη, by the Latins Impetus, or furor poeticus. There are other Kinds of it, which excite Grief, Pity, Terror, and work upon the other Passions. If the Spirit of the Poet is most admir’d in the former, the Reader’s is at least as much affected by the latter. And since it is the great Art of Poetry to work upon the Passions, it may not be improper to dwell a little upon this Branch of it. How sweet is that Complaint of Phyllis to Demophoon, in Ovid? How wonderfully adapted to move Compassion?
157 Credidimus blandis, quorum tibi copia, verbis;
Credidimus generi, nominibusque tuis;
Credidimus lacrimis: an & hæ simulare docentur?
Hæ quoque habent artes; quaque jubentur, eunt.
Diis quoque credidimus, quo jam tot pignora nobis?
Parte satis potui qualibet inde capi.
On thy soft Speeches I with Rapture hung,
The boundless Treasures of thy melting Tongue.
Thy Name I credited, thy Birth, thy Line:
Art thou by Falsehood Man, by Birth divine?
Thy Tears resistless! do they flow by Art,
Th’obedient Tides of Nature, and the Heart!
These have their Frauds, and find the subtle Path,
As you direct, to steal a Lover’s Faith.
The Gods, too, I believ’d, by whom you swore;
Each Motive was too much, what needed more?
No one was a greater Master of this Secret than Ovid; none understood Nature more than he, or express’d her various Conflicts better: And he has left us abundance of Instances of it in his Epistles and Metamorphoses. To pass over others, I shall produce only that Passage where he describes the Passion of Medea for Jason:
158 Concipit interea validos Æetias ignes:
Et luctata diu, postquam ratione furorem
Vincere non potuit; Frustra, Medea, repugnas,
Nescio quis deus obstat, ait; mirumque, nisi hoc est,
Aut aliquod certe simile huic, quod amare vocatur.
Nam cur jussa patris nimium mihi dura videntur?
Sunt quoque dura nimis: cur, quem modo denique vidi,
Ne pereat timeo? Quæ tanti causa timoris?
Execute virgineo conceptas pectore flammas,
Si potes, infelix; si possem, sanior essem.
Sed trahit invitam nova vis; aliudque cupido,
Mens aliud suadet; video meliora, proboque,
Deteriora sequor.
Mean while, Medea, seiz’d with fierce Desire,
By Reason strives to quench the raging Fire;
But strives in vain: Some God, she said, withstands,
And Reason’s baffled Counsel countermands.
What unseen Pow’r does this Disorder move?
’Tis Love—at least ’tis like what Men call Love.
Else wherefore should the King’s Commands appear
To me too hard? But so, indeed, they are.
Why should I for a Stranger fear, lest he}
Should perish, whom I did but lately see;}
His Death, or Safety, what are they to me?}
Wretch from thy Virgin Breast this Flame expel,
And soon—Oh! cou’d I, all wou’d then be well!
But Love, resistless Love, my Soul invades;
Discretion this, Affection that persuades.
I see the right, and I approve it, too;
Condemn the wrong—and yet the wrong pursue.
Tate and Stonestreet.
After this, the Poet wonderfully describes the dubious Strife between Love and Shame, Reason and Affection, as he does in many other Places. I know, very well, that Objections have been rais’d against this very Passage I have cited, and that Ovid is compar’d with Apollonius Rhodius and Virgil, even upon these Topics, much to his Disadvantage. I can’t deny but that when he does best, he often falls short of that Sublimity in which he was naturally deficient; that when he shines most, he generally abounds with an unhappy Luxuriancy of Thought, disagreeable Repetitions, unseasonable and absurd Conceits; that his Style is loose and incorrect: However, let him have his due Praise, let him be allow’d to draw the Out-lines of Nature truly, tho’ he does not keep accurately to every Feature of her.
But if you want Perfection upon this Head, consult Virgil, who, as he excels in all other Kinds of Writing, so, especially, in describing and moving the Passions, in the fourth Æneis especially; which may with Justice be styled an Epic Tragedy. And since no Age, Nation, or Language, has yet produced a Work that lays open so wonderfully the various Tumults of the Soul; I shall perform, perhaps, no disagreeable Office, if I lay before you an Epitome of this Part of it, so far as relates to the Passions.
In the Beginning, the unfortunate Queen, in Conversation with her Sister, thus discovers the Effects of Love:
159 Anna soror, quæ me suspensam insomnia terrent?
Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus hospes?
Quam sese ore ferens! quam forti pectore, & armis!
What Dreams, my dearest Anna, discompose
My Rest? What wond’rous Stranger at our Court
It here arriv’d! how God-like he appears!
In Mien how graceful! and how brave in Arms!
And a few Lines after:
160 Anna (fatebor enim) miseri post fata Sichæi
Conjugis, & sparsos fraterna cæde penates;
Solus hic inflexit sensus, animumque labantem
Impulit; agnosco veteris vestigia flammæ.
My Sister, (for to thee I will disclose
My inmost Thoughts) since poor Sichæus fell,
And with his Blood, spilt by a Brother’s Hand,
Sprinkled our Household Gods; this only Man
Has warp’d my Inclinations, and unfix’d
My stagg’ring Resolution: I perceive
The Signs and Tokens of my former Flame.
Now Shame, on the other Hand, exerts its Power, and claims to be heard, in Opposition to Love:
161 Sed mihi vel tellus, optem, prius ima dehiscat,
Vel Pater omnipotens adigat me fulmine ad umbras,
Pallentes umbras Erebi, noctemque profundam;
Ante, Pudor, quam te violem, aut tua jura resolvam:
But may the yawning Earth devour me quick,
Or Jove with Thunder strike me to the Shades,
Pale Shades of Erebus, and Night profound;
E’er, Modesty, I break thro’ thy Restraints,
Or violate thy Laws.
She then complains of Æneas’s concealing his Departure; she expostulates with him of the Injury he intended her; and full, at the same Time, of Fear and Grief, she thus endeavours to work upon his Compassion:
162 Dissimulare etiam sperasti, perfide, tantum
Posse nefas? tacitusque mea decedere terra?
Nec te noster amor, nec te data dextera quondam,
Nec moritura tenet crudeli funere Dido? &c.
And could’st thou hope, Perfidious, to conceal
So black a Crime? and silent leave my Coasts?
Cannot my Love, nor thy once plighted Faith,
Nor Dido’s cruel, and untimely Death,
Detain thee?
But as soon as she hears Æneas openly declare his firm Resolution, from Tears and Intreaties she bursts out into Passion, Rage, and Phrenzy:
163 Talia dicentem jamdudum aversa tuetur,
Huc illuc volvens oculos, totumque pererrat
Luminibus tacitis, & sic accensa profatur.
Nec tibi Diva parens, generis nec Dardanus auctor,
Perfide; sed duris genuit te cautibus horrens
Caucasus, Hyrcanæque admorunt ubera tigres.
Thus, while he spoke, she silently intent,
Ey’d him averse, and roll’d her glaring Balls
Around; from Head to Foot survey’d him o’er,
Speechless a while; and thus her Rage reply’d:
Nor art thou of a Goddess-mother born;
Nor is thy Birth from Dardanus deriv’d,
Perfidious Wretch: But Caucasus, with Rocks
Horrid disclos’d thee from its flinty Sides,
And fierce Hyrcanian Tygers gave thee Suck.
Throughout the whole Speech (every Line of which is beautiful beyond all Comparison) she exclaims, interrogates, calls Gods and Men to witness, loads her Lover with Threats and Curses; in short, the Tempest of her Soul runs so high, as if it never more would know a Calm. What, then, says Dido, when she appears next?
164 Improbe Amor, quid non mortalia pectora cogis?
Ire iterum in lacrimas, iterum tentare precando,
Cogitur, & supplex animos submittere amori.
Cruel Love,
To what Extremes does not thy tyrant Pow’r
Urge mortal Breasts? Again dissolv’d in Tears,
Spight of her Rage and Pride, again she tries
Suppliant Intreaties, and submissive bows
Her haughty Soul to Love.
After this, she implores, conjures her Sister to be her Mediator in this momentous Affair, and to convey to Æneas her softest Entreaties; than which, nothing can be more pathetic, and adapted to move Compassion:
165 Hunc ego si potui tantum sperare dolorem,
Et perferre, soror, potero. Miseræ hoc tamen unum
Exequere, Anna, mihi; solam nam perfidus ille
Te colere, arcanos animi tibi credere sensus;
Sola viri molles aditus, & tempora nôras.
I, soror; atque hostem supplex affare superbum.
Could I have e’er expected such a Blow
Of cruel Fate as this; my Soul could then
Have borne it: Yet this only Favour grant
Thy wretched Sister; for that faithless Man
To thee, alone, uncommon Rev’rence paid,
Trusted his Secrets with thee; thou, alone,
Didst know the soft Approaches to his Soul,
And all the proper Seasons of Address:
Go, Sister; and this Message suppliant bear.
In the foregoing Speech she broke out into these Reproaches:
166 Nusquam tuta fides: ejectum littore, egentem,
Excepi, & regni demens in parte locavi;
Amissam classem, socios à morte reduxi.
Heu! furiis incensa feror, &c.
True Faith is no where to be found. Him toss’d
On Shore, of all Things indigent, I here
Receiv’d, and made him Partner of my Throne:
(Fool that I was) repair’d his shatter’d Fleet,
And hospitably sav’d his Friends from Death.
Furies distract me.
But in what different Terms does she expostulate in this?
167 Non ego cum Danais Trojanam exscindere gentem
Aulide juravi, classemve ad Pergama misi;
Nec patris Anchisæ cineres, manesve revelli:
Cur mea dicta negat duras demittere in aures?
I never did conspire
At Aulis with the Greeks, to overturn
The Trojan State, nor sent a Fleet to Troy;
Nor e’er disturb’d his bury’d Father’s Dust.
Why does he stop his unrelenting Ears
To my Intreaties?
Before, she had thus express’d her Rage:
168 —Neque te teneo, neque dicta refello.
I, sequere Italiam ventis; pete regna per undas;
Spero equidem mediis (si quid pia numina possunt)
Supplicia hausurum scopulis, &c.
I nor detain thee, nor refel thy Words.
Away for Latium by the Winds; go, seek
Thy Kingdom o’er the Waves. For me, I hope,
If the just Gods have Pow’r, thou wilt receive
Thy due Reward among the Rocks.
Behold, now, another Strain!
169 Quo ruit? extremum hoc miseræ det munus amanti;
Expectet facilemque fugam, ventosque ferentes.
Non jam conjugium antiquum, quod prodidit, oro;
Nec pulchro ut Latio careat, regnumque relinquat;
Tempus inane peto, requiem, spatiumque furori,
Dum mea me victam doceat fortuna dolere.
Whither does he fly
So hasty? This last Favour let him grant
To his unhappy Lover; let him wait
An easy Voyage, and permitting Winds.
I now no more petition him to yield
The Rites of Nuptials, which he has betray’d;
Nor urge him to relinquish his gay Hopes
Of Italy, and Empire: All I beg,
Is but a soothing Interval, some Rest,
And Respite to my Passion; till my Fate
Shall to Misfortune reconcile my Soul,
Subdu’d by Grief, and teach me how to mourn.
That Man must be as void of Sense, as of Humanity, that does not feel in himself the strongest Emotions of Pity and Admiration, of Grief and Pleasure, when he reads so moving a Complaint; than which, I may venture to pronounce, there is not a greater Master-piece, either in Art or Nature.
I might justly fear lying under the Imputation of Prolixity in citing these Passages, if the Beauty of them did not compensate for their Number. As no one ever touch’d the Passions like Virgil, you’ll forgive the Liberty I have taken in recalling to your Mind so many pleasing Instances of his Power.
What Longinus calls170 φαντασιαι, and others, as he tells us, ειδωλοποιιαι the Roman Writers style Visions, or Imaginations, and the modern Images. These, then, operate, “when (as Longinus171 speaks) a Man has so strong an Imagination of the Things he describes, that he seems to be in Transport, as it were, to behold them with his own Eyes, and places them before those of his Hearers.” What Longinus adds immediately afterwards, in relation to these Images, I must confess I don’t rightly comprehend, or (with all Deference to so great Authority) I cannot assent to. Ὁϛ δ’ ἑτερου τι ἡ ῥητορικη φαντασια βουλεται, και ἑτερον ἡ παρα ποιηταιϛ, ουκ αν λαθοι σε. Ουδ’ ὁτι τηϛ μεν εν ποιησει τελοϛ εστιν εκπληξιϛ, τηϛ δ’ εν λογοιϛ εναργεια Which Tollius thus paraphrastically translates: “You cannot be ignorant, I suppose, that Oratorical Visions intend one Thing, and Poetical another; that the Aim of the latter is to affect the Hearers with Terror; of the former to express every Thing so strongly, that it may be rather seen, than heard by the Audience. The one we may properly call Evidence, or Illustration; the other Consternation, or Amazement.” I own, I say, this is what I cannot well digest; for neither is it true that the Images, which Poetry impresses, affect us with Terror only, for all Sorts of Images are impress’d by Poetry; nor is it the peculiar Property of Oratory to express every Thing so strongly, that it may be rather seen, than heard by the Audience; since Poetry has a much larger Share in this Province than Oratory. The only Difference between them in this Particular is, that all Images are impress’d more strongly by the one; but all are truly impress’d by both. This is a Difficulty in Longinus, which not one of his numerous Commentators has touch’d upon. If, therefore, I am fallen into any Mistake, I hope I shall be the easier pardoned, as I have none of the Helps of the Learned to conduct me out of it. But however that be, all are agreed that the Images excited, both by Oratory and Poetry, strike the Mind with a sudden Force. To prove this, Longinus recites the Speech of Orestes172, where he cries out, that he sees his Mother and the Furies stand before him; which Virgil has wonderfully imitated, in the following Passage:
173 Eumenidum veluti demens videt agmina Pentheus,
Et solem geminum, & duplices se ostendere Thebas:
Aut Agamemnonius, scenis agitatus, Orestes,
Armatam facibus matrem, & serpentibus atris,
Cum fugit, ultricesque sedent in limine Diræ.
So raving Pentheus Troops of Furies sees,
Two Suns, and double Thebes: So mad with Guilt,
Orestes, agitated on the Stage,
Flies from his Mother’s Ghost, with Torches arm’d,
And black infernal Snakes; revengeful Fiends
Sit in the Doors, and intercept his Flight.
As I have occasionally mention’d this remarkable Place, it may not be amiss to observe, that Images are no where better impress’d, than throughout that Description, where Dido is represented under the Conflicts of Love, and dismay’d with Prodigies. I shall only cite one Part of it, and the rather, because it contains a mere intellectual Idea not subject to the Senses, which yet is as clearly impress’d, as if it were the proper Object of them: An infallible Proof of the Skill of the Painter.
174 ——Agit ipse furentem
In somnis ferus Æneas; semperque relinqui
Sola sibi, semper longam incomitata videtur
Ire viam, & Tyrios deserta quærere terra.
In her Dreams
Cruel Æneas persecutes her Soul
To Madness. Still abandon’d to herself,
Cheerless, without a Guide, she seems to go
A long, a tedious Journey, and to seek
Her Tyrian Subjects on deserted Coasts.
To conclude; in a word, every Conception of the Mind, join’d to a beautiful Description, is an Image. I cannot produce a better Proof of this, than that Passage in Homer, where Astyanax shrinks at the Sight of his Father array’d in Armour.
Thus having spoke, th’ illustrious Chief of Troy
Stretch’d his fond Arms to clasp the lovely Boy.
The Babe clung crying to his Nurse’s Breast,
Scar’d at the dazling Helm, and nodding Crest.
Pope.176
To which may be added, the following Description of Virgil, out of innumerable others:
177 ——Viridi fœtam Mavortis in antro
Procubuisse lupam, geminos huic ubera circum
Ludere pendentes pueros, & lambere matrem
Impavidos; illam tereti cervice reflexam
Mulcere alternos, & corpora fingere lingua.
In the mossy Cave of Mars
A female Wolf lay suckling; at her Teats
Two sporting Infants hung, and lick’d their Dam,
Intrepid: She her sleek round Neck reclin’d,
Smooth’d them, by Turns, and form’d them with her Tongue.
And that Night Piece of his, in the seventh Æneis, where we see the Ship under Sail, by Moon-shine:
178 Aspirant auræ in noctem; nec candida cursum
Luna negat; splendet tremulo sub lumine pontus.
Proxima Circææ raduntur littora terræ,
Dives inaccessos ubi Solis filia lucos
Assiduo resonat cantu, tectisque superbis
Urit odoratam nocturna in lumina cedrum,
Arguto tenues percurrens pectine telas.
Hinc exaudiri gemitus, iræque leonum
Vincla recusantum, & sera sub nocte rudentum;
Setigerique sues, atque in præsepibus ursi
Sævire, ac formæ magnorum ululare luporum.
A Breeze at Night
Springs fresh; nor does the silver Moon deny
Her Beams, which tremble on the glimm’ring Waves.
Next, coasting, close by Circe’s Shores they sail;
Where she, the wealthy Daughter of the Sun,
With ceaseless singing makes the Groves resound,
Groves inaccessible; and in the Rooms
Of her proud Palace, for nocturnal Light,
Sweet Cedar burns: While thro’ the slender Web
Her whistling Shuttle flies along the Loom.
Hence Groans are heard; the Noise of Lions, fierce,
Rebellious to their Chains, and roaring loud
In Dead of Night; the Grunt of bristly Boars;
The Rage of Bears, reluctant, in their Stalls;
And huge portentous Forms of howling Wolves.
Tenth Lecture.
It would be entering upon too large a Field, to enquire into all the Variations, and Turns of Thought and Style, which Verse and Prose are capable of: Such as, Interrogations, Exclamations, the different Disposition of Tropes and Figures, the elegant Repetition of Words, the no less elegant Abruptness in Sentences, the Want of Connexion, Apostrophe, Prosopopœia, the Change of Numbers, Persons, Cases, Tenses; and a Multitude of other Incidents, which are reducible to Thought, as well as Style. Since the Variety of these is as infinite, as their Elegance is exquisite, it is impossible to explain them all by Rules, or illustrate them by Example. Longinus has mentioned some few, and our modern Books of Rhetoric are full of them. But the Want of Precept will be abundantly compensated to the Learner, by a good Taste, and a diligent Application to the Study of the best Authors.
Among the many Embellishments of Writing, few are attended with greater Beauty than Antitheta. The Reason is obvious, because Contraries illustrate, and recommend each other by Comparison. Of this the following Passage in Virgil is a remarkable Instance; where we have a beautiful Irony and Antithesis, at the same Time:
179 Egregiam vero laudem, & spolia ampla refertis,
Tuque, puerque tuus, magnum & memorabile nomen;
Una dolo Divûm si fœmina victa duorum est.
Prodigious Trophies you indeed have gain’d,
You, and your Boy; vast Praise, a deathless Name;
If by the Fraud of two celestial Pow’rs
One Woman be subdu’d.
Near a-kin to it, is that Antithesis in Ovid:
180 ——Quæ gloria vestra est;
Si juvenes puerum, si multi fallitis unum?
Will you, my Friends, united Strength employ,
Against one many, Men against a Boy?
When the Thoughts are thus set against each other, they appear with Energy, and strike the Mind with redoubled Force.
Another Elegance in a Writer, is to convey the whole of his Idea to the Reader, by expressing only some Circumstances of it.
181 Dixerat; atque illam media inter talia ferro
Collapsam aspiciunt comites, ensemque cruore
Spumantem, sparsasque manus.
Thus, while she spoke, th’ Attendants saw her fall,
The Sword all frothing, and her Hands besmear’d
With Blood.
Thus Virgil describes Dido killing herself: An inferior Poet, no doubt, would have represented her in the fatal Act, rushing upon the Sword with all her Strength, the Blood gushing out, and that Part of her Body which receiv’d the Wound expos’d to View. But how much better are all these passed over, and suggested to us only by their Adjuncts and Effects? There is another Example, of this kind, in the fourth Georgic, which is truly wonderful:
182 Illa quidem, dum te fugeret per flumina præceps,
Immanem ante pedes hydrum moritura puella
Servantem ripas alta non vidit in herba.
At chorus æqualis Dryadum clamore supremos
Implerunt montes; flerunt Rhodopeiæ arces, &c.
She doom’d to Death, while, heedless, thee she fled,
Along the River’s Side, before her Steps,
In the high Grass saw not the monstrous Snake,
Which, unperceiv’d, lay lurking on the Bank.
But all the beauteous Quire of Woodland Nymphs,
Her Fellows, fill’d with Shrieks the lofty Hills;
The Rhodopeian Mountains wept, &c.
How concise, and ingenious! This Artifice of insinuating only the Sense to the Reader, is so useful in Epigram, that the whole Thought often turns upon it. Thus in that of Martial:
183 Pexatus pulchre, rides mea, Zoile, trita;
Sunt hæc trita quidem, Zoile; sed mea sunt.
My Threadbare Coat is scorn’d by Liv’ry-John:
’Tis true, ’tis Threadbare—but it is my own.
The Turn, you see, is witty, and facetious! But how poor a Joke had it been, if the Poet had only said, however true it was, that the Clothes which Zoilus wore were not his own? But I fear, I transgress the very Rule I am recommending: I shall therefore add no more, than only to remind the Reader, that what I have said under another Head184, might more properly come under this, viz. That the Mind of Man does not love to have too minute a Detail of Particulars; but takes a Pleasure in having Room for Imagination, and in forming a Judgment of what is not express’d, from what is.
And since I have casually mention’d Transitions, I would here observe, that the Elegance of them is equal to their Difficulty: The great Secret consists either in digressing of a sudden to some new Subject, and giving the Reader the Pleasure of a Surprize; and yet continuing on the Thread of the Discourse so artfully, that he may admire a Connection, where, at first, there seem’d to be none: Or in such a gradual Transition from Thought to Thought, of near Affinity with each other, that the Mind may be imperceptibly led to a very different Subject, without being sensible of the intermediate Steps of the Digression. Thus, in the Rainbow, the neighbouring Colours are so like each other, that ’tis hard to say where this ends, or that begins; yet there’s a wide Difference, if we leave out the intermediate Shades, and compare the Rays of the two Extremes. My Meaning, perhaps, will appear clearer from Example. Horace begins his 29th Ode, of the third Book, in the following Manner:
Tyrrhena regum progenies, tibi
Non ante verso lene merum cado,
Cum flore, Mæcenas, rosarum,
Pressa tuis balanus capillis
Jamdudum apud me est, &c.
My noble Lord, of Royal Blood,
That from the Tuscan Monarchs flow’d,
I have a Cask ne’er pierc’d before;
My Garlands wreath’d, my Crowns are made,
My Roses pluck’d to grace thy Head;
As fair and sweet as e’er Præneste bore.
And concludes it thus:
Non est meum, si mugiat Africis
Malus procellis, ad miseras preces
Decurrere, & votis pacisci,
Ne Cypriæ, Tyriæque, merces
Addant avaro divitias mari:
Tunc me biremis præsidio scaphæ
Tutum per Ægæos tumultus
Aura feret, geminusque Pollux.
When spreading Sails rough Tempests tear,
I make no lamentable Pray’r;
I do not bargain with the Gods,
Nor offer costly Sacrifice
To save my precious Tyrian Dyes
From adding Riches to the greedy Floods.
E’en ’midst these Storms I’ll safely ride,
My Bark shall stem the highest Tide,
Tho’ Tempests toss, and th’Ocean raves;
Castor shall gather gentle Gales,
And Pollux fill my spreading Sails,
And bear me safe thro’ the Ægæan Waves.
Creech.
Between the Beginning and Ending, consider’d in themselves, how wide a Difference? And yet, if we examine the Gradation of Thought thro’ the whole Ode, we shall see the most elegant Connection. In the Beginning, the Poet invites his Statesman Friend to Supper: “I have prepared every Thing for your Reception, says he; leave, for a While, the City, the Business and Riches of it; ’tis a Pleasure often to Men of high Station, to partake of the Change of Low Life. Forget Politics for a While, and be not over anxious for the Nation’s Welfare. Providence conceals Futurity from us Mortals: Let us therefore, in Prudence, make the best of the present; all else is carry’d down by the Stream of Time, and what is past returns no more. Fortune is fickle; I am pleas’d, when she smiles; but disregard her Frowns, contented with Poverty and Virtue. Care is the inseparable Attendant of Riches; I compound to want the one, that I may be secure from the other. I have no Business, when Storms roar, to fall into Tears,” &c. Behold a Chain connected, and yet conceal’d with the greatest Art.
Sometimes it is necessary that the Transition should appear open, and design’d; but often otherwise. In the following Passage, we shall see a Specimen of either Sort; I mean, of the formal, and of the sudden Transition. Turnus having, in the eleventh Æneis, had a good many Words with Drances, and in great Passion thrown out these, among the rest,
185 Nunquam animam talem dextra hac (absiste moveri)
Amittes; habitet tecum, & sit pectore in isto.
A Soul like that (dismiss
Thy Terror) by this Hand thou ne’er shalt lose;
There let it dwell, and in that Breast remain.
thus turns his Discourse to the King:
Nunc ad Te, & tua, magne Pater, consulta revertor.
Si nullam nostris ultra spem ponis in armis,
Si tam deserti sumus, ut semel agmine verso
Funditus occidimus, nec habet fortuna regressum;
Oremus pacem, & dextras tendamus inermes.
Quanquam ô! si solitæ quicquam virtutis adesset;
Ille mihi ante alios fortunatusque laborum,
Egregiusque animi, qui, ne quid tale videret,
Procubuit moriens, & humum semel ore momordit.
To you, great Monarch, and to your Debates,
I now return. If you no more repose
Hope in our Arms; if by one Battle lost,
We perish whole, and Fortune knows no Change;
Let us beg Peace, and stretch our Hands unarm’d.
(Yet Oh! did any of our pristine Worth
And Virtue still remain; that Man to me
Would in his glorious Toils most blest appear,
Who, rather than behold a Thing like this,
Fell once for all, and dying bit the Ground.)
Reverence due to Majesty requir’d that Turnus should direct his Discourse from Drances to the King, by some solemn Address. But after dextras tendamus inermes, to Quanquam ô! si solitæ quicquam virtutis adesset, the Transition is sudden, and unexpected. The Mind, by this Means, is transported from one Contrary to another; a sure Indication of the Force of Eloquence, and of its powerful Operation on its Hearers.
In Narrations ’tis no small Art to make a Transition from one Fact to another: Several Instances of this, we have in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the Nature of which Work requir’d them; where the Connection, indeed, is sometimes neat and artful, sometimes hard and forced, not to say ridiculous.
Under this Head we may reckon those Excursions of another kind, in which the Poet, by some sudden Allusion or Comparison, diverts from his Subject to a new Matter, and immediately returns to it again. I shall explain myself better by Example. Juvenal, describing the various Inconveniencies of the City, mentions these, among the rest:
186 ——Rhedarum transitus arcto
Vicorum inflexu, & stantis convicia mandræ,
Eripiunt somnum Druso, vitulisque marinis.
The Drover who his Fellow Drover meets
In narrow Passages of winding Streets;
The Waggoners that curse their standing Teams,
Wou’d wake ev’n drowsy Drusus from his Dreams.
Dryden.
His Intent, as I said, was to recount the Disadvantages of a City Life; and mentioning, among them, the Obstructions in the Streets, from Chairs and Coaches, he takes Occasion, by the bye, to reproach the Sloth and Laziness of Drusus. So again, enumerating the Miseries of Old Age, he adds:
187 ——Circumsilit, agmine facto,
Morborum omne genus; quorum si nomina quæras
Promptius expediam, quot amaverit Hippia mœchos,
Quot Themison ægros Autumno occiderit uno,
Quot Basilus socios, quot circumscripserit Hirrus
Pupillos, &c.
In fine, he wears no Limb about him sound:
With Sores and Sicknesses belleaguer’d round:
Ask me their Names, I sooner cou’d relate
How many Drudges on salt Hippia wait;
What Crouds of Patients the Town Doctor kills,
Or how, last Fall, he rais’d the Weekly Bills;
What Provinces by Basilus were spoil’d,
What Herds of Heirs by Guardians are beguil’d.
Dryden.
These Excursions are chiefly suitable to Satire; and there’s no Branch of it attended with greater Wit and Poignancy.
I have not Room here, to treat of Comparisons in the Manner they deserve; they being so various, that they would require an entire Dissertation. When they are ill drawn, nothing is more ridiculous; when well, nothing more beautiful. No kind of Style is excluded from them, and they are not only an Ornament, but often an Illustration of the Subject. They ought always to appear natural, never forced, or far fetch’d. Avoid, therefore, the Fault of those Writers, who find out what they call Similies first, and afterwards Matter to apply to them. Not that they are guilty of it, whose Comparisons don’t in every Respect coincide with what they were brought to illustrate. Even the most elegant of them agree sometimes with the Description but in one Adjunct. Thus Virgil, in the eighth Æneis:
188 Dixerat; & niveis hinc atque hinc Diva lacertis
Cunctantem amplexu molli fovet: ille repente
Accepit solitam flammam; notusque medullas
Intravit calor, & labefacta per ossa cucurrit.
Haud secus atque olim tonitru cum rupta corusco
Ignea rima micans percurrit lumine nimbos.
She said; and round him threw her snowy Arms,
And warm’d him, wav’ring, with a soft Embrace:
He soon receives the wonted Flame, which flies
Swift thro’ his Marrow, and his melting Bones;
As when in Thunder, lanc’d along the Sky,
A Streak of Fire runs streaming thro’ the Clouds.
Upon a nice Scrutiny, the Parallel between Love and Thunder will hold but very little: And yet no good Judge, I believe, will dispute the Elegance of the above Comparison.
On this Head our Moderns seem to excel the Ancients, and to have found out an Use of Comparisons which they were utter Strangers to. Theirs are merely ornamental; ours often contain the Points of Epigram, the Jibes of Satire, and the Banters of Comedy; an Art which Ovid, Martial, Juvenal, Horace and Terence knew very little of. It will not be allow’d me to produce Instances here; but innumerable I could produce, if a Mixture of different Languages, and especially of our own, would not sound disagreeable in these Latin Dissertations189. ’Tis true, Tragic and Epic Poets ought totally to avoid these witty Allusions; which are below the Severity of their Style, and the Dignity of their Compositions. The Comparisons that serve for Illustration only, come within their Province; such as we meet with very frequently in Homer and Virgil: Tho’ (to say the Truth) even the best Writers among the Ancients seem on this Head to labour under a Poverty of Matter. In the Description of a Battle, for Instance, the Similes of a Lion, a Bull, a Serpent, an Eagle, and other Animals of the fiercer kind, recur too frequently under some small Variations. But in After-Ages the Increase of Arts, and Sciences, and of Religion more particularly, open’d a new Field, which has minister’d abundantly not only to the Emolument of Mankind in general, but in this, and in all other Respects, to the Refinement of Wit.
If I must give my Opinion of those luxurious Comparisons that deviate from the Subject, which Homer, chiefly, among the Ancients, and Milton, among the Moderns, run into; I must confess, they neither deserve Commendation, nor are capable of Defence. But as they have the Sanction of so great Authority, it is not for me to pass Judgment on them, but leave every one to follow his own.
If I remember right, there are few or no Similes in the Tragedies of the ancient Poets. Among the Moderns, no kind of Writing abounds more with them; and it must be own’d, they are often much to be admir’d: But very different are some of these; such, in particular, as are introduced uttered by Persons labouring under the Height of Passion, or in the Agonies of Death; than which, nothing can be more absurd, or unpardonable. As I have casually mention’d this Error in Writing, I would farther observe, your pretty Thoughts, as they are commonly call’d, are neither suitable in a Passion, nor proper to raise one; they only serve in Descriptions to play upon the Imagination, not to put the Affections in Motion. A Breast struggling with Anger, Grief, or Desire, is little sollicitous to express its Anguish in fine wrought Turns of Wit, which will never be able to move the Reader to any Thing else but Madness at the Author’s Folly. The plainer Commotions of the Mind are express’d, the better; here the chief Elegance is to want Ornament, and ’tis the great Master-piece of Art to conceal itself in representing Nature. Some Figures, indeed, are not only allowable in these Cases, but necessary; those, in particular, which impress upon the Mind the various Conflicts of the Soul; for such are the Language of Persons who feel these Tumults, tho’ they were never taught to express them by the Rules of Rhetoric. But Metaphors and Antitheses, and all Decorations of that kind, must be us’d sparingly, excepting only those Metaphors which Orators sometimes call forth to express their Rage, with all the Fire of Eloquence. This I then rather observe, that I might not seem to contradict Longinus; who, speaking of a Multitude of Metaphors, says190, they are then most useful, when the Passions swell like a Torrent. He produces an Instance out of Demosthenes, where the Orator indeed appears in Agitation; but still they are different from those we are now speaking of, and not so much the Effect of Nature, as of Art: And even here the Metaphors are far from being bold, nor much distorted from their literal Sense. ’Tis certain, Longinus did not propose this as a general Rule; nor is it possible to represent those Throws and Labours of the Soul in Oratory, which appear in Tragic and Epic Characters; where Joy, Grief, and Anger, glow more intensely, as well as more naturally. But if the Orator feels the same Emotions, and in the same Degree, it is certain he must abstain from the abundant use of Metaphors.
Eleventh Lecture.
Before I conclude this Dissertation, I would lay before my Audience, as clear an Idea of the different Kinds of Thought which have not yet been touch’d upon, as Words can convey, and so nice a Subject will admit of. The Mordacity of the severe and jocose Satire, has been already describ’d, and some Examples produc’d of each.
There are Thoughts, likewise, of the delicate Kind, whose Excellence does not consist in their Acuteness, but in an artful and agreeable Turn; which don’t strike the Imagination at once with Wonder; but move it gently, with a more even Tenor. In this soft Strain, Phædra begins her Epistle to her dear Hippolytus:
191 Qua, nisi Tu dederis, caritura est ipsa, salutem
Mittit Amazonio Cressa puella viro.
That Health, Hippolytus, from me receive,
Which to the Writer you alone must give.
I could easily have excused Ovid making use of so beautiful a Turn twice, if he had kept it without any Variation. For in his Metamorphoses, Byblis writes to her Brother almost in the same Terms:
192 Quam, nisi Tu dederis, non est habitura, salutem,
Hanc tibi mittit amans.
Thy Lover, gentle Caunus, wishes thee
That Health, which thou, alone, canst give to me.
Steph. Harvey, Esq.
But here, for want of the Word ipsa, the Elegance is quite lost, and the Emphasis spoil’d. In the same Poet, Helen, under a Pretence of dissuading Paris from persevering in his Addresses to her, pays a Compliment to his Beauty, and shews the just Sense she has of her own; and, at the same Time, artfully insinuates, that she has no Aversion to his Love, but rather a secret Passion for him: And expresses all this with wonderful Address, in one Verse:
From my Example learn,
To bear the Want of what has Pow’r to charm.
Nothing can be more ingenious. This single Line so teems with Thought, that it would bear, nay require a long Examination, to discover all its Beauties. At every Word some new Idea arises, which I shall, at present, leave to the Reflection of others, that I may not anticipate so great a Pleasure. Under this Head of delicate Thought, we may reckon that celebrated Compliment with which Horace begins his Epistle to Augustus:
194 Cum tot sustineas, & tanta negotia solus,
Res Italas armis tuteris, moribus ornes,
Legibus emendes; in publica commoda peccem,
Si longo sermone morer tua tempora, Cæsar.
When you alone sustain the weighty Cares
Of all the World, and manage Peace and Wars:
The Roman State by Virtue’s Rules amend,
Adorn with Manners, and with Arms defend;
To write a long Discourse, and waste your Time,
Against the publick Good, wou’d be a Crime.
Creech.
The Address is as genteel as it is ingenious, and it is hard to say whether we should admire in it more the Poet, or the Courtier.
Strong Thoughts are such as strike us neither with Acuteness, their Suddenness, nor their Delicacy; but are full of Sense and Solidity, carry Weight in their Meaning, and sink deep in the Understanding. As in that of Virgil:
195 Disce, Puer, virtutem ex me, verumque laborem,
Fortunam ex aliis.
True Toil and Virtue learn, dear Youth, from me;
Fortune from others.
For it is a great Mistake to think, that Gravity and Severity in Writing is inconsistent with Wit and Ingenuity. There’s Elegance in moral and philosophical Reflections; and nothing can have more of it than those Sentences that are scatter’d up and down in the Narrations, but especially the Speeches, in Virgil. In the eleventh Æneis, the confederate Latin Princes deliberate in Council what Steps to take after their late Defeat; Turnus, in a Speech upon that Occasion, observes, that since they had Forces enough left to continue the War, they were not reduced to the sad Necessity of suing for Peace. The moral Reflection he introduces, will be clearer seen, by considering the Verses before and after it.
196 Sin & Trojanis cum multo gloria venit
Sanguine, sunt illis sua funera, parque per omnes
Tempestas; cur indecores in limine primo
Deficimus? cur ante tubam timor occupat artus?
Multa dies, variusque labor mutabilis ævi,
Rettulit in melius; multos alterna revisens
Lusit, & in solido rursus fortuna locavit.
Non erit auxilio nobis Ætolus, & Arpi?
At Messapus erit, &c.
If Glory to our Foes
Came purchas’d at a vast Expence of Blood:
If they too have their Fun’rals; and thro’ all
The Tempest rag’d with equal Fury; why
Faint we inglorious, in the first Attempt,
And shrink with Fear before the Trumpet’s Sound?
Oft has Vicissitude of changeful Time
By various Turns to better State restor’d
Distress’d Affairs: Many with pleasing Sport
Fortune, alternately revisiting,
Has mock’d, and on a solid Base repos’d.
Will not Ætolian Arpi give us Aid?
Yet will Messapus, &c.
These echoing Turns, much affected by the Moderns, tho’ little us’d by the Ancients, have sometimes their Beauty, sometimes not: I can by no means agree with a certain Writer of ours, who tells us, that there’s only one Example of this Kind in Virgil, and instances in that of Orpheus looking back upon Eurydice:
197 Cum subito incautum dementia cepit amantem,
Ignoscenda quidem, scirent si ignoscere Manes!
When suddenly a Frenzy seiz’d
Th’ unwary Lover; yet a venial Crime
Cou’d aught be venial, when the Manes judge.
He might with more Justice have produced that famous Sentence in the second Æneis:
To vanquish’d Men
The only Safety is to hope for none.
Or those melodious Verses in the eighth Eclogue:
199 Sævus amor docuit natorum sanguine matrem
Commaculare manus: crudelis tu quoque mater;
Crudelis mater magis an puer improbus ille?
Improbus ille puer, crudelis tu quoque mater.
Inhuman Love th’ unnat’ral Mother taught
To dip her Hands in her own Children’s Blood:
Cruel indeed the Mother; was she then
More cruel? or more impious that dire Boy?
You see what a beautiful Effect this Repetition of the Words and Thoughts has; and how much Melancholy it adds to the Complaint. It is obvious from hence to observe, that Virgil could have far excell’d Ovid in these lighter Conceits, if he had not chose to let his Genius soar to much higher Flights. Under this Head we may add the following Passage from Ovid:
200 Si, nisi quæ facie poterit te digna videri,
Nulla futura tua est; nulla futura tua est.
If to no Charms thou wilt thy Heart resign,
But such as merit, such as equal thine;
By none, alas! by none thou canst be mov’d,
Phaon alone by Phaon must be lov’d.
Pope.
The Elegance of these Lines consists in giving a new Sense to the same Words; they reverberate, as it were, the Motions of the Mind, and by that Means affect it with Surprize and Admiration. But there are many who love to be sporting thus with Words, that are even without Meaning, and have no Thought in them to be reflected. They are a sort of nominal Turns, that our Youth are wonderfully studious of, especially in their Prose Writings, and which conduce not a little to the Corruption of their Taste.
There are Thoughts, likewise, of near Affinity with these, that consist in Contraries, and are sometimes beautiful, often ridiculous. Of the beautiful Kind, is that of Martial to Cæsar:
201 Vox diversa sonat, populorum est vox tamen una;
Cum verus patriæ diceris esse Pater.
While you their Country’s Guardian they proclaim,
Their Tongues are diff’rent, but their Voice the same.
Ovid with less Success:
202 Non ego poscenti quod sum cito tradita Regi,
Culpa tua est; quamvis hoc quoque culpa tua est.
In the former Instance, there’s only a seeming Contrariety, which is built upon solid Truth; the latter approaches too near a Contradiction, I fear, indeed, it is one. To many of these elegant Fancies (among the Admirers of which Crowds of our modern Writers are desirous of being number’d) that Sneer of Martial may with much Justice be applied:
203 Pauper videri Cinna vult, & est pauper.
Cinna’s as really poor as he wou’d seem.
They are seeming Contradictions, and (strange as this new Species of Wit is) are in Reality what they seem: Or, if they deserve any better Name, they are an empty Sound of Words, meer Noise, and Nonsense.
Tho’ the greatest Part of modern Wit turns entirely on this playing upon Words, I don’t mean in Conversation only, (where these Trifles are hardly, very hardly tolerable) but even in the severest Writings, yet every Man of common Sense is so convinced of the Absurdity of prostituting it to the Abuse of Words, that I shall dwell no longer upon so disagreeable, so contemptible a Subject. I would only observe, that the Ancients are but little guilty of this Fault: That of Terence204, Inceptio est amentium, haud amantium; and of Cicero, cited by Juvenal,
Fortune fortun’d the happy Day of Rome,
When thou a Consul sole consol’d her Doom.
Dryden.
and some others, tho’ they consist of a Gingle, which I could wish such excellent Writers had wholly abstain’d from, yet they are not equivocal Expressions, nor do they contain a double Sense. Ovid’s
I know not how to find an Excuse for. And it must be own’d, that Plautus often runs into these Puerilities; for which Reason, it is probable, he falls under the Censure of Horace:
207 At proavi nostri Plautinos & numeros &
Laudavere sales; nimium patienter utrumque,
(Ne dicam stulte) mirati.
’Tis true, as I have heard, the former Times
Clapt Plautus’ Jokes, and his uneven Rhimes.
Creech.
And it can’t be denied but Terence, and some of the best Writers, have some little Touches of this Epidemical Distemper. There are few of these Conceits but are merely equivocal, that is, vary as little in the Thought, as in the Expression; a sort of Collision, from whence, ’tis possible, some Sparks of Wit may sometimes, but very rarely, be struck out. Thus much I thought proper to lay before you, in Relation to the Elegance of Thought in Poetry, both true and false.
I have little Occasion to enlarge distinctly upon the Sublime, because many Things relating to it fell in with what I have before advanced. However, as this was one of the Topics I propos’d to treat of, it is necessary I should say somewhat to it, before I conclude this Dissertation. I cannot better explain to you the Nature of the Sublime, and the Manner of its affecting us, than by giving you the Sense of Longinus208 upon it, not in a literal Version, but by representing the Substance of him in a few Words. Whence is it that Writers of this Class, in a divine Impetuosity seem regardless of Accuracy, and scorn to be confin’d within the vulgar Rules of Exactness? The Truth is, Nature has form’d Man of an inquisitive Genius, and plac’d him in the World to behold and admire the Wonders of it; not as an idle Spectator, but as one concern’d in its busiest Scenes, eager for Action, and panting after Glory. To this End, he is strongly actuated by a Love and Desire of every Thing that is great and divine. The vast Expanse of the Universe cannot bound his Imagination; he extends his Thoughts into other Worlds, and is lost only in Infinity.
209 —Vivida vis animi pervincit, & extra
Procedit longe flammantia mœnia mundi.
His vigorous and active Mind is hurl’d
Beyond the seeming Limits of the World.
Creech.
And, in Truth, if we contemplate a Hero, whose Life is one continu’d Series of great Actions, we then may make some Estimate of what we were born to. Hence, then, it is, that Fountains and Rivulets, which answer all the common Conveniencies of Life, never in a great Degree awaken our Attention. But when we view the Rhine, the Nile, the Danube, but, above all, the Ocean, we stand fix’d at once with Awe and Wonder. So again, without any Emotion, we behold the daily Fires, of our own making, how long soever they continue burning: But we gaze with Astonishment at any sudden Light in the Heavens, tho’ it vanishes, perhaps, as soon as it appears. Nor is there any Thing more wonderful in Nature than the Eruptions of Mount Ætna, which sometimes discharges from its Caverns Stones, and Deluges of Fire:
210 —Horrificis juxta tonat Ætna ruinis:
Interdumque atram prorumpit ad æthera nubem,
Turbine fumantem piceo, & candente favilla,
Attollitque globos flammarum, & sidera lambit.
Interdum scopulos, avulsaque viscera montis,
Erigit eructans, liquefactaque saxa sub auras
Cum gemitu glomerat, fundoque exæstuat imo.
But Ætna thunders nigh
In dreadful Ruins. With a Whirlwind’s Force
Sometimes it throws to Heav’n a pitchy Cloud,
Redden’d with Cinders, and involv’d in Smoke;
And tosses Balls of Flame, and licks the Stars.
Sometimes with loud Explosion high it hurls
Vast Rocks, and Entrails from the Mountain torn,
With roaring Noise slings molten Stones in Air,
And boils, and bellows, from its lowest Caves.
Upon the whole, we may draw this Conclusion, that Things of common Use or Necessity, lose all their Wonder, by their Frequency; but whatever is unusual, and beyond the Course of Nature, strikes our Attention, and calls forth our Admiration.
I before observ’d, and therefore need not insist upon it farther here, that the opposite to Sublime is Bombast and Fustian. I observ’d likewise, that the Sublime was not incompatible with the plain Style, tho’ chiefly adapted to the Heroic, and produc’d Examples of both; for what I said in Relation to Style, I told you, in the Beginning of this Dissertation, was sometimes applicable to Thought. I would now add, that ’tis a great Mistake to think that the Sublime is only, or chiefly suited to Joy, Triumphs, and pompous Descriptions; for nothing has more of that Quality than those Ideas that command Pity and Terror. I shall produce one, but a very remarkable Instance of each, taken almost from the same Place. Turnus, when his Forces were defeated, and his own Death approaching, dissuades his Sister Juturna from any farther fruitless Offices of her Love, in this Heroical Complaint:
211 ——Sed quis olympo.
Demissam tantos voluit te ferre labores?
An fratris miseri letum ut crudele videres?
Nam quid ago? aut quæ nunc spondet fortuna salutem?
Vidi oculos ante ipse meos me voce vocantem
Murranum, quo non superat mihi charior alter,
Oppetere ingentem, atque ingenti vulnere victum.
Occidit infelix, ne nostrum dedecus Ufens
Aspiceret: Teucri potiuntur corpore, & armis.
Exscindine domos (id rebus defuit unum)
Perpetiar? dextra nec Drancis dicta refellam?
Terga dabo? & Turnum fugientem hæc terra videbit?
Usque adeone mori miserum est? Vos ô mihi, Manes,
Este boni; quoniam Superis aversa voluntas.
Sancta ad vos anima, atque istius inscia culpæ
Descendam, magnorum haud unquam indignus avorum.
But who sent you down
Dispatch’d from Heav’n, and will’d you to endure
Such Labours? Was it that you might behold
Your most unhappy Brother’s cruel Death?
For now what Measures can I take? What Hope
Of new Success can any Fortune shew?
Before these Eyes myself Murranus saw
(Than whom to me no dearer Name survives)
Calling on me for Help, I saw him fall
Mighty, and with a mighty Wound subdu’d.
There Ufens fell, unfortunate, nor liv’d
To see our Shame: The Trojan Victors keep
The full Possession of his Corps and Arms.
Shall I endure (that only now remains)
The City to be raz’d? Nor with my Sword
Refel the Taunts of Drances? Shall I shew
My Back? And shall this Earth see Turnus fly?
Is Death so terrible? Ye Gods of Hell,
Be kind; since those of Heav’n abhor my Pray’r.
To you a guiltless Ghost I will descend,
Unsully’d with this Stain, nor ever prov’d
Unworthy of my great Forefather’s Fame.
It is impossible not to be wrapt into an Extasy, as it were, of Pity and Wonder, to behold so majestic Sorrow, and such exalted Misery. Nor less sublime is that Terror, with which the Fury possesses the Breast of the same unhappy Hero, when she is sent by Jupiter to carry the fatal Omen:
212 Postquam acies videt Iliacas, atque agmina Turni,
Alitis in parvæ subito collecta figuram,
Quæ quondam in bustis, aut culminibus desertis,
Nocte sedens, serum canit importuna per umbras;
Hanc versa in faciem Turni se Pestis ad ora
Fertque, refertque sonans, clypeumque everberat alis.
Soon as the Trojan Troops, and Turnus’ Bands
She sees; she changes, lessen’d, to the Shape
Of a small Bird, which sitting on the Tops
Of Tombs, and old deserted Tow’rs, by Night,
Shrieks thro’ the Shades, ill-omen’d: Thus transform’d
The Fiend o’er Turnus’ Visage, screaming, flies
This Way, and that; and flaps upon his Shield
With flutt’ring Pinions.
I appeal to every Reader, whether at these Lines his Blood does not run cold within him, whether he does not feel the same dismal Effects that Turnus did:
213 Illi membra novus solvit formidine torpor;
Arrectæque horrore comæ, & vox faucibus hæsit.
Him unusual Fear
Stiff’ning benumbs; uprose his Hair erect,
And to his Mouth his Speech with Horror cleav’d.
When I first engag’d in this new Province, I thought to have treated largely, and in a set Dissertation, on poetic Licence. But I now think that Design superfluous, having spoke so largely of it, when I treated of the Diction and Thought of Poetry, and of the Elegance and Sublimity of each. I then observ’d, that tho’ Poets have a Method of Writing peculiar to themselves, and are allow’d many Liberties in it, from which other Writers are debarr’d; yet that they are indulg’d in nothing but what is built upon the Foundation of Truth, and solid Reason: Agreeably to that of Horace,
214 ——Pictoribus, atque Poetis,
Quidlibet audendi semper fuit æqua potestas.
Scimus, & hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim:
Sed non ut placidis cocant immitia, non ut
Serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus agni.
Painters and Poets have been still allow’d
Their Pencils and their Fancies unconfin’d.
This Privilege we freely give and take:
But Nature, and the common Laws of Sense,
Forbid to reconcile Antipathies,
Or make a Snake engender with a Dove,
And hungry Tygers court the tender Lambs.
Roscom.
Nothing now remains, but to entreat you Gentlemen, that make up my Audience, candidly to accept these mean Attempts of mine upon so difficult a Subject.
Notes
138 Scribendi recte sapere est & principium & fons.
175 Ὁϛ ειπων, ὁυ παιδοϛ ορεξατο Φαιδιμοϛ Ἑκτωρ, κ. λ.
193 Disce, meo exemplo, formosis posse carere.
198 Una salus victis, nullam sperare salutem.
205 O fortunatam, natam, me consule, Romam.
206 Injustaque justa peregit,
And solemniz’d the Death himself had wrought.
Addison.