An Essay on Criticism Part 3

There would be no End of it, if one should go about to enumerate such Instances as these out of _Milton_. His Poem of _Paradise lost_ is so full of them, that almost out of one Book one might collect as many such n.o.ble Pa.s.sages, as out of all the _aeneis_; and I would add the _Ilias_ too, if I understood _Greek_ half so well as the Translator.

Among the many Sketches of the glorious Character of King _William_ in that of _Tamerlane_, Mr. _Row_ has this, which I take to be a very n.o.ble Image:

_No l.u.s.t of Rule, the common Vice of Kings; No furious Zeal inspir'd by hot-brain'd Priests: Ill hid beneath Religions specious Name, E'er drew his temp'rate Courage to the Field.

But to redress an injur'd Peoples Wrongs, To save the weak One from the strong Oppressour Is all his End of War; and when he draws The Sword to punish, like relenting Heav'n, He seems unwilling to deface Mankind._

The Opposition in the following Pa.s.sage, carries with it its own Application:

--------_As oft regardless Of plighted Faith, with most unkingly Baseness Without a War proclaim'd, or Cause pretended, He has t'ane Advantage of their absent Arms To waste with Sword and Fire their fruitful Fields, Like some accursed Fiend, who 'scap'd from h.e.l.l, Poisons the balmy Air thro' which he flies, He blasts the bearded Corn, and loaded Branches, The lab'ring Hind's best Hopes, and marks his Way with Ruin._

Is there not something n.o.ble in what Mr. _Waller_ says to the Duke of _Monmouth_, at his Return from suppressing a Rebellion in _Scotland_:

_But seeing Envy like the Sun does beat, With scorching Rays, on all that's high and great, This, ill requited_ Monmouth, _is the Bough The Muses send to shade thy conqu'ring Brow; Lampoons like Squibs may make a present Blaze, But Time and Thunder pay Respect to Bays._

I hope I may make Use of Part of Mr. _Addison_'s Translation of the _Justum & Tenacem_ of _Horace_. The Translator having done me the Honour to render it in _English_ at my Request:

_The Man resolv'd and steady to his Trust, Inflexible to Ill, and obstinately just; May the rude Rabble's Insolence despise Their senseless Clamours, and tumultuous Cries.

The Tyrant's Fierceness he beguiles.

And the stern Brow, and the harsh Voice defies, And with superiour Greatness smiles._

Again,

_Should the whole Frame of Nature round him break In Ruin and Confusion hurl'd, He unconcern'd would hear the mighty Crack, And stand secure amidst a falling World._

Si fractus illabatur Orbis, Impavidum ferient Ruinae.

Is not this n.o.ble Thought the Original of that which ends the noted _Siloloquy_ of _Cato_:

_The Soul secure in his Resistance smiles At the drawn Dagger, and defies its Point: The Stars shall fade away, the Sun himself Grow dim with Age, and Nature sink in Years?

But thou shalt flourish in immortal Youth, Unhurt amidst the War of Elements, The Wrecks of Matter, and the Crush of Worlds._

The two Verses quoted out of _Horace_:

Si fractus, _&c._

are not so well imitated by the Gentleman that turned _Cato_'s _Siloloquy_ into _Latin_, as to defy a Comparison;

Orbesque fractis ingerentur orbibus Illaesa tu sedebis extra fragmina

But not to be always running back to the Antients, let us have Recourse to the Moderns, particularly _Quillet_, and we shall find something in this Kind of Thinking. _Tons. Callip._ p. 72.

_As far as thou may'st Nature's Depths explore Still inexhaustible, thou find'st the Store; Thee let the Order she observes suffice, What Laws controul our Earth, and what the Skies.

Mark how a thousand starry Orbs on high Around the Void with equal Motion fly; Mark how the huge Machine one Order keeps, And how the Sun th' Etherial Champian sweeps.

Both Earth and Air with genial Heat he warms, Gives ev'ry Grace, and every Beauty forms; Whether around the lazy Globe he rolls.

Or Earth is whirl'd about him on her Poles; G.o.d is the Mover, G.o.d the living Soul, That made, that acts, that animates the Whole.

Hence with thy Atoms, Epicurus; hence: Was all this wond'rous Frame the Sport of Chance!

Of Solids, they, 'tis true, the Matter make, Can Matter from itself its Figure take!

Can the bright Order in the World we see, The blind Effect of wanton Fortune be!

Did jumbling Atoms form the various Kind Of Beings, or did one Almighty Mind?

Guess what you will, you must at last resort To a first Cause, and not to Chance's Sport.

This Cause is G.o.d--------_

I must not omit this _n.o.ble_ Thought of _Milton_'s:

_Then crown'd, again their golden Harps, they took Harps ever tun'd, that glitt'ring by their Side Like Quivers hung, and with Preamble sweet Of charming Symphony, they introduce The sacred Song, and waken Raptures high: No one exempt, no Voice but well cou'd joyn Melodious Part, such Concord is in Heav'n._

Having mention'd so many n.o.ble Thoughts in Verse, I shall conclude this Article, with a very plain but very n.o.ble one in Prose, the Saying of _Leonidas_ to _Xerxes_: _If you had not been too powerful and too happy, you might have been an honest Man._

Tho' it is a very hard Matter to distinguish the _Grand_ from the _n.o.ble_ in the Manner of Thinking, yet we shall endeavour it by the following Examples; and sure nothing can be more _Grand_, than the Saying of _Alexander the Great_, to the Greatest of his Captains _Parmenio_, _Darius_, King of _Persia_, having offer'd the _Macedonian_ Monarch half _Asia_ in Marriage with his Daughter _Statira_. _As for me_, says _Parmenio_, _if I were_ Alexander, _I would accept of these Offers_: _And so would I_, reply'd that Prince, _If I were_ Parmenio.

But why should we be always dealing in _Heroicks_, and running back into Antiquity to borrow Example from the Conquerors of the World. Why may not we propose one in the lowest Life, which will at the same Time prove, that the Excellencies of both Thought and Expression are in Nature, and not in the Rules of Art only. A Sergeant of the Guards, _What a terrible Fall is this, from_ Alexander the Great, _to a Sergeant of the Guards!_ who was in the last Attack upon the Castle of _Namur_ in King _William_'s War, after he had fir'd his Grenades at the Enemy behind the Palisadoes, leapt over them, and had been slaughter'd, had not a _French_ Officer prevented it. The Sergeant being a Prisoner in the Castle was sent for by the Governour Count _Guiscard_, and the Mareschal _de Boufflers_. The Latter demanding how he durst attempt to leap the Palisadoes with the Enemy behind them, when he could hardly have done it had there been none? _Perhaps, Sir, I might not,_ reply'd the brave _English_ Soldier, _but there is nothing too difficult for me to come at my Enemy._ A Saying worthy of _Alexander_ or _Caesar_, of _Marlborough_ or _Eugene_.

I have seen something like these Verses of Mr. _Waller_'s, quoted as in the grand Way of Thinking:

_Great_ Maro _could no greater Tempest feign, When the loud Winds usurping on the Main, For angry_ Juno _labour'd to destroy The hated Relicks of confounded_ Troy.

But the Image, as grand as it is, does not seem to be so n.o.ble as the Instances before-mentioned; there is too much Terrour in it to partic.i.p.ate of that Kind of Thought, which is not confident with what is terrible.

I cannot help thinking there is something _Grand_ in this _Epitaph_:

_Underneath this Marble Hea.r.s.e, Lies the Subject of all Verse;_ Sidney_'s Sister,_ Pembroke_'s Mother, Death 'ere thou hast kill'd another, Fair and learn'd, and good as she, Time shall throw a Dart at thee._

To descend to the lower Kinds, we meet with what Father _Bouhours_ calls _Pensees Jolliees_ pretty Thoughts; and we have of that Kind too in _English_, perhaps to a greater Degree of Excellence, than is to be found in any other Language; especially those Verses in the _Spectator_, which are said there to be Originals, as indeed they are, and inimitable. I question whether a Poet might not as easily imitate _Milton_ or _Butler_. There are ten _Stanza_'s, and they all of a like pretty, and natural Turn with the

IIId STANZA.

_The Fountain that wont to run sweetly along, And dance to soft Murmurs the Pebbles among; Thou know'st little Cupid, if_ Phbe _was there, 'Twere Pleasure to look at, 'twere Musick to hear: But now she is absent I walk by its Side, And still as it murmurs do nothing but chide; Must you be so chearful, while I go in Pain, Peace there with your Bubbling, and hear me complain._

How the _French_ may compare with us, as to this _pretty_ Manner, let us see by a Comparison. _Menage_ says, that this _Triolet_, as he calls it, a Sort of low Poetry where one or two Verses are repeated three Times, was the King of _Triolet_'s, and written by the famous Mons. _Ranchin_:

Le premier Jour de May Fut le plus Heureux de ma Vie, Le beau Design que je formay Le premier Jour de May.

_The first Day of the Month of_ May _Was the Happiest of my Life, Ah the fair Design I form'd The first Day if the Month of_ May.

_Then saw you, then I lov'd, If you like this fair Design, The first Day of the Month of_ May _Was the Happiest of my Life._

Now let us see what an _English_ Poet has said on the First of _May_; and tho' there is in it hardly any Thing but Words, and those Words rustick to Affectation; yet they are _Prettiness_ itself compared to Mons. _Ranchin_'s Guardian, N 124:

I.

_Oh the charming Month of_ May, _Oh the charming Month of_ May, _When the Breezes fan the_ Treeses, _Full of Blossoms fresh and gay._

II.

_Oh what Joys our Prospects yield!

Charming Joys our Prospects yield!

In a new Livery,_ &c.

III.

_Oh how fresh the Morning Air!