An Essay on Criticism Part 4

Charming fresh the Morning Air!_ &c.

Tho' there is little Meaning here, yet the Dancing of the Words and the Sprightliness of the Images, make it a prettier Lyrick than our _Italian_ Opera's can produce.

According to my Conception nothing can be prettier than this Thought of _Buchanan_.

Ilia mihi semper presenti dura _Neaera_; Me, quoties absum, semper abesse dolet; Non desiderio, nostro non mret Amore, Sed se non nostro posse Dolore frui.

_Cruel, when I am present, she appears; As often as I'm absent she's in Tears: Not that_ Neaera _wishes my Return, To see me love her, but to see me mourn._

These Verses of Mr. _Waller_ are, methinks, as pretty as they are gallant:

Phillis, _why should we delay Pleasures shorter than the Day!

Cou'd we, which we never can, Stretch our Lives beyond their Span; Beauty like a Shadow flies, And our Youth before us dies.

Or would Youth and Beauty stay, Love hath Wings, and will away.

Love hath swifter Wings than Time,_ &c.

Notice has been taken of the Prettiness of these Verses in _Dryden_'s Fable of the _c.o.c.k_ and the _Fox_.

The _c.o.c.k_ speaks to his Wife Dame _Partlet_:

------------_See my Dear How lavish Nature hath adorn'd the Year; How the pale Primrose and the Violet spring, And Birds essay their Throats, disus'd to sing: All these are ours, and I with Pleasure see Man strutting on two Legs, and aping me._

Madam _Dacier_ takes Notice of a very pretty Circ.u.mstance in _Sappho_'s Hymn to _Venus_, translated into _Latin_ by _Catullus_, and into _English_ by Mr. _Philips_.

_Thou once didst leave Almighty_ Jove, _And all the golden Roofs above: The Carre thy wanton Sparrows drew, Hov'ring in Air, they lightly flew.

As to my Bow'r, they wing'd their Way I saw their quiv'ring Pinions play: The Birds dismist, while you remain, Bore back their empty Carre again._

The Circ.u.mstance that renders it so pretty, according to the _Critical Lady_, is _Venus_'s dismissing her Sparrows and her Carre, and shewing she did not intend to make _Sappho_ a Court-Visit, but to dwell with her some Time. There's another Ode of _Sappho_, which is preserved in _Longinus_, and translated by _Boileau_. It is in the sublime Kind, and shews the Violence of Love.

_From Vein to Vein I feel a subtle Flame, When e'er I see thee, run thro' all my Frame: And as the Transport seizes on my Mind, I'm dumb, and neither Tongue nor Voice can find.

A Mist of Pleasure o'er my Eyes is spread, I hear no more, and am to Reason dead; Pale, breathless, speechless, I expiring lie, I burn, I freeze, I tremble, and I die._

In the _Spectator_, N 388. is a Paraphrase on the second Chapter of _Solomon_'s Song.

STANZA IV.

_I faint, I dye, my lab'ring Breast Is with the mighty Weight of Love opprest.

I feel the Fire possess my Heart, And Pain convey'd to ev'ry Part: Thro' all my Veins the Pa.s.sion flyes, My feeble Soul forsakes its Place; A trembling Faintness seals my Eyes, And Paleness dwells upon my Face._

To descend again to the lower Kinds of Thinking, I shall conclude the Pretty with these Verses of Mr. _Prior_'s on the Squirrel in the Cage:

_Mov'd in the Orb, pleas'd with the Chimes, The foolish Creature thinks he climbs.

Bus here or there, turn Wood or Wire He never gets two Inches higher.

So fares it with those merry Blades, That frisk it under Pindus Shades.

In n.o.ble Songs, and lofty Odes, They tread on Stars, and talk with G.o.ds; Still dancing in an airy Round, Still pleas'd with their own Verses Sound; Brought back how fast soe'er they go, Always aspiring, always low._

Agreeable Thoughts may be also reckon'd among the Natural, the Soft, and the Tender; all which in the general Acceptation, are also taken for Wit. This Speech of _Eve_'s to _Adam_ in the _Paradice Lost_, has an Agreeableness which cannot be match'd in the most Tender of our Lyrick or Elegiac Poets:

_With thee conversing, I forget all Time, All Seasons and their Change, all please alike: Sweet is the Breath of Morn, her Rising sweet With Charm of earliest Birds, pleasant the Sun When first on this delightful Land he spreads His orient Beams, on Herb, Tree, Fruit and Flow'r, Glistring with Dew: Fragrant the fertile Earth After soft Show'rs, and sweet the Coming on Of grateful Evening mild: Then silent Night With this her solemn Bird, and this fair Moon, And these the Gems of Heaven, her starry Train.

But neither Breath of Morn, when she ascends With Charm of earliest Birds; nor rising Sun On this delightful Land, nor Herb, Fruit, Flow'r, Glistring with Dew, nor Fragrance after Showers, Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night With this her solemn Bird; nor walk by Moon, Or glittering Star Light, without thee is sweet._

To speak poetically one would think every Verse was turn'd and polish'd by the _Loves_ and the _Graces_. Indeed all the Conversation between the first Bridegroom and his Bride, in this Poem, is exquisitely agreeable and tender, except the very Incident of the Fall.

I take the Verses in _Waller_, address'd to _Amoret_, to be of the agreeable Kind:

_Fair, that you may truly know What you unto_ Thyrsis _owe; I will tell you how I do_ Sacharissa _love, and you_.

_Joy salutes me, when I set My blest Eyes on_ Amoret; _But with Wonder I am strook; While I on the Other look_.

_If sweet_ Amoret _complains, I have Sense of all her Pains: But for_ Sacharissa _I Do not only grieve, but die._ &c.

I could give many Instances of agreeable Thoughts but of _Dryden_'s Fables, especially that of _Cymon_ and _Iphigenia_, which had been taken notice of long enough before the _Spectator_ was thought of; and I do not think it fair, that he should engross all the _Beaux Endroits_, because he printed them first. The Rusticity of _Cymon_, and even his Stupidity, has something in it very agreeable in the Image, which is the pure Nature that we meet with there:

_It happen'd on a Summer's Holy-day, That to the Greenwood Shade he took his Way; His Quarter-Staff, which he cou'd ne'er forsake, Hung half before, and half behind his Back; He trudg'd along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went for Want of Thought._

There is not a more natural Picture in Language than this. Of the same Kind is that of _Iphigenia_ sleeping by the Fountain: The very Numbers express the Wantonness of the Wind so livelily, that we feel the Air, and are fanned by it while we read them, which I think has had the good Luck to escape Observation:

_Her Bosom to the View was only bare; The fanning Wind upon her Bosom blows;_ } _To meet the fanning Wind her Bosom rose;_ } _The fanning Wind, and purling Streams continue her Repose._}

Mr. _Dryden_ was 68 Years old when he wrote this Fable, which I have always taken for a Master-piece, with Respect to natural Thoughts, which are always agreeable, and harmonious Numbers. The Reader will perceive, that I do not forbear quoting fine Pa.s.sages, because they are in the _Spectator_. I cannot allow of his Forestalling the Market; and besides, I take his Example to be preferable to his Precept. Himself does not stick to quote even from himself; as,

N 91. Sidley _has that prevailing gentle Art_, &c.

And again,

N [400.] Sidley _has that prevailing gentle Art_, &c.

_Guard_ 110. Motto----Non ego paucis, Offendor maculis.

_Spec._ 291. Motto----Non ego paucis, Offendor maculis.

This however I will declare in my own Behalf, that I have quoted nothing from him which he has quoted from _Milton_ or _Dryden_, but what I had before collected my self as remarkable Pa.s.sages in their several Kinds of Thinking.

What follows, taken out of Mr. _Charles Hopkins_'s Verses to the Earl of _Dorset_, is of the agreeable Kind:

_As Nature does in new-born Infants frame With their first Speech their careful_ Forstrer_'s Name, Whose needful Hands their daily Food provide, And by whose Aid they have their Wants supply'd: You are, my Lord, the Poet's earliest Theme, And the first Word he speaks is_ Dorset_'s Name._

Were not the next Verses written on a Tomb Stone, they wou'd be very _agreeable_. They are _Ben Johnson_'s:

_Underneath this Stone doth lie As much Virtue as cou'd die: Which when alive did Vigour give To as much Beauty as cou'd live._

Is not this Picture of _Venus_ in _Palamon_ and _Arcite_ of the same Kind:

_The G.o.ddess self some n.o.ble Hand had wrought, Smiling she seem'd, and full of pleasing Thought, From Ocean, as she first began to rise, And smooth'd the ruffled Waves, and clear'd the Skies.

She trod the Brine, all bare below the Breast, And the green Waves, but ill conceal'd the Rest: A Lute she held, and on her Head was seen A Wreath of Roses red, and Myrtles green: Her Turtles fan'd the buxom Air above, And by his Mother stood an Infant Love With Wings display'd.--------_

These Verses out of _Dryden_'s St. _Cecilia_'s Ode are very agreeable:

_Softly sweet in_ Lydian _Measures Soon he sooth'd his Soul to Pleasures, War, he sung, is Toil and Trouble, Honour but an empty Bubble.