The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland (1753) Volume V Part 9

The frighted birds, the rattling branches shun.

That wave and glitter in the distant sun.

When if a sudden gust of wind arise, The brittle forest into atoms flies: The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends, And in a spangled show'r the prospect ends.

Or, if a southern gale the region warm, And by degrees unbind the wintry charm, The traveller, a miry country sees, And journeys sad beneath the dropping trees.

Like some deluded peasant, Merlin leads Thro' fragrant bow'rs, and thro' delicious meads; While here inchanted gardens to him rise, And airy fabrics there attract his eyes, His wand'ring feet the magic paths pursue; And while he thinks the fair illusion true, The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air, And woods, and wilds, and th.o.r.n.y ways appear: A tedious road the weary wretch returns, And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns.

But it was not enough for Sir Richard to praise this performance of Mr.

Philips. He was also an admirer of his Pastorals, which had then obtained a great number of readers: He was about to form a Critical Comparison of Pope's Pastorals, and these of Mr. Philips; and giving in the conclusion, the preference to the latter. Sir Richard's design being communicated to Mr. Pope, who was not a little jealous of his reputation, he took the alarm; and by the most artful and insinuating method defeated his purpose.

The reader cannot be ignorant, that there are several numbers in the Guardian, employed upon Pastoral Poetry, and one in particular, upon the merits of Philips and Pope, in which the latter is found a better versifier; but as a true Arcadian, the preference is given to Philips.

That we may be able to convey a perfect idea of the method which Mr.

Pope took to prevent the diminution of his reputation, we shall transcribe the particular parts of that paper in the Guardian, Number XL. Monday April the 27th.

I designed to have troubled the reader with no farther discourses of Pastorals, but being informed that I am taxed of partiality, in not mentioning an author, whose Eclogues are published in the same volume with Mr. Philips's, I shall employ this paper in observations upon him, written in the free spirit of criticism, and without apprehensions of offending that gentleman, whose character it is, that he takes the greatest care of his works before they are published, and has the least concern for them afterwards. I have laid it down as the first rule of Pastoral, that its idea should be taken from the manners of the Golden Age, and the moral formed upon the representation of innocence; 'tis therefore plain, that any deviations from that design, degrade a poem from being true Pastoral.

So easy as Pastoral writing may seem (in the simplicity we have described it) yet it requires great reading, both of the ancients and moderns, to be a master of it. Mr. Philips hath given us manifest proofs of his knowledge of books; it must be confessed his compet.i.tor has imitated some single thoughts of the antients well enough, if we consider he had not the happiness of an university education: but he hath dispersed them here and there without that order and method Mr.

Philips observes, whose whole third pastoral, is an instance how well he studied the fifth of Virgil, and how judiciously he reduced Virgil's thoughts to the standard of pastoral; and his contention of Colin Clout, and the Nightingale, shews with what exactness he hath imitated Strada.

When I remarked it as a princ.i.p.al fault to introduce fruits, and flowers of a foreign growth in descriptions, where the scene lies in our country, I did not design that observation should extend also to animals, or the sensitive life; for Philips hath with great judgment described wolves in England in his first pastoral. Nor would I have a poet slavishly confine himself, (as Mr. Pope hath done) to one particular season of the year, one certain time of the day, and one unbroken scene in each Eclogue. It is plain, Spencer neglected this pedantry, who in his Pastoral of November, mentions the mournful song of the Nightingale.

Sad Philomel, her song in tears doth sleep.

And Mr. Philips by a poetical creation, hath raised up finer beds of flowers, than the most industrious gardener; his roses, lilies, and daffadils, blow in the same season.

But the better to discover the merit of our two cotemporary pastoral writers. I shall endeavour to draw a parallel of them, by placing several of their particular thoughts in the same light; whereby it will be obvious, how much Philips hath the advantage: With what simplicity he introduces two shepherds singing alternately.

HOBB.

Come Rosalind, O come, for without thee What pleasure can the country have for me?

Come Rosalind, O come; my brinded kine, My snowy sheep, my farm and all is thine.

LANG.

Come Rosalind, O come; here shady bowers.

Here are cool fountains, and here springing flowers.

Come Rosalind; here ever let us stay, And sweetly waste our live-long time away.

Our other pastoral writer in expressing the same thought, deviates into downright poetry.

STREPHON.

In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love, At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove, But Delia always; forc'd from Delia's sight, Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.

DAPHNE.

Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May, More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day; Ev'n spring displeases when she shines not here: But blest with her, 'tis spring throughout the year.

In the first of these authors, two shepherds thus innocently describe the behaviour of their mistresses.

HOBB.

As Marian bath'd, by chance I pa.s.sed by; She blush'd, and at me cast a side-long eye: Then swift beneath, the crystal waves she tried, Her beauteous form, but all in vain, to hide.

LANG.

As I to cool me bath'd one sultry day, Fond Lydia lurking in the sedges lay, The woman laugh'd, and seem'd in haste to fly; Yet often stopp'd, and often turn'd her eye.

The other modern (who it must be confess'd has a knack at versifying) has it as follows,

STREPHON.

Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain, Thus, hid in shades, eludes her eager swain; But feigns a laugh, to see me search around, And by that laugh the willing fair is found.

DAPHNE.

The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green; She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen; While a kind glance, at her pursuer flies, How much at variance are her feet and eyes.

There is nothing the writers of this kind of poetry are fonder of, than descriptions of pastoral presents.

Philips says thus of a Sheep-hook.

Of season'd elm, where studs of bra.s.s appear, To speak the giver's name, the month, and year; The hook of polished steel, the handle turn'd, And richly by the graver's skill adorn'd.

The other of a bowl embossed with figures,

--Where wanton ivy twines, And swelling cl.u.s.ters bend the curling vines, Four figures rising from the work appear, The various seasons of the rolling year; And what is that which binds the radiant sky, Where twelve bright signs, in beauteous order lye.

The simplicity of the swain in this place who forgets the name of the Zodiac, is no ill imitation of Virgil; but how much more plainly, and unaffectedly would Philips have dressed this thought in his Doric.

And what that height, which girds the welkin-sheen Where twelve gay signs in meet array are seen.

If the reader would indulge his curiosity any farther in the comparison of particulars, he may read the first Pastoral of Philips, with the second of his contemporary, and the fourth and fifth of the former, with the fourth and first of the latter; where several parallel places will occur to every one.

Having now shewn some parts, in which these two writers may be compared, it is a justice I owe to Mr. Philips, to discover those in which no man can compare with him. First, the beautiful rusticity, of which I shall now produce two instances, out of a hundred not yet quoted.

O woeful day! O day of woe, quoth he, And woeful I, who live the day to see!

That simplicity of diction, the melancholy flowing of the numbers, the solemnity of the sound, and the easy turn of the words, are extremely elegant.

In another Pastoral, a shepherd utters a Dirge, not much inferior to the former in the following lines.

Ah me the while! ah me, the luckless day!

Ah luckless lad, the rather might I say; Ah silly I! more silly than my sheep, Which on the flow'ry plains I once did keep.

How he still charms the ear, with his artful repet.i.tion of the epithets; and how significant is the last verse! I defy the most common reader to repeat them, without feeling some motions of compa.s.sion. In the next place, I shall rank his Proverbs in which I formerly observed he excels: For example,

A rolling stone is ever bare of moss; And, to their cost, green years old proverbs cross, --He that late lies down, as late will rise, And sluggard like, till noon-day snoring lies.

Against ill-luck, all cunning foresight fails; Whether we sleep or wake, it nought avails.

--Nor fear, from upright sentence wrong,