Chapter II: Part 2

---- I weep for joy
To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horses hoofs.
As a long parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting;
So weeping, smiling, greet I thee my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav’nous sense:
But let thy spiders that suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treach’rous feet,
Which with usurping steps do trample thee.
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
And, when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pr’ythee, with a lurking adder;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign’s enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration, Lords:
This earth shall have a feeling; and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms.
_Richard II. act 3. sc. 2._

Among the ancients, it was customary after a long voyage to salute the natal soil. A long voyage, was of old a greater enterprise than at present: the safe return to one’s country after much fatigue and danger, was a circumstance extremely delightful; and it was natural to give the natal soil a temporary life, in order to sympathise with the traveller. See an example, _Agamemnon_ of Æschilus, act 3. in the beginning. Regret for leaving a place one has been accustomed to has the same effect[16].

Terror produceth the same effect. A man, to gratify this passion, extends it to every thing around, even to things inanimate:

Speaking of Polyphemus,

Clamorem immensum tollit, quo pontus et omnes
Intremuere undæ penitusque exterrita tellus
Italiæ.
_Æneid._ iii. 672.

---- As when old Ocean roars,
And heaves huge surges to the _trembling_ shores.
_Iliad_ ii. 249.

And thund’ring footsteps _shake_ the sounding shore.
_Iliad_ ii. 549.

Then with a voice that _shook_ the vaulted skies.
_Iliad_ v. 431.

Racine, in the tragedy of _Phedra_, describing the sea-monster that destroy’d Hippolitus, conceives the sea itself to be inspired with terror as well as the spectators; or more accurately transfers from the spectators their terror to the sea, with which they were connected:

Le flot qui l’apporta recule epouvanté.

A man also naturally communicates his joy to all objects around, animate or inanimate:

---- As when to them who sail
Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past
Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow
Sabean odour from the spicy shore
Of Araby the Blest; with such delay
Well pleas’d, they slack their course, and many a league
Chear’d with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles.
_Paradise Lost, b. 4._

I have been profuse of examples, to show what power many passions have to animate their objects. In all the foregoing examples, the personification, if I mistake not, is so complete as to be derived from an actual conviction, momentary indeed, of life and intelligence. But it is evident from numberless instances, that personification is not always so complete. Personification is a common figure in descriptive poetry, understood to be the language of the writer, and not of any of his personages in a fit of passion. In this case, it seldom or never comes up to a conviction, even momentary, of life and intelligence. I give the following examples.

First in _his_ east the glorious lamp was seen,
Regent of day, and all th’ horizon round
Invested with bright rays; jocund to run
_His_ longitude through heav’n’s high road: the gray
Dawn, and the Pleiades before _him_ danc’d,
Shedding sweet influence. Less bright the moon
But opposite, in levell’d west was set
_His_ mirror, with full face borrowing _her_ light
From _him_; for other light _she_ needed none.
_Paradise Lost, b. 7. l. 370._[17]

Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops.
_Romeo and Juliet, act 3. sc. 7._

But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill.
_Hamlet, act 1. sc. 1._

It may, I presume, be taken for granted, that, in the foregoing instances, the personification, either with the poet or his reader, amounts not to a conviction of intelligence; nor that the sun, the moon, the day, the morn, are here understood to be sensible beings. What then is the nature of this personification? Upon considering the matter attentively, I discover that this species of personification must be referred to the imagination. The inanimate object is imagined to be a sensible being, but without any conviction, even for a moment, that it really is so. Ideas or fictions of imagination have power to raise emotions in the mind[18]; and when any thing inanimate is, in imagination, supposed to be a sensible being, it makes by that means a greater figure than when an idea is formed of it according to truth. The elevation however in this case, is far from being so great as when the personification arises to an actual conviction; and therefore must be considered as of a lower or inferior sort. Thus personification is of two kinds. The first or nobler, may be termed _passionate personification_: the other, or more humble, _descriptive personification_; because seldom or never is personification in a description carried the length of conviction.

The imagination is so lively and active, that its images are raised with very little effort; and this justifies the frequent use of descriptive personification. This figure abounds in Milton’s _Allegro_ and _Penseroso_.

Abstract and general terms, as well as particular objects, are often necessary in poetry. Such terms however are not well adapted to poetry, because they suggest not any image to the mind: I can readily form an image of Alexander or Achilles in wrath; but I cannot form an image of wrath in the abstract, or of wrath independent of a person. Upon that account, in works addressed to the imagination, abstract terms are frequently personified. But this personification never goes farther than the imagination.

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 violo, aut tua jura resolvo.
_Æneid. 4. l. 24._

Thus, to explain the effects of slander, it is imagined to be a voluntary agent:

---- No, ’tis Slander;
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Out venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world, kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons: nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous Slander enters.
_Shakespear, Cymbeline, act. 3. sc. 4._

As also human passions. Take the following example.

----For Pleasure and Revenge
Have ears more deaf than adders, to the voice
Of any true decision.
_Troilus and Cressida, act 2. sc. 4._

Virgil explains fame and its effects by a still greater variety of action[19]. And Shakespear personifies death and its operations in a manner extremely fanciful:

---- Within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene
To monarchize, be fear’d, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if his flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable; and humour’d thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle-walls, and farewell king!
_Richard_ II. _act 3. sc. 4_.

Not less successfully is life and action given even to sleep:

_K. Henry._ How many thousands of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O gentle Sleep,
Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, Sleep, ly’st thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush’d with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the perfum’d chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull’d with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why ly’st thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav’st the kingly couch,
A watch-case to a common larum-bell?
Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the ship-boy’s eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf’ning clamours in the slipp’ry shrouds,
That, with the hurly, Death itself awakes:
Can’st thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And, in the calmest and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low! lie down;
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
_Second Part Henry_ IV. _act 3. sc. 1_.

I shall add one example more, to show that descriptive personification may be used with propriety, even where the purpose of the discourse is instruction merely:

Oh! let the steps of youth be cautious,
How they advance into a dangerous world;
Our duty only can conduct us safe:
Our passions are seducers: but of all,
The strongest Love: he first approaches us,
In childish play, wantoning in our walks:
If heedlessly we wander after him,
As he will pick out all the dancing way,
We’re lost, and hardly to return again.
We should take warning: he is painted blind,
To show us, if we fondly follow him,
The precipices we may fall into.
Therefore let Virtue take him by the hand:
Directed so, he leads to certain joy.
_Southern._

Hitherto our progress has been upon firm ground. Whether we shall be so lucky in the remaining part of the journey, seems doubtful. For after acquiring some knowledge of the subject, when we now look back to the expressions mentioned in the beginning, _thirsty_ ground, _furious_ dart, and such like, it seems as difficult as at first to say what sort of personification it is. Such expressions evidently raise not the slighted conviction of sensibility. Nor do I think they amount to descriptive personification: in the expressions mentioned, we do not so much as figure the ground or the dart to be animated; and if so, they cannot at all come under the present subject. And to show this more clearly, I shall endeavour to explain what effect such expressions have naturally upon the mind. In the expression _angry ocean_, for example, do we not tacitly compare the ocean in a storm, to a man in wrath? It is by this tacit comparison, that the expression acquires a force or elevation, beyond what is found when an epithet is used proper to the object: for I have had occasion to show[20], that a thing inanimate acquires a certain elevation by being compared to a sensible being. And this very comparison is itself a demonstration, that there is no personification in such expressions. For, by the very nature of a comparison, the things compared are kept distinct, and the native appearance of each is preserved. It will be shown afterward, that expressions of this kind belong to another figure, which I term _a figure of speech_, and which employs the seventh section of the present chapter.

Though thus in general we can precisely distinguish descriptive personification from what is merely a figure of speech, it is however often difficult to say, with respect to some expressions, whether they are of the one kind or of the other. Take the following instances.

The moon shines bright: in such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently _kiss_ the trees,
And they did make no noise; in such a night,
Troilus methinks mounted the Trojan wall,
And sigh’d his soul towards the Grecian tents
Where Cressid lay that night.
_Merchant of Venice, act 5. sc. 1._

---- I have seen
Th’ _ambitious_ ocean swell, and rage, and foam,
To be exalted with the threat’ning clouds.
_Julius Cæsar, act 1. sc. 6._

_Jane Shore._ My form, alas! has long forgot to please;
The scene of beauty and delight is chang’d,
No roses bloom upon my fading cheek,
No laughing graces wanton in my eyes;
But haggard Grief, lean-looking sallow Care,
And pining Discontent, a rueful train,
Dwell on my brow, all hideous and forlorn.
_Jane Shore, act 1. sc. 2._

With respect to these and numberless other instances of the same kind, whether they be examples of personification or of a figure of speech merely, seems to be an arbitrary question. They will be ranged under the former class by those only who are endued with a sprightly imagination. Nor will the judgement even of the same person be steady: it will vary with the present state of the spirits, lively or composed.

* * * * *

Having thus at large explained the present figure, its different kinds, and the principles from whence derived; what comes next in order is to ascertain its proper province, by showing in what cases it is suitable, in what unsuitable. I begin with observing, upon passionate personification, that this figure is not promoted by every passion indifferently. All dispiriting passions are averse to it. Remorse, in particular, is too serious and severe, to be gratified by a phantom of the mind. I cannot therefore approve the following speech of Enobarbus, who had deserted his master Antony.

Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon,
When men revolted shall upon record
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent--------
Oh sovereign mistress of true melancholy,
The poisonous damp of night dispunge upon me,
That life, a very rebel to my will,
May hang no longer on me.
_Antony and Cleopatra, act 4. sc. 7._

If this can be justified, it must be upon the Heathen system of theology, which converted into deities the sun, moon, and stars.

* * * * *

Secondly, After a passionate personification is properly introduced, it ought to be confined strictly to its proper province, that of gratifying the passion; and no sentiment nor action ought to be exerted by the animated object, but what answers that purpose. Personification is at any rate a bold figure, and ought to be employed with great reserve. The passion of love, for example, in a plaintive tone, may give a momentary life to woods and rocks, that the lover may vent his distress to them: but no passion will support a conviction so far stretched, as that these woods and rocks should be living witnesses to report the distress to others:

Ch’i’ t’ami piu de la mia vita,
Se tu nol fai, crudele,
Chiedilo a queste selve,
Che te’l diranno, et te’l diran con esso
Le fere loro e i duri sterpi, e i sassi
Di questi alpestri monti,
Ch’i’ ho si spesse volte
Inteneriti al suon de’ miei lamenti.
_Pastor fido, act 3. sc. 3._

No lover who is not crazed will utter such a sentiment: it is plainly the operation of the writer, indulging his imagination without regard to nature. The same observation is applicable to the following passage.

In winter’s tedious nights sit by the fire
With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales
Of woful ages, long ago betid:
And ere thou bid goodnight, to quiet their grief,
Tell them the lamentable fall of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why! the senseless brands will sympathise
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,
And in compassion weep the fire out.
_Richard II. act 5. sc. 1._

One must read this passage very seriously to avoid laughing. The following passage is quite extravagant: the different parts of the human body are too intimately connected with self, to be personified by the power of any passion; and after converting such a part into a sensible being, it is still worse to make it be conceived as rising in rebellion against self.

_Cleopatra_. Haste, bare my arm, and rouze the serpent’s fury.
Coward flesh--------
Would’st thou conspire with Cæsar, to betray me,
As thou wert none of mine? I’ll force thee to’t.
_Dryden, All for Love, act 5._

Next comes descriptive personification; upon which I must observe in general, that it ought to be cautiously used. A personage in a tragedy, agitated by a strong passion, deals in strong sentiments; and the reader, catching fire by sympathy, relishes the boldest personifications. But a writer, even in the most lively description, ought to take a lower flight, and content himself with such easy personifications as agree with the tone of mind inspired by the description. In plain narrative, again, the mind, serious and sedate, rejects personification altogether. Strada, in his history of the Belgic wars, has the following passage, which, by a strained elevation above the tone of the subject, deviates into burlesk. “Vix descenderat a prætoria navi Cæsar; cum fœda illico exorta in portu tempestas, classem impetu disjecit, prætoriam hausit: quasi non vecturam amplius Cæsarem, Cæsarisque fortunam[21].” Neither do I approve, in Shakespear, the speech of King John, gravely exhorting the citizens of Angiers to a surrender; though a tragic writer has much greater latitude than a historian. Take the following specimen of this speech.

The cannons have their bowels full of wrath;
And ready mounted are they to spit forth
Their iron-indignation ’gainst your walls.
_Act 2. sc. 3._

Secondly, If extraordinary marks of respect put upon a person of the lowest rank be ridiculous, not less so is the personification of a mean object. This rule chiefly regards descriptive personification: for an object can hardly be mean that is the cause of a violent passion; in that circumstance, at least, it must be an object of importance. With respect to this point, it would be in vain to set limits to personification: taste is the only rule. A poet of superior genius hath more than others the command of this figure; because he hath more than others the power of inflaming the mind. Homer appears not extravagant in animating his darts and arrows: nor Thomson in animating the seasons, the winds, the rains, the dews. He even ventures to animate the diamond, and doth it with propriety.

---- That polish’d bright
And all its native lustre let abroad,
Dares, as it sparkles on the fair-one’s breast,
With vain ambition emulate her eyes.

But there are things familiar and base, to which personification cannot descend. In a composed state of mind, to animate a lump of matter even in the most rapid flight of fancy, degenerates into burlesk.

How now? What noise? that spirit’s possess’d with haste,
That wounds th’ unresisting postern with these strokes.
_Shakespear, Measure for Measure, act 4. sc. 6._

The following little better:

---- Or from the shore
The plovers when to scatter o’er the heath,
And sing their wild notes to the list’ning waste.
_Thomson, Spring, l. 23._

Speaking of a man’s hand cut off in battle:

Te decisa suum, Laride, dextera quærit:
Semianimesque micant digiti; ferrumque retractant.
_Æneid. x. 395._

The personification here of a hand is insufferable, especially in a plain narration; not to mention that such a trivial incident is too minutely described.

The same observation is applicable to abstract terms, which ought not to be animated unless they have some natural dignity. Thomson, in this article, is quite licentious. Witness the following instances out of many.

O vale of bliss! O softly swelling hills!
On which _the power of cultivation_ lies,
And joys to see the wonders of his toil.
_Summer, l. 1423_.

Then sated _Hunger_ bids his brother _Thirst_
Produce the mighty bowl:
Nor wanting is the brown October, drawn
Mature and perfect, from _his_ dark retreat
Of thirty years; and now _his honest front_
Flames in the light refulgent.
_Autumn, l. 516._

Thirdly, it is not sufficient to avoid improper subjects. Some preparation is necessary, in order to rouze the mind. The imagination refuses its aid, till it be warmed at least, if not inflamed. Yet Thomson, without the least ceremony or preparation, introduceth each season as a sensible being:

From brightening fields of æther fair disclos’d,
Child of the sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature’s depth.
He comes attended by the sultry hours,
And ever-fanning breezes, on his way,
While from his ardent look, the turning Spring
Averts her blushful face, and earth and skies
All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.
_Summer, l. 1._

See _Winter_ comes, to rule the vary’d year,
Sullen and sad with all his rising train,
_Vapours_, and _clouds_, and _storms_.
_Winter, l. 1._

This has violently the air of writing mechanically without taste. It is not natural, that the imagination of a writer should be so much heated at the very commencement; and, at any rate, he cannot expect such ductility in his readers: but if this practice can be justified by authority, Thomson has one of no mean note: Vida begins his first eclogue in the following words.

Dicite, vos Musæ, et juvenum memorate querelas;
Dicite; nam motas ipsas ad carmina cautes
Et requiesse suos perhibent vaga flumina cursus.

Even Shakespear is not always careful to prepare the mind for this bold figure. Take the following instance:

---------------- Upon these taxations,
The clothiers all, not able to maintain
The many to them ’longing, have put off
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers; who,
Unfit for other life, compell’d by hunger
And lack of other means, in desp’rate manner
Daring th’ event to th’ teeth, are all in uproar,
And _Danger_ serves among them.
_Henry VIII. act 1. sc. 4._

Fourthly, Descriptive personification ought never to be carried farther than barely to animate the subject: and yet poets are not easily restrained from making this phantom of their own creating behave and act in every respect as if it were really a sensible being. By such licence we lose sight of the subject; and the description is rendered obscure or unintelligible, instead of being more lively and striking. In this view, the following passage, describing Cleopatra on shipboard, appears to me exceptionable.

The barge she sat in, like a burnish’d throne,
Burnt on the water; the poop was beaten gold,
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that
The winds were love sick with ’em.
_Antony and Cleopatra, act 2. sc. 3._

Let the winds be personified; I make no objection. But to make them love-sick, is too far stretched; having no resemblance to any natural action of wind. In another passage, where Cleopatra is also the subject, the personification of the air is carried beyond all bounds:

---------------------------- The city cast
Its people out upon her; and Antony
Inthron’d i’ th’ market-place, did sit alone,
Whistling to th’ air, which but for vacancy,
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
And made a gap in nature.
_Antony and Cleopatra, act 2. sc. 3._

The following personification of the earth or soil is not less wild.

She shall be dignify’d with this high honour
To bear my Lady’s train; lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss;
And of so great a favour growing proud,
Disdain to root the summer swelling flower,
And make rough winter everlastingly.
_The Two Gentlemen of Verona, act 2. sc. 7._

Shakespear, far from approving such intemperance of imagination, puts this speech in the mouth of a ranting lover. Neither can I relish what follows.

Omnia quæ, Phœbo quondam meditante, beatus
Audiit Eurotas, jussitque ediscere lauros,
Ille canit.
_Virgil, Buc. vi. 82._

The chearfulness singly of a pastoral song, will scarce support personification in the lowest degree. But admitting, that a river gently flowing may be imagined a sensible being listening to a song, I cannot enter into the conceit of the river’s ordering his laurels to learn the song. Here all resemblance to any thing real is quite lost. This however is copied literally by one of our greatest poets; early indeed, before maturity of taste or judgement.

Thames heard the numbers as he flow’d along,
And bade his willows learn the moving song.
_Pope’s Pastorals, past. 4. l. 13._

This author, in riper years, is guilty of a much greater deviation from the rule. Dullness may be imagined a deity or idol, to be worshipped by bad writers: but then some sort of disguise is requisite, some bastard virtue must be bestowed, to give this idol a plausible appearance. Yet in the _Dunciad_, dullness, without the least disguise, is made the object of worship. The mind rejects such a fiction as unnatural; for dullness is a defect, of which even the dullest mortal is ashamed:

Then he: great tamer of all human art, &c.
_Book i. 163._

The following instance is stretched beyond all resemblance. It is bold to take a part or member of a living creature, and to bestow upon it life, volition, and action: after animating two such members, it is still bolder to make them envy each other; for this is wide of any resemblance to reality:

------------------ De nostri baci
Meritamente sia giudice quella, &c.
_Pastor Fido, act 2. sc. 1._

Fifthly, The enthusiasm of passion may have the effect to prolong passionate personification: but descriptive personification cannot be dispatched in too few words. A minute description dissolves the charm, and makes the attempt to personify appear ridiculous. Homer succeeds in animating his darts and arrows: but such personification spun out in a French translation, is mere burlesk:

Et la fléche en furie, avide de son sang,
Part, vole à lui, l’atteint, et lui perce le flanc.

Horace says happily, “Post equitem sedet atra Cura.” See how this thought degenerates by being divided, like the former, into a number of minute parts:

Un fou rempli d’erreurs, que le trouble accompagne
Et malade à la ville ainsi qu’à la campagne,
En vain monte à cheval pour tromper son ennui,
Le Chagrin monte en croupe et galope avec lui.

The following passage is, if possible, still more faulty.

Her fate is whisper’d by the gentle breeze,
And told in sighs to all the trembling trees;
The trembling trees, in ev’ry plain and wood,
Her fate remurmur to the silver flood;
The silver flood, so lately calm, appears
Swell’d with new passion, and o’erflows with tears;
The winds, and trees, and floods, her death deplore,
Daphne, our grief! our glory! now no more.
_Pope’s Pastorals, iv. 61._

Let grief or love have the power to animate the winds, the trees, the floods, provided the figure be dispatched in a single expression. Even in that case, the figure seldom has a good effect; because grief or love of the pastoral kind, are causes rather too faint for so violent an effect as imagining the winds, trees, or floods, to be sensible beings. But when this figure is deliberately spread out with great regularity and accuracy through many lines, the reader, instead of relishing it, is struck with its ridiculous appearance.

SECT. II.

_APOSTROPHE._

This figure and the former are derived from the same principle. If, to gratify a plaintive passion, we can bestow a momentary sensibility upon an inanimate object, it is not more difficult to bestow a momentary presence upon a sensible being who is absent.

Hinc Drepani me portus et illætabilis ora
Accipit. Hic, pelagi tot tempestatibus actus,
Heu! genitorem, omnis curæ casusque levamen,
Amitto Anchisen: _hic me pater optime fessum
Deseris_, heu! tantis nequiequam erepte periclis.
Nec vates Helenus, cum multa horrenda moneret,
Hos mihi prædixit luctus; non dira Celæno.
_Æneid. iii. 707._

This figure is sometimes joined with the former: things inanimate, to qualify them for listening to a passionate expostulation, are not only personified, but also conceived to be present.

Et, si fata Deûm, si mens non læva fuisset,
Impulerat ferro Argolicas fœdare latebras:
_Trojaque nunc stares, Priamique arx alta maneres_.
_Æneid. ii. 54._

_Helena._---- Poor Lord, is’t I
That chase thee from thy country, and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of non-sparing war? And is it I
That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; pierce the still moving air,
That sings with piercing; do not touch my Lord.
_All’s well that ends well, act 3. sc. 4._

This figure, like all others, requires an agitation of mind. In plain narrative, as, for example, in giving the genealogy of a family, it has no good effect:

----Fauno Picus pater; isque parentem
Te, Saturne, refert; tu sanguinis ultimus auctor.
_Æneid. vii. 48._

SECT. III.

_HYPERBOLE._

In this figure we have another effect of the foregoing principle. An object uncommon with respect to size, either very great of its kind or very little, strikes us with surprise; and this emotion, like all others, prone to gratification, forces upon the mind a momentary conviction that the object is greater or less than it is in reality. The same effect, precisely, attends figurative grandeur or littleness. Every object that produceth surprise by its singularity, is always seen in a false light while the emotion subsists: circumstances are exaggerated beyond truth; and it is not till after the emotion subsides, that things appear as they are. A writer, taking advantage of this natural delusion, enriches his description greatly by the hyperbole. And the reader, even in his coolest moments, relishes this figure, being sensible that it is the operation of nature upon a warm fancy.

It will be observed, that a writer is generally more successful in magnifying by a hyperbole than in diminishing: a minute object contracts the mind, and fetters its power of conception; but the mind, dilated and inflamed with a grand object, moulds objects for its gratification with great facility. Longinus, with respect to the diminishing power of a hyperbole, cites the following ludicrous thought from a comic poet. “He was owner of a bit of ground not larger than a Lacedemonian letter.[22]” But, for the reason now given, the hyperbole has by far the greater force in magnifying objects; of which take the following specimen.

For all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it, and to
thy seed for ever. And I will make thy seed as the dust of the
earth: so that if a man can number the dust of the earth, then
shall thy seed also be numbered.

_Genesis xiii. 15. 16._

Illa vel intactæ segetis per summa volaret
Gramina: nec teneras cursu læsisset aristas.
_Æneid. vii. 808._

---- Atque imo barathri ter gurgite vastos
Sorbet in abruptum fluctus, rursusque sub auras
Erigit alternos, et sidera verberat undà.
_Æneid. iii. 421._

---- Horrificis juxta tonat Ætna ruinis,
Interdumque atram prorumpit ad æthera nubem,
Turbine fumantem piceo et candente favilla:
Attollitque globos flammarum, et sidera lambit.
_Æneid. iii. 571._

Speaking of Polyphemus,

---- Ipse arduus, altaque pulsat Sidera.
_Æneid. iii. 619._

---- When he speaks,
The air, a charter’d libertine, is still.
_Henry V. act 1. sc. 1._

Now shield with shield, with helmet helmet clos’d,
To armour armour, lance to lance oppos’d,
Host against host with shadowy squadrons drew,
The sounding darts in iron tempests flew,
Victors and vanquish’d join promiscuous cries,
And shrilling shouts and dying groans arise;
With streaming blood the slipp’ry fields are dy’d,
And slaughter’d heroes swell the dreadful tide.
_Iliad iv. 508._

The following may also pass, though stretched pretty far.

Econjungendo à temerario ardire
Estrema forza, e infaticabil lena
Vien che si’ impetuoso il ferro gire,
Che ne trema la terra, e’l ciel balena.
_Gierusalem, cant. 6. st. 46._

Quintilian[23] is sensible that this figure is natural. “For,” says he, “not contented with truth, we naturally incline to augment or diminish beyond it; and for that reason the hyperbole is familiar even among the vulgar and illiterate.” And he adds, very justly, “That the hyperbole is then proper, when the subject of itself exceeds the common measure.” From these premisses, one would not expect the following conclusion, the only reason he can find for justifying this figure of speech. “Conceditur enim amplius dicere, quia dici quantum est, non potest: meliusque ultra quam citra stat oratio.” (We are indulged to say more than enough, because we cannot say enough; and it is better to be over than under). In the name of wonder, why this slight and childish reason, when immediately before he had made it evident, that the hyperbole is founded on human nature? I could not resist this personal stroke of criticism, intended not against our author, for no human creature is exempt from error; but against the blind veneration that is paid to the ancient classic writers, without distinguishing their blemishes from their beauties.

Having examined the nature of this figure, and the principle on which it is erected; I proceed, as in the first section, to some rules by which it ought to be governed. And in the first place, it is a capital fault to introduce an hyperbole in the description of an ordinary object or event which creates no surprise. In such a case, the hyperbole is altogether unnatural, being destitute of surprise, the only foundation that can support it. Take the following instance, where the subject is extremely familiar, _viz._ swimming to gain the shore after a shipwreck.

I saw him beat the surges under him,
And ride upon their backs; he trode the water;
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
The surge most swoln that met him: his bold head
’Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar’d
Himself with his good arms, in lusty strokes
To th’ shore, that o’er his wave-born basis bow’d,
As stooping to relieve him.
_Tempest, act 2. sc. 1._

In the next place, it may be gathered from what is said, that an hyperbole can never suit the tone of any dispiriting passion. Sorrow in particular will never prompt such a figure; and for that reason the following hyperboles must be condemned as unnatural.

_K. Rich._ Aumerle, thou weep’st, my tender-hearted cousin!
We’ll make foul weather with despised tears;
Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer-corn,
And make a dearth in this revolting land.
_Richard II. Act 3. Sc. 6._

Draw them to Tyber’s bank, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
_Julius Cæsar, act 1. sc. 1._

Thirdly, a writer, if he wish to succeed, ought always to have the reader in his eye. He ought in particular never to venture a bold thought or expression, till the reader be warmed and prepared for it. For this reason, an hyperbole in the beginning of any work can never be in its place. Example:

Jam pauca aratro jugera regiæ
Moles relinquent.
_Horat. Carm. lib. 2. ode. 15._

In the fourth place, the nicest point of all, is to ascertain the natural limits of an hyperbole, beyond which being overstrained it has a bad effect. Longinus, in the above-cited chapter, with great propriety of thought, enters a caveat against an hyperbole of this kind. He compares it to a bowstring, which relaxes by overstraining, and produceth an effect directly opposite to what is intended. I pretend not to ascertain any precise boundary: the attempt would be difficult, if not impracticable. I must therefore be satisfied with an humbler task, which is, to give a specimen of what I reckon overstrained hyperboles; and I shall be also extremely curt upon this subject, because examples are to be found every where. No fault is more common among writers of inferior rank; and instances are found even among those of the finest taste; witness the following hyperbole, too bold even for an Hotspur.

Hotspur talking of Mortimer:

In single opposition hand to hand,
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower.
Three times they breath’d, and three times did they drink,
Upon agreement, of swift Severn’s flood;
Who then affrighted with their bloody looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And hid his crisp’d head in the hollow bank
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.
_First Part Henry IV. act 1. sc. 4._

Speaking of Henry V.

England ne’er had a King until his time:
Virtue he had, deserving to command:
His brandish’d sword did blind men with its beams:
His arms spread wider than a dragon’s wings:
His sparkling eyes, replete with awful fire,
More dazzled, and drove back his enemies,
Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.
What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:
He never lifted up his hand, but conquer’d.
_First Part Henry VI. act 1. sc. 1._

Lastly, an hyperbole after it is introduced with all advantages, ought to be comprehended within the fewest words possible. As it cannot be relished but in the hurry and swelling of the mind, a leisurely view dissolves the charm, and discovers the description to be extravagant at least, and perhaps also ridiculous. This fault is palpable in a sonnet which passeth for one of the most complete in the French language. Phillis is made as far to outshine the sun as he outshines the stars.

Le silence regnoit sur la terre et sur l’onde,
L’air devenoit serain, _&c._
_Collection of French epigrams, vol. 1. p. 66._

There is in Chaucer a thought expressed in a single line, which sets a young beauty in a more advantageous light, than the whole of this much-laboured poem.

Up rose the sun, and up rose Emelie.

SECT. IV.

_The means or instrument conceived to be the agent._

In viewing a group of things, we have obviously a natural tendency to bestow all possible perfection upon that particular object which makes the greatest figure. The emotion raised by the object, is, by this means, thoroughly gratified; and if the emotion be lively, it prompts us even to exceed nature in the conception we form of the object. Take the following examples.

For Neleus’ sons Alcides’ _rage_ had slain.

A broken rock the _force_ of Pirus threw.

In these instances, the rage of Hercules and the force of Pirus, being the capital circumstances, are so far exalted as to be conceived the agents that produce the effects.

In the following instance, hunger being the chief circumstance in the description, is itself imagined to be the patient.

Whose hunger has not tasted food these three days.
_Jane Shore._

-------------------- As when the _force_
Of subterranean wind transports a hill.
_Paradise Lost._

---------------- As when the _potent rod_
Of Amram’s son in Egypt’s evil day
Wav’d round the coast, upcall’d a pitchy cloud
Of locusts.
_Paradise Lost._

SECT. V.

_A figure, which, among related objects, extends properties of one to another._

This figure is not dignified with a proper name, because it has been overlooked by all writers. It merits, however, place in this work; and must be distinguished from those formerly handled, as depending on a different principle. _Giddy brink_, _jovial wine_, _daring wound_, are examples of this figure. Here are expressions that certainly import not the ordinary relation of an adjective to its substantive. A _brink_, for example, cannot be termed _giddy_ in a proper sense: neither can it be termed _giddy_ in any figurative sense that can import any of its qualities or attributes. When we attend to the expression, we discover that a _brink_ is termed _giddy_ from producing that effect in those who stand on it. In the same manner a wound is said to be daring, not with respect to itself, but with respect to the boldness of the person who inflicts it: and wine is said to be jovial, as inspiring mirth and jollity. Thus the attributes of one subject, are extended to another with which it is connected; and such expression must be considered as a figure, because it deviates from ordinary language.

How are we to account for this figure, for we see it lies in the thought, and to what principle shall we refer it? Have poets a privilege to alter the nature of things, and at pleasure to bestow attributes upon subjects to which these attributes do not belong? It is an evident truth, which we have had often occasion to inculcate, that the mind, in idea, passeth easily and sweetly along a train of connected objects; and, where the objects are intimately connected, that it is disposed to carry along the good or bad properties of one to another; especially where it is in any degree inflamed with these properties[24]. From this principle is derived the figure under consideration. Language, invented for the communication of thought, would be imperfect, if it were not expressive even of the slighter propensities and more delicate feelings. But language cannot remain so imperfect, among a people who have received any polish; because language is regulated by internal feeling, and is gradually so improved as to express whatever passes in the mind. Thus, for example, a sword in the hand of a coward, is, in poetical diction, termed _a coward sword_: the expression is significative of an internal operation; for the mind, in passing from the agent to its instrument, is disposed to extend to the latter the properties of the former. Governed by the same principle, we say _listening_ fear, by extending the attribute _listening_ of the man who listens, to the passion with which he is moved. In the expression, _bold deed_, or _audax facinus_, we extend to the effect, what properly belongs to the cause. But not to waste time by making a commentary upon every expression of this kind, the best way to give a complete view of the subject, is to exhibit a table of the different connections that may give occasion to this figure. And in viewing this table, it will be observed, that the figure can never have any grace but where the connections are of the most intimate kind.

1. An attribute of the cause expressed as an attribute of the effect.

Audax facinus.

Of yonder fleet a _bold_ discovery make.

An impious mortal gave the _daring_ wound.

---------------- To my _adventrous_ song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar.
_Paradise Lost._

2. An attribute of the effect expressed as an attribute of the cause.

Quos periisse ambos _misera_ censebam in mari.
_Plautus._

No wonder, fallen such a _pernicious_ height.
_Paradise Lost._

3. An effect expressed as an attribute of the cause.

Jovial wine, Giddy brink, Drowsy night, Musing
midnight, Panting height, Astonish’d thought,
Mournful gloom.

Casting a dim _religious_ light.
_Milton, Comus._

And the _merry_ bells ring round,
And the _jocund_ rebecks sound.
_Milton, Allegro._

4. An attribute of a subject bestowed upon one of its parts or members.

Longing arms.

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc’d the _fearful_ hollow of thine ear.
_Romeo and Juliet, act 3. sc. 7._

-------------------- Oh, lay by
Those most ungentle looks and angry weapons;
Unless you mean my griefs and killing fears
Should stretch me out at your _relentless_ feet.
_Fair Penitent, act 3._

------------------ And ready now
To stoop with _wearied_ wing, and _willing_ feet,
On the bare outside of this world.
_Paradise Lost, b. 3._

5. A quality of the agent given to the instrument with which it operates.

Why peep your _coward_ swords half out their shells?

6. An attribute of the agent given to the subject upon which it operates.

High-climbing hill.
_Milton._

7. A quality of one subject given to another.

Icci, _beatis_ nunc Arabum invides
Gazis.
_Hora. Carm. l. 1. ode 29._

When sapless age, and weak unable limbs,
Should bring thy father to his _drooping_ chair.
_Shakespear._

By art, the pilot through the boiling deep
And howling tempest, steers the _fearless_ ship.
_Iliad xxiii. 385._

Then, nothing loath, th’ enamour’d fair he led,
And sunk transported on the _conscious_ bed.
_Odyss._ viii. 337.

A _stupid_ moment motionless she stood.
_Summer, l. 1336._

8. A circumstance connected with a subject, expressed as a quality of the subject.

Breezy summit.

’Tis ours the chance of fighting fields to try.
_Iliad_ i. 301.

Oh! had I dy’d before that well-fought wall.
_Odyss._ v. 395.

From this table it appears, that the expressing an effect as an attribute of the cause, is not so agreeable as the opposite expression. The descent from cause to effect is natural and easy: the opposite direction resembles retrograde motion[25]. _Panting height_, for example, _astonish’d thought_, are strained and uncouth expressions, which a writer of taste will avoid. For the same reason, an epithet is unsuitable, which at present is not applicable to the subject, however applicable it may be afterward.

_Submersasque_ obrue puppes.
_Æneid. i. 73_.

And mighty _ruins_ fall.
_Iliad_ v. 411.

Impious sons their _mangled_ fathers wound.

Another rule regards this figure, That the property of one object ought not to be bestowed upon another with which it is incongruous:

_K. Rich._---- How dare thy joints forget
To pay their _awful_ duty to our presence.
_Richard_ II. _act 3. sc. 6._

The connection betwixt an awful superior and his submissive dependent is so intimate, that an attribute may readily be transferred from the one to the other. But awfulness cannot be so transferred, because it is inconsistent with submission.

SECT VI.

_Metaphor and Allegory._

A Metaphor differs from a simile, in form only, not in substance. In a simile the two different subjects are kept distinct in the expression, as well as in the thought: in a metaphor, the two subjects are kept distinct in thought only, not in expression. A hero resembles a lion, and upon that resemblance many similes have been made by Homer and other poets. But instead of resembling a lion, let us take the aid of the imagination, and feign or figure the hero to be a lion. By this variation the simile is converted into a metaphor; which is carried on by describing all the qualities of a lion that resemble those of the hero. The fundamental pleasure here, that of resemblance, belongs to thought as distinguished from expression. There is an additional pleasure which arises from the expression. The poet, by figuring his hero to be a lion, goes on to describe the lion in appearance, but in reality the hero; and his description is peculiarly beautiful, by expressing the virtues and qualities of the hero in new terms, which, properly speaking, belong not to him, but to a different being. This will better be understood by examples. A family connected with a common parent, resembles a tree, the trunk and branches of which are connected with a common root. But let us suppose, that a family is figured not barely to be like a tree, but to be a tree; and then the simile will be converted into a metaphor, in the following manner.

Edward’s sev’n sons, whereof thyself art one,
Were sev’n fair branches, springing from one root:
Some of these branches by the dest’nies cut:
But Thomas, my dear Lord, my life, my Glo’ster,
One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
Is hack’d down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By Envy’s hand and Murder’s bloody axe.
_Richard II. act 1. sc. 3._

Figuring human life to be a voyage at sea:

There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
_Julius Cæsar, act 4. sc. 5._

Figuring glory and honour to be a garland of fresh flowers:

_Hotspur._---- Would to heav’n,
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!

_Pr. Henry._ I’ll make it greater, ere I part from thee;
And all the budding honours on thy crest
I’ll crop, to make a garland for my head.
_First Part Henry IV. act 5. sc. 9._

Figuring a man who hath acquired great reputation and honour to be a tree full of fruit:

-------------------- Oh, boys, this story
The world may read in me: my body’s mark’d
With Roman swords; and my report was once
First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov’d me;
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a tree,
Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night,
A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay my leaves;
And left me bare to weather.
_Cymbeline, act 3. sc. 3._

I am aware that the term _metaphor_ has been used in a more extensive sense than I give it; but I thought it of consequence, in matters of some intricacy, to separate things that differ from each other, and to confine words within their most proper sense. An allegory differs from a metaphor; and what I would chuse to call _a figure of speech_, differs from both. I shall proceed to explain these differences. A metaphor is defined above to be an operation of the imagination, figuring one thing to be another. An allegory requires no operation of the imagination, nor is one thing figured to be another: it consists in chusing a subject having properties or circumstances resembling those of the principal subject; and the former is described in such a manner as to represent the latter. The subject thus represented is kept out of view; we are left to discover it by reflection; and we are pleased with the discovery, because it is our own work. Quintilian[26] gives the following instance of an allegory,

O navis, referent in mare te novi
Fluctus. O quid agis? fortiter occupa portum.
_Horat. lib. 1. ode 14._

and explains it elegantly in the following words: “Totusque ille Horatii locus, quo navim pro republica, fluctuum tempestates pro bellis civilibus, portum pro pace atque concordia, dicit.”

There cannot be a finer or more correct allegory than the following, in which a vineyard is put for God’s own people the Jews.

Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt: thou hast cast out the
heathen, and planted it. Thou didst cause it to take deep root, and
it filled the land. The hills were covered with its shadow, and
the boughs thereof were like the goodly cedars. Why hast thou then
broken down her hedges, so that all which pass do pluck her? The
boar out of the wood doth waste it, and the wild beast doth devour
it. Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts: look down from heaven,
and behold and visit this vine, and the vineyard thy right hand
hath planted, and the branch thou madest strong for thyself.

_Psalm 80._

In a word, an allegory is in every respect similar to an hieroglyphical painting, excepting only, that words are used instead of colours. Their effects are precisely the same. A hieroglyphic raises two images in the mind; one seen, which represents one not seen. An allegory does the same. The representative subject is described; and it is by resemblance that we are enabled to apply the description to the subject represented.

In a figure of speech, neither is there any fiction of the imagination employ’d, nor a representative subject introduced. A figure of speech, as imply’d from its name, regards the expression only, not the thought; and it may be defined, the employing a word in a sense different from what is proper to it. Thus youth or the beginning of life, is expressed figuratively by _morning of life_. Morning is the beginning of the day; and it is transferred sweetly and easily to signify the beginning of any other series, life especially, the progress of which is reckoned by days.

Figures of speech are reserved for a separate section; but a metaphor and allegory are so much connected, that it is necessary to handle them together: the rules for distinguishing the good from the bad, are common to both. We shall therefore proceed to these rules, after adding some examples to illustrate the nature of an allegory. Horace speaking of his love to Pyrrha, which was now extinguished, expresses himself thus.

------------ Me tabulâ sacer
Votivâ paries indicat uvida
Suspendisse potenti
Vestimenta maris Deo.
_Carm. l. 1. ode 5._

Again,

Phœbus volentem prælia me loqui,
Victas et urbes, increpuit lyrâ:
Ne parva Tyrrhenum per æquor
Vela darem.
_Carm. l. 4. ode 15._

_Queen._ Great Lords, wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss,
But chearly seek how to redress their harms.
What though the mast be now blown overboard,
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,
And half our sailors swallow’d in the flood?
Yet lives our pilot still. Is’t meet, that he
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
With tearful eyes add water to the sea;
And give more strength to that which hath too much?
While in his moan the ship splits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have sav’d?
Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!
_Third Part Henry VI. act 5. sc. 5._

_Oroonoko._ Ha! thou hast rous’d
The lion in his den, he stalks abroad
And the wide forest trembles at his roar.
I find the danger now.
_Oroonoko, act 3. sc. 2._