Chapter V: Part 5

_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.

[Sidenote: _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 _Longinus_[148] 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,

_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 τας νοησεις 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:

_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_ calls[153] το σφοδρον, και ενθουσιαστικον παθος, _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:

_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:

_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:

_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?

_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_:

_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_:

_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:

_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:

_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_:

_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_:

_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?

_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_:

_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:

_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?

_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:

----_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!

_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_ calls[170] φαντασιαι, and others, as he tells us, ειδωλοποιιαι the _Roman_ Writers style _Visions_, or _Imaginations_, and the modern _Images_. These, then, operate, "when (as _Longinus_[171] 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. Ὁς δ' ἑτερου τι ἡ ῥητορικη φαντασια βουλεται, και ἑτερον ἡ παρα ποιηταις, ουκ αν λαθοι σε. Ουδ' ὁτι της μεν εν ποιησει τελος εστιν εκπληξις, της δ' εν λογοις 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 _Orestes_[172], where he cries out, that he sees his Mother and the Furies stand before him; which _Virgil_ has wonderfully imitated, in the following Passage:

_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.

Ὁς ειπων, ὁυ παιδος ορεξατο Φαιδιμος Ἑκτωρ, κ. λ.

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:

_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.

[Sidenote: _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:

_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.

_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:

_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_:

_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 Head[184], 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,

_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_:

_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_ Dissertations[189]. '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, says[190], 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.

[Sidenote: _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_:

_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:

_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:

_Disce, meo exemplo, formosis posse carere._

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_:

_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_:

_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.

_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_:

_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_:

_Una salus victis, nullam sperare salutem_.

To vanquish'd Men
The only Safety is to hope for none.

Or those melodious Verses in the eighth Eclogue:

_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_:

_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_:

_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:

_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:

_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_.