Lives Of The Poets, Vol. 1 (fiscle part-III) by Samuel Johnson (audio ebook reader txt) 📕

This Is Little Better Than To Say In praise Of A Shrub, That It Is As

Green As A Tree; Or Of A Brook, That It Waters A Garden, As A River

Waters A Country.

Dryden Confesses That He Did Not Know The Lady Whom He Celebrates: The

Praise Being, Therefore, Inevitably General, Fixes No Impression Upon The

Reader, Nor Excites Any Tendency To Love, Nor Much Desire Of Imitation.

Knowledge Of The Subject Is To The Poet What Durable Materials Are To The

Architect.

The Religio Laici, Which Borrows Its Title From The Religio Medici Of

Browne, Is Almost The Only Work Of Dryden Which Can Be Considered as A

Voluntary Effusion; In this, Therefore, It Might Be Hoped, That The Full

Effulgence Of His Genius Would Be Found. But, Unhappily, The Subject

Is Rather Argumentative Than Poetical; He Intended only A Specimen Of

Metrical Disputation:

  And This Unpolish'D Rugged verse I Chose

  As Fittest For Discourse, And Nearest Prose.

This, However, Is A Composition Of Great Excellence In its Kind, In which

The Familiar Is Very Properly Diversified with The Solemn, And The Grave

With The Humorous; In which Metre Has Neither Weakened the Force, Nor

Clouded the Perspicuity Of Argument; Nor Will It Be Easy To Find Another

Example Equally Happy Of This Middle Kind Of Writing, Which, Though

Prosaick In some Parts, Rises To High Poetry In others, And Neither

Towers To The Skies, Nor Creeps Along The Ground.

Of The Same Kind, Or Not Far Distant From It, Is The Hind And Panther,

The Longest Of All Dryden'S Original Poems; An Allegory Intended to

Comprise And To Decide The Controversy Between The Romanists And

Protestants. The Scheme Of The Work Is Injudicious And Incommodious; For

What Can Be More Absurd, Than That One Beast Should Counsel Another To

Rest Her Faith Upon A Pope And Council? He Seems Well Enough Skilled in

The Usual Topicks Of Argument, Endeavours To Show The Necessity Of An

Infallible Judge, And Reproaches The Reformers With Want Of Unity; But

Is Weak Enough To Ask, Why, Since We See Without Knowing how, We May Not

Have An Infallible Judge Without Knowing where?

The Hind, At One Time, Is Afraid To Drink At The Common Brook, Because

She May Be Worried; But, Walking home With The Panther, Talks By The Way

Of The Nicene Fathers, And At Last Declares Herself To Be The Catholick

Church.

This Absurdity Was Very Properly Ridiculed in the City Mouse And Country

Mouse Of Montague And Prior; And, In the Detection And Censure Of

The Incongruity Of The Fiction, Chiefly Consists The Value Of Their

Performance, Which, Whatever Reputation It Might Obtain By The Help Of

Temporary Passions, Seems, To Readers Almost A Century Distant, Not Very

Forcible Or Animated.

Pope, Whose Judgment Was, Perhaps, A Little Bribed by The Subject,

Used to Mention This Poem As The Most Correct Specimen Of Dryden'S

Versification. It Was, Indeed, Written When He Had Completely Formed

His Manner, And May Be Supposed to Exhibit, Negligence Excepted, His

Deliberate And Ultimate Scheme Of Metre. We May, Therefore, Reasonably

Infer, That He Did Not Approve The Perpetual Uniformity Which Confines

The Sense To Couplets, Since He Has Broken His Lines In the Initial

Paragraph:

  A Milk-White Hind, Immortal And Unchang'D.

  Fed on The Lawns, And In the Forest Rang'D:

  Without Unspotted, Innocent Within,

  She Fear'D No Danger, For She Knew No Sin.

  Yet Had She Oft Been Chas'D With Horns And Hounds,

  And Scythian Shafts, And Many Winged wounds

  Aim'D At Her Heart; Was Often Forc'D To Fly,

  And Doom'D To Death, Though Fated not To Die.

These Lines Are Lofty, Elegant, And Musical, Notwithstanding the

Interruption Of The Pause, Of Which The Effect Is Rather Increase Of

Pleasure By Variety, Than Offence By Ruggedness.

To The First Part It Was His Intention, He Says, "To Give The Majestick

Turn Of Heroick Poesy;" And, Perhaps, He Might Have Executed his Design

Not Unsuccessfully, Had Not An Opportunity Of Satire, Which He Cannot

Forbear, Fallen Sometimes In his Way. The Character Of A Presbyterian,

Whose Emblem Is The Wolf, Is Not Very Heroically Majestick:

  More Haughty Than The Rest, The Wolfish Race

  Appear With Belly Gaunt And Famish'D Face:

  Never Was So Deform'D A Beast Of Grace.

  His Ragged tail Betwixt His Legs He Wears,

  Close Clapp'D For Shame; But His Rough Crest He Rears,

  And Pricks Up His Predestinating ears.

His General Character Of The Other Sorts Of Beasts That Never Go To

Church, Though Sprightly And Keen, Has, However, Not Much Of Heroick

Poesy:

  These Are The Chief; To Number O'Er The Rest,

  And Stand Like Adam Naming ev'Ry Beast,

  Were Weary Work; Nor Will The Muse Describe

  A Slimy-Born, And Sun-Begotten Tribe,

  Who, Far From Steeples And Their Sacred sound,

  In fields Their Sullen Conventicles Found.

  These Gross, Half-Animated lumps I Leave;

  Nor Can I Think What Thoughts They Can Conceive;

  But, If They Think At All, 'Tis Sure No Higher

  Than Matter, Put In motion, May Aspire;

  Souls That Can Scarce Ferment Their Mass Of Clay,

  So Drossy, So Divisible Are They,

  As Would But Serve Pure Bodies For Allay:

  Such Souls As Shards Produce, Such Beetle Things

  As Only Buzz To Heaven With Evening wings;

  Strike In the Dark, Offending but By Chance;

  Such Are The Blindfold Blows Of Ignorance.

  They Know No Being, And But Hate A Name;

  To Them The Hind And Panther Are The Same.

One More Instance, And That Taken From The Narrative Part, Where Style

Was More In his Choice, Will Show How Steadily He Kept His Resolution Of

Heroick Dignity:

  For When The Herd, Suffic'D, Did Late Repair

  To Ferny Heaths And To Their Forest Lair,

  She Made A Mannerly Excuse To Stay,

  Proff'Ring the Hind To Wait Her Half The Way;

  That, Since The Sky Was Clear, An Hour Of Talk

  Might Help Her To Beguile The Tedious Walk.

  With Much Good-Will The Motion Was Embrac'D,

  To Chat Awhile On Their Adventures Past:

  Nor Had The Grateful Hind So Soon Forgot

  Her Friend And Fellow-Suff'Rer In the Plot.

  Yet, Wond'Ring how Of Late She Grew Estrang'D,

  Her Forehead Cloudy And Her Count'Nance Chang'D,

  She Thought This Hour Th' Occasion Would Present

  To Learn Her Secret Cause Of Discontent,

  Which Well She Hop'D Might Be With Ease Redress'D,

  Consid'Ring her A Well-Bred civil Beast.

  And More A Gentlewoman Than The Rest.

  After Some Common Talk What Rumours Ran,

  The Lady Of The Spotted muff Began.

The Second And Third Parts He Professes To Have Reduced to Diction More

Familiar And More Suitable To Dispute And Conversation; The Difference Is

Not, However, Very Easily Perceived; The First Has Familiar, And The Two

Others Have Sonorous, Lines. The Original Incongruity Runs Through The

Whole: The King is Now Caesar, And Now The Lion; And The Name Pan Is

Given To The Supreme Being.

But When This Constitutional Absurdity Is Forgiven, The Poem Must Be

Confessed to Be Written With Great Smoothness Of Metre, A Wide Extent Of

Knowledge, And An Abundant Multiplicity Of Images; The Controversy Is

Embellished with Pointed sentences, Diversified by Illustrations, And

Enlivened by Sallies Of Invective. Some Of The Facts To Which Allusions

Are Made Are Now Become Obscure, And, Perhaps, There May Be Many

Satirical Passages Little Understood.

As It Was By Its Nature A Work Of Defiance, A Composition Which Would

Naturally Be Examined with The Utmost Acrimony Of Criticism, It Was

Probably Laboured with Uncommon Attention; And There Are, Indeed, Few

Negligencies In the Subordinate Parts. The Original Impropriety, And The

Subsequent Unpopularity Of The Subject, Added to The Ridiculousness Of

Its First Elements, Has Sunk It Into Neglect; But It May Be Usefully

Studied, As An Example Of Poetical Ratiocination, In which The Argument

Suffers Little From The Metre.

In The Poem On The Birth Of The Prince Of Wales, Nothing is Very

Remarkable But The Exorbitant Adulation, And That Insensibility Of

The Precipice On Which The King was Then Standing, Which The Laureate

Apparently Shared with The Rest Of The Courtiers. A Few Months Cured him

Of Controversy, Dismissed him From Court, And Made Him Again A Playwright

And Translator.

Of Juvenal There Had Been A Translation By Stapylton, And Another By

Holiday; Neither Of Them Is Very Poetical. Stapylton Is More Smooth; And

Holiday'S Is More Esteemed for The Learning of His Notes. A New Version

Was Proposed to The Poets Of That Time, And Undertaken By Them In

Conjunction. The Main Design Was Conducted by Dryden, Whose Reputation

Was Such That No Man Was Unwilling to Serve The Muses Under Him.

The General Character Of This Translation Will Be Given When It Is

Said To Preserve The Wit, But To Want The Dignity Of The Original. The

Peculiarity Of Juvenal Is A Mixture Of Gaiety And Stateliness, Of Pointed

Sentences And Declamatory Grandeur. His Points Have Not Been Neglected;

But His Grandeur None Of The Band Seemed to Consider As Necessary To Be

Imitated, Except Creech, Who Undertook The Thirteenth Satire. It Is,

Therefore, Perhaps, Possible To Give A Better Representation Of That

Great Satirist, Even In those Parts Which Dryden Himself Has Translated,

Some Passages Excepted, Which Will Never Be Excelled.

With Juvenal Was Published persius, Translated wholly By Dryden. This

Work, Though Like All The Other Productions Of Dryden It May Have Shining

Parts, Seems To Have Been Written Merely For Wages, In an Uniform

Mediocrity Without Any Eager Endeavour After Excellence, Or Laborious

Effort Of The Mind.

There Wanders An Opinion Among The Readers Of Poetry That One Of

These Satires Is An Exercise Of The School. Dryden Says, That He Once

Translated it At School; But Not That He Preserved or Published the

Juvenile Performance.

Not Long Afterwards He Undertook, Perhaps, The Most Arduous Work Of Its

Kind, A Translation Of Virgil, For Which He Had Shown How Well He Was

Qualified, By His Version Of The Pollio, And Two Episodes, One Of Nisus

And Euryalus, The Other Of Mezentius And Lausus.

In The Comparison Of Homer And Virgil, The Discriminative Excellence Of

Homer Is Elevation And Comprehension Of Thought, And That Of Virgil Is

Grace And Splendour Of Diction. The Beauties Of Homer Are, Therefore,

Difficult To Be Lost, And Those Of Virgil Difficult To Be Retained. The

Massy Trunk Of Sentiment Is Safe By Its Solidity, But The Blossoms Of

Elocution Easily Drop Away. The Author, Having the Choice Of His Own

Images, Selects Those Which He Can Best Adorn; The Translator Must, At

All Hazards, Follow His Original, And Express Thoughts Which, Perhaps,

He Would Not Have Chosen. When To This Primary Difficulty Is Added the

Inconvenience Of A Language So Much Inferiour In harmony To The Latin, It

Cannot Be Expected that They Who Read The Georgicks And The Aeneid Should

Be Much Delighted with Any Version.

All These Obstacles Dryden Saw, And All These He Determined to Encounter.

The Expectation Of His Work Was Undoubtedly Great; The Nation Considered

Its Honour As Interested in the Event. One Gave Him The Different

Editions Of His Author, And Another Helped him In the Subordinate Parts.

The Arguments Of The Several Books Were Given Him By Addison.

The Hopes Of The Publick Were Riot Disappointed. He Produced, Says Pope,

"The Most Noble And Spirited translation That I Know In any Language." It

Certainly Excelled whatever Had Appeared in english, And Appears To Have

Satisfied his Friends, And, For The Most Part, To Have Silenced his

Enemies. Milbourne, Indeed, A Clergyman, Attacked it; But His Outrages

Seem To Be The Ebullitions Of A Mind Agitated by Stronger Resentment Than

Bad Poetry Can Excite, And Previously Resolved not To Be Pleased.

His Criticism Extends Only To The Preface, Pastorals, And Georgicks; And,

As He Professes To Give His Antagonist An Opportunity Of Reprisal, He Has

Added his Own Version Of The First And Fourth Pastorals, And The First

Georgick. The World Has Forgotten His Book; But, Since His Attempt Has

Given Him A Place In literary History, I Will Preserve A Specimen Of His

Criticism, By Inserting his Remarks On The Invocation Before The First

Georgick, And Of His Poetry, By Annexing his Own Version.

Ver. 1.

  "What Makes A Plenteous Harvest, When To Turn

  The Fruitful Soil, And When To Sow The Corn.

"It'S _Unlucky_, They Say, _To Stumble At The Threshold_: But What Has

A _Plenteous Harvest_ To Do Here? Virgil Would Not Pretend To Prescribe

_Rules_ For _That_ Which Depends Not On The _Husbandman'S_ Care, But The

_Disposition Of Heaven_ Altogether. Indeed, The _Plenteous Crop_ Depends

Somewhat On The _Good Method Of Tillage_; And Where The _Land'_S

Ill-Manur'D, The _Corn_, Without A Miracle, Can Be But _Indifferent_; But

The _Harvest_ May Be _Good_, Which Is Its _Properest_ Epithet, Tho' The

_Husbandman'S Skill_ Were Never So _Indifferent_. The Next _Sentence_

Is _Too Literal_: And _When To Plough_ Had Been _Virgil'S_