French School of poetry: and this continued till the death of POPE. Thomson had broke in upon it but he never superseded the great moral poet, who says of himself, : « That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long; But stoop'd to truth, and moralized his song. » It is well knowu of French poetry that esprit is its characteristic; that it has little imagery; that it has more of thought than of sentiment; and more of sentiment, than of fancy; and that it has scarce any imagination, or invention consequently that it approaches nearer prose than that of the English, Italian, German, etc. Thus it more commonly avoids absurdities, but is too apt to fall into flatness. If it be better to execute well in an inferior class than to attempt with more imperfect success compositions of an higher order, then the French school is the safest. Abilities much less rare are fitted to produce good French poetry; and the reader is content if he finds his understanding exercised; even though his imagination be left to sleep. When the descriptive genius of THOMSON began in England to raise imitators in all the followers of the Muse, the exclusive cultivation of imagery soon went to as great an excess, as the attention to abstract thought and observations upon life had gone before. It would now have appeared that Poetry was an art confined to an exhibition of the material world; and that there was nothing of delight, of grand, tender, or beautiful, matter. except in This narrow view at last, like every thing else which is short of truth, wearied itself; and wore itself out. But it lasted half a century. GRAY, who had a genius for description, saw its defectiveness, when used exclusively : and I think that he has so expressed himself when speaking of Thomson. There is not one of his poems which depends on mere imagery or description: the grand and characteristic charm of each of his very rich and immortal compositions is the powerful mixture of sentiment, reflection, moral observation, and reasoning, with his brilliant and plaintive imagery. It is the blending all these in vigorous and high proportions, which constitutes the magic of poetic genius, and gives that deep charm which will never die, or evaporate. Though the genius of COLLINS was in some respects like inspiration; though in embodying and personifying abstract ideas he had more originality, more force, more richness, more invention than Gray, yet in this crowning union he was much his inferior. It is not by the masters of the Art, that at any period or during any prevailing fashion, excesses are committed. It is by their followers; by the imitatores, servum pecus: who, siezing the leading feature of their models, exaggerate it into the sole object of ambition of their own absurd mimickries. COWPER imitated his predecessors of the descriptive school: but he did not confine himself to it. He mingled ingredients and subjects, just as nature mingled them in his own mind. Every thing narrow, particular, and inconsistent with the proportion which truth requires, is radically bad; and however transient vogue may favour it, is sure to die an early death, and so utterly to perish as to be incapable to be revived by any effort or any skill. BURNS is another instance of that variety, that freedom from particular exaggeration, permanent life. in which alone there is fully With the present century commenced a new school; or rather a dozen new schools of poetry. All of them affected to tread their predecessors under their feet: aware of their faults; and justified in the desire to release themselves from narrow and senseless trammels: but not equally successful in the means they took, and the remedies they sought to apply. We know that DRYDEN was the Head of a School; and that POPE was the Head of the succeeding School, improved upon Dryden. THOMSON had then his School; and COLLINS, GRAY, and even AKENSIDE, all had their Schools. Then came the WARTON School and last the COWPER School. Some living Scholars have followed and last the School of one great man who has just gone to his grave in the vigour of youth. : LORD BYRON is gone: and ages may pass, before such splendid genius as his will appear again. XXII I cannot refrain from copying in this place some lines which have just appeared in the public Journals, because they affect and delight me. FRAGMENT (*). 1. I went to look On Byron's aweful manes; twas a sight Which all my spirit to its centre shook, Grand, glorious, passion-moving still, the blight Such a sun clouded in so dark a night? 2. Yet he was pale and ghastly! But that high intellectual forehead, crown'd With a few dark grey hairs, - his lips bereft his eye-lids bound Save that poor pageantry and vain parade, (*) Copied from Galignani's Messenger, Tuesday 20th July 1824. 3. I turn'd away-my heart was sick - e'en now His shade pursues me in my dreams! That he had evil in him; - but to bow To tyrants- but to fawn upon the foe Of freedom- but to proffer up a vow For aught but men's most sacred interests No! If ye have served the cause of man so well! 4. I watch'd him when his light was like the gleaming I watch'd him when his noontide rays were streaming I could have then adored him- almost deeming He was a re-awaken'd deity, Out of the sacred sounds that Greece has rear'd To names whose shadows now have re appear'd. 5. Twas there he died fit grave! and there his form J. B. |