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These thoughts are pretty : they suit Pope, but not Eloisa.

Satan, enraged by a threatening of the angel Gabriel, anfwer thus :.

Then when I am thy captive talk of chains,
Proud lisoitary cherub ; but ere then
Far heavier load thyself expect to feel
From my prevailing arm, though Heaven's King
Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy compeers,
Us'd to the yoke, draw'st his triunphant wheels
In progress through the road of heav'n Aar-pav'd.

Paradise tof, look to

The concluding epithet forms a grand and delightful image, which cannot be the genuine offspring of rage.

Fourth. Sentiments too artificial for a serious paflion. I give for the first example a speech of Piercy expiring :

: 0, Harry, thou haft robb'd me of my growth :

I better brook the loss of brittle life,
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me;
They wound my thoughts, worse than thy (word my

But thought's the flave of life, and life time's fool;
And time, that takes survey of all the world,
Must have a stop.

First part, Henry IV. act 5. fe. g.

Livy inferts the following passage in a plaintive oration of the Locrenses, accufing Pleminius the Roman legate of oppreflion.

In hoc legato vestro, nec hominis quicquam est, Patres Confcripri, præter figuram et speciein ; neque Ro-'



mani civis, præter habitum vestitumque, et sonum linguæ Latina. Peitis et bellua ianmanis, quales fretum, quon dam, quo ab Sicilia dividimur, ad perniciem navigantium circumfediffe, fabulæ ferunt.*

The sentiments of the Mourning Bride are for the most part no less delicate than just copies of nature ; in the following exception the picture is beautiful, but too artful to be suggested by severe grief.

Almeria. O no! Time gives increase to my afflictions. The circling hours, that gather all the woes Which are diffus'd through the revolving year, Come heavy laden with th' oppreflive weight To me ; with me, fircceffively they leave The fighs, the tears, the groans, the testless cares, And all the damps of grief, that did retard their flight ! They thake their downy wings, and scatter all

The dire collected dew's on my poor head ; Then fiy with joy and swiftness from me.

AE 1. fc. I.

In the same play, Almeria seeing a dead body, which she took to be Alphonso's, expresses sentiments ftrained and artificial, which nature suggests not to any perfon upon such an occasion :

Had they, or hearts, or eyes, that did this deed?
Could eyes endure to guide such cruel hands?
Are not my cves guilty alike with thcirs,
That thus can gaze, and yet not turn to stone ?

I do not weep! The fprings of tears are dryd?
And of a sudden I am calm, as if
All things were well, and vet my husband's murder'd!
Yes, yes, I know to moun: I'll Nuice this heart,
The source of wo, and let'the torrent loose.

Act 5. ff. II.


Tiius Livius, 1. 19. $17.

Lad: Trueman. How could you be so cruel to defer giving me that joy which you knew I must receive from your presence? You have robb'd my life of fome hours of happinefs that ought to have been in it.

Drunner, alt 5.

Pope's Elegy to the memory of an unfortunate lady, exprelles delicately the most tender concern and forrow that one can feel for the deplorable fate of a perfon of worth. Such a poem, deeply serious and pathetic, rejects with disdain all fiction. Upon that account, the following passage deserves no quarter ; for it is not the language of the heart, but of the imagination, indulging its fights fit ease; and by that means is eminently discordant with the subject. It

would be a still inore severe cenfure, if it should be · ascribed to imitation, copying indiscreetly what has been said by others :

What though no weeping loves thy ashes grace,
Nor polith'd marble emulate thy face?
What ihongh no sacred earth allow thee room,
Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er they toub?
Yet trall thy grave with rising flowr's he drest,
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast :
There ihall the moro her earñeit tears bestow,
There the fut roses of the vear shall blow;
While angels with their filves wings o'eríha de
Toe ground, now sacred by thy reliques inade.

Fifth. Fanciful or sinical sentiments. Sentiments that degenerate into poiŋt or conceit, however they may amuse in an idle hour, can

never be the offspring any

serious or important paflion. In the Jerufadem of Tasso, Tancred, after a single combat, spent with fatigue and lois of blood, falls into a swoon; in which situation, understood to be dead, he is dis


covered by Erminia, who was in love with him to diftraction. 'A more happy situation cannot be imaga ined, to raise grief in an instant to its height; and yet, in venting her forrow, she descends most abominably into antithesis and conceit, even of the lowe est kind :

E in lui versò d'inefficabil vena
Lacrime, e voce, di sospiri mista.
In che misero punto hor qui me mena
Fortuna ? a che veduta amara e trista ?
Dopo gran tempo i' ti ritrovo à pena
Tancredi, e ti riveggio, e non son vista,
Vifta non son da te, benche presente
E trovando ti perdo eternamente.

Canto 19. f. 105.

Armida's lamentation respecting her lover Rinaldo, is in the same vicious taste.

Queen. Give me no help in lamentation,
I am not barren to bring forth complaints:
All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes
That I being govern’d by the wat'ry moon,
May send forth plenteolis tears to drown the world,
Ah, for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward.

King Richard, III. act 2. sc. 2.

Jane Shore. Let me be branded for the public fcorn, Turn'd forth, and driven to wander dike a vagabond, Be friendless and forsaken, seek my bread Upon the barien wild, and defolate waste, Feed on my highs, and drink my falling tears ; Ere I content to teach my lips injustice, Or wrong the Orphan who has none to save him.

June Sharez act 4

Give me your drops, ye soft-defcending raios,
Give me your streanis, ye never-ceasing springs,

That * Canto 20. llan, 124, 125. & 186, VOL. I.


That my fad eyes may still supply my duty,
And feed an everlasting flood of sorrow.

Jane Sbore, aci 5.
Jane Shore utters her last breath in a witty conceit.

Then all is well, and I shall sleep in peace-
'Tis very dark, and I have lost you now-
Was there riot something I would have bequeath'd you?
But I have nothing left me to bestow,
Nothing but one fad figh. Oh mercy, Heav'n! [Dies.

AE 5

Guilford to Lady Jane Gray, when both were condemmed to die :

Thou stand't unmov'd ;
Calm temper fits upon thy beauteous brow;
Thy eyes that flow'd so fast for Edward's loss,
Gaze unconcern'd upon the ruin round thee,
As if thou hadít refolv'd to brave thy fate,
And triumph in the midit of desolation.
Ha! fee, it swells, the liquid cryftal rises,
It starts in spite of thee-but I will catch it,
Nor let the earth be wet with dew so rich.

"Lady Jane Gray, act 4: near the end. The concluding sentiment is altogether finical, unsuitable to the importance of the occasion, and even to the dignity of the passion of love.

Corneille in his Excmnen of the Cid,* answering an objection, That his sentiments are sometimes too much refined for persons in deep distress, observes, that if poets did not indulge sentiments more ingenious or refined than are prompted by passion, their performances would often be low, and extreme grief would never suggest - but exclamations merely. This is in plain language to affert, that forced thoughts are more agreeable than those that are natural, and ought to be preferred.

The * Page 316. .

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