The Age Reviewed A Satire: In two parts: Second edition, revised and corrected [by Robert Montgomery] |
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| II. |
 | The Age Reviewed |  |
So oft of late Parnassus has been trod,
By brain-sick bardling, and poetic clod,
There bloom no laurels on its trampled side,
And reptiles poison every fountain's tide:—
Who does not rhyme?—there's not a tree or bow'r,
A grove, a puddle, or a dunghill flow'r—
An eye, a curling lip, or Roman nose,
A wind that whistles, or a stream that flows;—
There's not a dog or fool that dies in time
Without a blubb'ring bard in ding-dong chime!
By brain-sick bardling, and poetic clod,
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And reptiles poison every fountain's tide:—
Who does not rhyme?—there's not a tree or bow'r,
A grove, a puddle, or a dunghill flow'r—
An eye, a curling lip, or Roman nose,
A wind that whistles, or a stream that flows;—
There's not a dog or fool that dies in time
Without a blubb'ring bard in ding-dong chime!
“------ Unde illa priorum
Scribendi, quodcunque animo flagrante liberet,
Simplicitas? ------
Juv. I. 138.
Scribendi, quodcunque animo flagrante liberet,
Simplicitas? ------
Juv. I. 138.
By a pardonable little perversion of this passage, we may well apply the question to the general rhymesters of the day:—Where, indeed, is that freshness of feeling?—where?—but this is not the place to enter into a discussion on the causes of poetical degeneracy. It is certain that poetry is degenerating, both in its own character, and also in the estimation in which it is held. There are two or three striking reasons for this:—First, Because poetry is degraded to a mere accomplishment. Secondly, Because it is the poetry of mere words, more than of feeling and meaning. Thirdly, Because the merits of the author, and the merits of his poem, are absurdly confounded.
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