 | [Poems by Dwight in] American poems, selected and original |  |
70
THE CRITICS.
A Fable.
‘To every general rule there are exceptions.’
—Common Sense.
—Common Sense.
'Tis said of every dog that's found,
Of mongrel, spaniel, cur, and hound;
That each sustains a doggish mind,
And hates the new, sublime, refin'd.
'Tis hence the wretches bay the moon,
In beauty throned at highest noon;
Hence every nobler brute they bite,
And hunt the stranger-dog with spite;
And hence, the nose's dictates parrying,
They fly from meat to feed on carrion.
'Tis also said, the currish soul
The critic race possesses whole;
As near they come, in tho'ts and natures,
As two legg'd can, to four legg'd creatures;
Alike the things they love and blame,
Their voice, and language, much the same.
Of mongrel, spaniel, cur, and hound;
That each sustains a doggish mind,
And hates the new, sublime, refin'd.
'Tis hence the wretches bay the moon,
In beauty throned at highest noon;
Hence every nobler brute they bite,
And hunt the stranger-dog with spite;
And hence, the nose's dictates parrying,
They fly from meat to feed on carrion.
'Tis also said, the currish soul
The critic race possesses whole;
As near they come, in tho'ts and natures,
As two legg'd can, to four legg'd creatures;
Alike the things they love and blame,
Their voice, and language, much the same.
71
The Muse this subject made her theme,
And told me in a morning dream.
Such dreams you sages may decry;
But Muses know they never lie.
Then hear, from me, in grave narration,
Of these strange facts, the strange occasion.
And told me in a morning dream.
Such dreams you sages may decry;
But Muses know they never lie.
Then hear, from me, in grave narration,
Of these strange facts, the strange occasion.
In Greece Cynethe's village lay,
Well known to all, who went that way,
For dogs of every kindred famed,
And from true doggish manners named.
One morn, a greyhound pass'd the street;
At once the foul-mouth'd conclave met,
Huddling around the stranger ran,
And thus their smart review began.
“What tramper” with a grinning sneer,
Bark'd out the clumsy cur, “is here?
No native of the town, I see;
Some foreign whelp of base degree.
I'd shew, but that the record's torn,
We true Welsh curs are better born.
His coat is smooth; but longer hair
Would more become a dog by far.
His slender ear, how strait and sloping
While ours is much improved by cropping.”
Well known to all, who went that way,
For dogs of every kindred famed,
And from true doggish manners named.
One morn, a greyhound pass'd the street;
At once the foul-mouth'd conclave met,
Huddling around the stranger ran,
And thus their smart review began.
“What tramper” with a grinning sneer,
Bark'd out the clumsy cur, “is here?
No native of the town, I see;
Some foreign whelp of base degree.
I'd shew, but that the record's torn,
We true Welsh curs are better born.
His coat is smooth; but longer hair
Would more become a dog by far.
His slender ear, how strait and sloping
While ours is much improved by cropping.”
“Right,” cried the blood-hound, “that strait ear
Seems made for nothing, but to hear;
'Tis long agreed, thro' all the town,
That handsome ears, like mine, hang down;
And tho' his body's gaunt, and round,
'Tis no true rawboned gaunt of hound.
How high his nose the creature carries!
As if on bugs, and flies, his fare is;
I'll teach this strutting, stupid log,
To smell's the business of a dog.”
Seems made for nothing, but to hear;
'Tis long agreed, thro' all the town,
That handsome ears, like mine, hang down;
And tho' his body's gaunt, and round,
'Tis no true rawboned gaunt of hound.
72
As if on bugs, and flies, his fare is;
I'll teach this strutting, stupid log,
To smell's the business of a dog.”
“Baugh-waugh!” the shaggy spaniel cried,
“What wretched covering on his hide!
I wonder where he lives in winter;
His strait, sleek legs too, out of joint are;
I hope the vagrant will not dare
His fledging with my fleece compare.
He never plung'd in pond or river,
To search for wounded duck and diver;
By kicks would soon be set a skipping,
Nor take, one half so well a whipping.”
“What wretched covering on his hide!
I wonder where he lives in winter;
His strait, sleek legs too, out of joint are;
I hope the vagrant will not dare
His fledging with my fleece compare.
He never plung'd in pond or river,
To search for wounded duck and diver;
By kicks would soon be set a skipping,
Nor take, one half so well a whipping.”
“Rat me,” the lap-dog yelp'd, “thro' nature,
Was ever seen so coarse a creature?
I hope no lady's sad mishap
E'er led the booby to her lap;
He'd fright Primrilla into fits,
And rob Fooleria of her wits;
A mere barbarian, Indian whelp!
How clownish, countryish, sounds his yelp!
He never tasted bread and butter,
Nor play'd the petty squirm and flutter;
Nor e'er, like me, has learn'd to fatten,
On kisses sweet, and softest patting.”
Was ever seen so coarse a creature?
I hope no lady's sad mishap
E'er led the booby to her lap;
He'd fright Primrilla into fits,
And rob Fooleria of her wits;
A mere barbarian, Indian whelp!
How clownish, countryish, sounds his yelp!
He never tasted bread and butter,
Nor play'd the petty squirm and flutter;
Nor e'er, like me, has learn'd to fatten,
On kisses sweet, and softest patting.”
“Some parson's dog, I vow,” whined puppy;
“His rusty coat how sun-burnt! stop ye!”
The beagle call'd him to the wood.
The bull-dog bellowed, “Zounds! and blood!”
The wolf-dog and the mastiff were,
The Muse says, an exception here;
Superior both to such foul play,
They wish'd the stranger well away.
“His rusty coat how sun-burnt! stop ye!”
The beagle call'd him to the wood.
The bull-dog bellowed, “Zounds! and blood!”
73
The Muse says, an exception here;
Superior both to such foul play,
They wish'd the stranger well away.
From spleen the strictures rose to fury,
“Villain,” growl'd one, “I can't endure you.”
“Let's seize the truant,” snarl'd another,
Encored by every foul-mouth'd brother.
“'Tis done,” bark'd all, “we'll mob the creature,
And sacrifice him to ill-nature.”
“Villain,” growl'd one, “I can't endure you.”
“Let's seize the truant,” snarl'd another,
Encored by every foul-mouth'd brother.
“'Tis done,” bark'd all, “we'll mob the creature,
And sacrifice him to ill-nature.”
The greyhound, who despised their breath,
Still tho't it best to shun their teeth.
Easy he wing'd his rapid flight,
And left the scoundrels out of sight.
Still tho't it best to shun their teeth.
Easy he wing'd his rapid flight,
And left the scoundrels out of sight.
Good Juno, by the ancients holden,
The genuine notre-dame of scolding,
Sate pleased, because there'd such a fuss been,
And in the hound's place wish'd her husband;
For here, even pleasure bade her own,
Her ladyship was once out-done.
“Hail dogs,” she cried, “of every kind!
Retain ye still this snarling mind,
Hate all that's good, and fair, and new,
And I'll a goddess be to you.
The genuine notre-dame of scolding,
Sate pleased, because there'd such a fuss been,
And in the hound's place wish'd her husband;
For here, even pleasure bade her own,
Her ladyship was once out-done.
“Hail dogs,” she cried, “of every kind!
Retain ye still this snarling mind,
Hate all that's good, and fair, and new,
And I'll a goddess be to you.
Nor this the only good you prove;
Learn what the fruits of Juno's love.
Your souls, from forms, that creep all four on,
I'll raise, by system Pythagorean,
To animate the human frame,
And gain my favorite tribe a name.
Be ye henceforth (so I ordain)
Critics, the genuine curs of men.
To snarl be still your highest bliss,
And all your criticism like this.
Whate'er is great, or just, in nature,
Of graceful form, or lovely feature;
Whate'er adorns the ennobled mind,
Sublime, inventive, and refin'd;
With spleen, and spite, forever blame,
And load with every dirty name.
All things of noblest kind and use,
To your own standard vile reduce,
And all in wild confusion blend,
Nor heed the subject, scope, or end.
But chief, when modest young beginners,
'Gainst critic laws, by nature sinners,
Peep out in verse, and dare to run,
Thro' towns and villages your own,
Hunt them, as when yon stranger dog
Set all your growling crew agog;
Till stunn'd, and scared, they hide from view,
And leave the country clear for you.”
Learn what the fruits of Juno's love.
Your souls, from forms, that creep all four on,
I'll raise, by system Pythagorean,
74
And gain my favorite tribe a name.
Be ye henceforth (so I ordain)
Critics, the genuine curs of men.
To snarl be still your highest bliss,
And all your criticism like this.
Whate'er is great, or just, in nature,
Of graceful form, or lovely feature;
Whate'er adorns the ennobled mind,
Sublime, inventive, and refin'd;
With spleen, and spite, forever blame,
And load with every dirty name.
All things of noblest kind and use,
To your own standard vile reduce,
And all in wild confusion blend,
Nor heed the subject, scope, or end.
But chief, when modest young beginners,
'Gainst critic laws, by nature sinners,
Peep out in verse, and dare to run,
Thro' towns and villages your own,
Hunt them, as when yon stranger dog
Set all your growling crew agog;
Till stunn'd, and scared, they hide from view,
And leave the country clear for you.”
This said, the goddess kind caressing,
Gave every cur a double blessing.
Each doggish mind, tho' grown no bigger,
Henceforth assumed the human figure,
The body walk'd on two; the mind
To four, still chose to be confin'd;
Still creeps on earth, still scents out foes,
Is still led onward by the nose;
Hates all the good, it used to hate,
The lofty, beauteous, new, and great;
The stranger hunts with spite quintessent,
And snarls, from that day to the present.
Gave every cur a double blessing.
Each doggish mind, tho' grown no bigger,
Henceforth assumed the human figure,
The body walk'd on two; the mind
To four, still chose to be confin'd;
75
Is still led onward by the nose;
Hates all the good, it used to hate,
The lofty, beauteous, new, and great;
The stranger hunts with spite quintessent,
And snarls, from that day to the present.
| [Poems by Dwight in] American poems, selected and original | |