University of Virginia Library

APPENDIX, CONTAINING ILLUSTRATIONS OF GENIUS.

At the commencement of the preceding poem, it is asserted that Genius cannot easily be defined; that it can be best discovered by its effects; as a view of the beams of the sun, and of the headlong course of a torrent, will give us a fuller conception of them, than the most accurate description. I had designed, in a note, to have given some illustrations of Genius from authors. But as this design would be too extensive for the limits of a note, I have here attached these illustrations to the poem in an Appendix. If I am not deceived they will answer two purposes—They will, in some measure, discover whether my decision

on the authors mentioned in the poem be just, and they will discover Genius in a manner which cannot be defined. On the passages which are produced I shall venture only a few remarks, and leave them to the discernment of the reader. The first instances I shall offer, are taken from the sublimest of all writings, the sacred scriptures. Among the inspired penmen, Isaiah, and the author of the book of Job, hold the first—and David and some of the lesser prophets, the secondary rank on the scale of sublimity. It is to be observed, that the earliest manner of writing was very figurative. It held representations to the view significant and striking. As society advances in refinement, this mode of expression gives way to more polished terms, but less bold and energetic. Hence the fervour of poetry decreases, as refinement and learning increase—Nature loses her simplicity and assumes the vestment of Art. Oftentimes, amidst comparative darkness and ignorance, the sublimest strains of poetry are heard, which a more polished age would imitate in vain. The voice of hardy Genius is not the stream which babbles, but it is the torrent that roars. It is not the whisper of the breeze, but it it is the loud swell of the storm. It falls not like the rod of down, but like the mace of the warrior. Plainness of language should always be the companion of truth; but this plainness is perfectly consistent with every characteristic of taste, and with figurative expression.—Indeed one pertinent and figurative allusion will oftentimes convey more instruction, and will more powerfully impress the mind, than pages of reasoning. The wide scene of Nature, should not be spread before us in vain:.... but thence we should draw applicable and judicious illustrations. These remarks will, in some degree, apply to the Hebrew poetry. There is something in those writings, to the observation of true taste, unspeakably simple, tender and sublime. Their figures are innumerable, bold and energetic. They drew them from two sources—the object of Nature, and the practice of common life. The former is the grandest, the latter, perhaps, was most universally intelligible.

In the sacred scriptures we meet examples of every excellence and stile of writing. All the boldest attempts of human Genius are eclipsed by comparison with them. From the loud and thrilling harp of Isaiah, of David, of Jeremiah, and of Job have proceeded strains which the most polished age of Greece, or of Rome would have immitated in vain. In the scriptures there appears no bombastic glare, no artificial colourings. Plain, easy and concise, they ascend from the lowest note of simplicity to the loudest thunder of sublimity. We see in them no load of epithets, but language moving along free from incumbrances in its native strength........Horace has said that three essential qualities must combine in the composition of a genuine Poet.

1. Ingenium, or Invention.

2. Mens divinior or a Mind of diviner constitution.

3. Os magna Sonaturum, or a vigour and magnificence of expression.

Longinus has proposed five sources of sublimity in composition.

1. Το περι τας νοησεις αδρεπηβολον, or boldness of conception and adventurous imagination.

2. Το σφοδρον και ενθουσιαστικον....or an Enthusiastic sensibility.

3. Η ποια Των σχηματων πλασις, or a certain conformation of figures.

4. Η γενναια φρασις or a generous character of diction.

5 Η εν αξιωματι και διαρσει συνθεσις, or a dignified and elevated composition.

The following extracts which are offered as illustrations of Genius, will I think be found to flow from each of these sources, and I think it will be acknowledged that their writers possessed those qualities mentioned by Horace.

Isaiah, XIV. 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12. 23. “Thou shalt take up this proverb against the king of Babylon, and say, how hath the oppressor ceased! the golden city ceased! The Lord hath broken the staff of the wicked, and the sceptre of the rulers. He who smote the people in wrath with a continual stroke, he that ruled the nations in anger, is persecuted and none hindereth. The whole earth

is at rest, and is quiet: they break forth into singing. Yea the fir-trees rejoice at thee, and the cedars of Lebanon, saying, since thou art laid down, no feller hath come up against us. Hell from beneath is moved for thee, to meet thee at thy coming: it stirreth up the dead for thee, even all the chief ones of the earth; it hath raised up from their thrones all the kings of the nations. All they shall speak and say unto thee, art thou also become weak as we? art thou become like unto us? Thy pomp is brought down to the grave, and the noise of thy viols: the worm is spread under thee, and the worms cover thee. How art thou fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations......23. I will also make Babylon a possession for the bittern and pools of water....and I will sweep it with the besom of destruction, saith the Lord of Hosts.”

This passage is remarkable for sublimity. The doom of the subject of the prophecy, the king of Babylon, is described in every circumstance of

grandeur and terror. There never was a stronger and more awful personification than that which is contained in the ninth verse. Hell from beneath is moved to meet thee at thy coming, &c. And the whole passage bears a correspondent elevation. In the 23d. verse the desolate waste is brought before our view....swept by the besom of destruction....polluted with pools, where “the hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest.” Dr. Young had the spirit of this verse in view, when speaking of the end of the world, he says; “Ruin fiercely drives her ploughshare over creation.”

Job, XXXIX, 27, 28, 29, 30. Doth the Eagle mount up at thy command, and make her nest on high. She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, upon the crag of the rock, and the strong place. From thence she seeketh the prey; and her eyes behold afar off. Her young ones also suck up blood: and where the slain are, there is she.

No description could be more concise, more characteristic and striking. The whole of the wonderful chapter from which it is extracted, besides

its poetical excellence, contains accurate instructions in natural history.

Job, XXVIII. 20, 22, 23. Whence then cometh wisdom, and where is the place of understanding? 22. Destruction and Death say, we have heard the fame thereof with our ears. 23. God understandeth the way thereof, for he looketh to the ends of the earth, and seeth under the whole heaven.” ....The greatness of the expression in the 22nd verse will escape no accurate observer.

Job, IV. 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17. “Now a thing was secretly brought to me, and mine ear received a little thereof, in thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men. Fear came upon me and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face; the hair of my head stood up: It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: An image was before mine eyes; there was silence, and I heard a voice saying, Shall mortal man be more just than God? Shall a man be more pure than his Maker?”....Perhaps an instance of more simple, concise, and forcible description than this relation

of Eliphaz of his terrible vision, is not to be found.

Psalm, LXVIII. 7, 8, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35. “O God, when thou wentest forth before thy people, when thou didst march through the wilderness; the earth shook, the heavens also dropped at the presence of God: Even Sinai itself was moved at the presence of God, the God of Israel....Princes shall come out of Egypt; Ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands unto God. Sing unto God ye kingdoms of the Earth; O sing praises unto the Lord: To him that rideth upon the heaven of heavens which were of old; lo he doth send out his voice and that a mighty voice. Ascribe ye strength unto God: his excellency is over Israel, and his strength is in the clouds. O God thou art terrible out of thy holy places: The God of Israel is he that giveth strength and power unto his people. Blessed be God.”

The Psalmist, after meditating upon the power and goodness of God, breaks forth into this apostrophe, O God when thou wentest forth, &c. The preceding solemnity and grandeur of his description

are here carried into a warmer elevation. Unable to restrain the fervour of inspiration he rises above the world and speaks unto God himself. After considering the majesty of his creator, this inspired writer with an abrupt brevity declares the irresistible success of his word. The image is grand of a whole nation stretching out her arms unto God: and who does not bow with adoration before that infinite being who rideth upon the heavens of heavens? Who does not hear his voice, his mighty voice? Who does not ascribe strength unto him whose excellency is over Israel and whose strength is in the clouds? There is no instance of any writers except the sacred penmen who have risen to the dignity of the divine attributes. The fabled Jupiter of Heathens at whose nod Olympus shook to its centre, is but a feeble being in comparison with that God who is discribed by the Prophets....What an infamous assemblage are Homer's deities! How poor were the conceptions of the wisest ancient philosophers of the source of all being! Compared with the scriptures their language is the babling of children. Even Milton sometimes sinks beneath the greatness of his attempts. Had he not built upon the foundation of the scriptures, his mighty fabric would have crumbled to the dust....From the sacred volume he derived his light; this was the treasure which enriched his wonderful imagination and rendered him only inferior to the voice of inspiration.

Exodus, XV. 9, 10. “The enemy said I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide the spoil: my lust shall be satisfied upon them: I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy them. Thou didst blow with thy wind, the sea covered them: the sank as lead in the mighty waters.”

The song of Moses is not inferior in sublimity to any portion of the sacred scriptures. The two preceding verses, which I have extracted from it, are a perfect example of condensity, strength and majesty. The words let there be light, and there was light, celebrated by Longinus, and many critics after him, claim no superiority over them in any respect. They bring a vast representation before the mind. He who reads them must behold the

Israelites flying from the power of Egypt, the waters of the sea gathering themselves together and standing upright to let them pass. He must behold the Egyptians rising up in rage to pursue them, breathing vengeance against them. He must hear the terrible voice of God speaking in the tempest, heaving his billows upon them, and covering them beneath his mighty waters. How is it possible that the determination of the Egyptians to pursue, &c....how is it possible that their destruction beneath the power of God could be expressed with fewer words, with greater energy and dignity? with what rapidity does the effect follow the cause ....thou didst blow with thy winds....the sea covered them.

Without giving room to any more quotations from scripture, let me refer the reader to the 51st chapter of Isaiah....to the 18th and 104th Psalm, to the last chapter of Habakuk, to David's elegy over Saul and Jonathan, and to the description, in Job, of the war-horse.

The finest passages in Milton are his picture of Satan....Satan's address to the sun....Adam's and

Eve's morning hymn, the description of God's call to the regions of Chaos, and his circumscription of the limits of the world. But these have been so often remarked and pointed out, that it would be unnecessary to repeat them. I shall, therefore, select some others, which, though inferior to these, will bear the prominent marks of sublimity:

“Before their eyes, in sudden view, appear
The secrets of the hoary deep; a dark,
Illimitable ocean, without bound,
Without dimension, where length, breadth and height,
And time, and place are lost; where eldest Night,
And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold
Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise
Of endless wars, and by Confusion stand.”
PAR. LOST, B.V. 890.

These lines are a specimen of the sublimity of obscurity.

In the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, Abraham declares, that between heaven and hell there is a great gulf fixed. Observe, in the lines just quoted, how Milton has seized on this hint, and drawn a picture of that gulf, which the painter would attempt in vain. The light of Milton's soul could only lead us in such impenetrable darkness, into that illimitable ocean, without bound, without dimension; where length, breadth, and height, and time, and place are lost.”

BOOK. IV. 674.

In these lines is represented the gloom of night enlightened by the lustre of the heavenly bodies. This picture, without any attending circumstance, is grand and solemn. The view of the skies by night, the moon moving in the brightness of her course, and all the host of heaven performing their determined round, fill the mind with awe and adoration. But how wonderfully is the sublimity of the scene heightened by the introduction of aerial beings, walking their nightly round, contemplating the heavens, and to the “midnight air, sole, or responsive each to other's note, singing their great Creator.” The famous night-scene of Homer, and all the night scenes ever drawn, are inferior to this.

“But see the angry victor hath recall'd
This ministers of vengeance and pursuit,
Back to the gates of heaven: the sulphurous hail
Shot after us in storm, o'erblown, hath laid
The fiery surge, that from the precipice
Of heaven received us falling; and the thunder,
Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage,
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now
To bellow thro' the vast and boundless deep.
Let us not slip the occasion, whether scorn
Or satiate fury yield it from the foe.
Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild,
The seat of Desolation, void of light,
Save what the glimmering of these livid flames
Casts pale and dreadful? thither let us tend
From off the tossing of these fiery waves;
There rest, if any rest can harbour there,
And reassembling our afflicted powers,
Consult how we may henceforth most offend
Our enemy, our own loss how repair,
How overcome this dire calamity,
What reinforcement we may gain from hope;
If not, what resolution from despair.
“Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate
With head uplift above the waves; and eyes
That sparkling blaz'd, his other parts besides
Prone on the flood, extended long and large
Lay floating many a rood.”

This passage is throughout sublime. The grandeur and correspondent harmony of the numbers are wonderful. No comment is necessary to point out its particular excellence. We see in it all the fallen greatness of “the Arch-angel,” and the inventive rebellion of his heart.

Though Paradise Regained is eclipsed by the superior lustre of Paradise Lost; yet it contains many eminent beauties. Had it been written by any other pen than Milton's, it would perhaps have been more read, and been more celebrated: But the voice of criticism, having ranked it far beneath the other great work of its author, it is now doomed, with Homer's Odyssey, to a partial oblivion. It deserves not this fate; for it is still the strain of Milton, which, like Apollo's lyre, has descended from the heavens. The following passage will shew if these remarks be just. It presents a picture of our Saviour, amid the terrors of the wilderness,

still pursued by the temptation and malice of Satan.

Though the whole of the passage is highly admirable, yet there are two lines, marked in italics, in which centres its principal grandeur.

------“Darkness now rose,
As day-light sunk, and brought in low'ring night
Her shadowy offspring, unsubstantial both,
Privation mere of light and absent day.
Our Saviour meek and with untroubled mind
After his airy jaunt, tho' hurry'd sore,
Hungry and cold betook him to his rest,
Wherever, under some concourse of shades
Whose branching arms thick intertwin'd might shield,
From dews and damps of night, his shelter'd head,
But shelter'd slept in vain; for at his head
The tempter watch'd and soon with ugly dreams
Disturb'd his sleep; and either topic now
'Gan thunder, and both ends of heaven the clouds
From many a horrid rift abortive pour'd
Fierce rain with lightning mixt, water with fire
In ruin reconcil'd: Nor slept the winds
Within their stony caves, but rush'd abroad
From the four hinges of the world, and fell
On the vex'd wilderness, whose tallest pines,
Tho' rooted deep as high, and sturdiest oaks
Bow'd their stiff necks, loaden with stormy blasts,
Or torn up sheer: Ill wast thou shrouded then,
O patient son of God, yet only stood'st
Unshaken; nor yet staid the terror there,
Infernal ghosts, and hellish furies, round
Environ'd thee, some howl'd some yell'd, some shriek'd.
Some bent at thee their fiery darts; while thou
Sat'st unappall'd in calm and sinless peace.
Thus pass'd the night so foul, till morning fair
Came forth with pilgrim steps in amice gray;
Who with her radiant fingers still'd the roar
Of thunder, chas'd the clouds, and laid the winds,
And grisly spectres, which the fiend had rais'd
To tempt the son of God with terrors dire.
PARADISE REGAINED, B. IV.

Homer in age and sublimity in action, approaches nearer than any other poet to the inspired

writers. Early criticism has frowned upon him in vain. Time has increased the veneration bestowed upon his name. Since he sang to his harp, ages have rolled on; heard his song and admired. His faults have been called blots in the sun, which can scarcely be discovered amid the continued glory of his beams. From his Iliad it is difficult to select a passage to which preference should be given. The battle of the gods, the interview of Priam and Achilles, the night-scene, the combat of Hector and Ajax, and the apparition of Patroclus, have generally obtained the highest meed of praise. I offer the following passage, which has been less frequently noticed than those which have been mentioned, but which is undoubtedly equal to either of them, in most characteristics of Genius. It is the description of Achilles, after his reconciliation with Agamemnon, preparing for battle.

Full in the midst, high-tow'ring o'er the rest,
His limbs in arms divine Achilles drest;
Arms which the Father of the fire bestowed,
Forg'd on the eternal anvils of the God.
Grief and revenge his furious heart inspire,
His glowing eye-balls roll with living fire.
The silver cuishes first his thighs enfold;
Then o'er his breast was brac'd the hollow gold.
The brazen sword a various baldric ty'd
That, starr'd with gems, hung glittering at his side;
And, like the moon, the broad refulgent shield,
Blaz'd with long rays, and gleam'd athwart the field.
So to night-wand'ring sailors pale with fears,
Wide o'er the watry waste a light appears,
Which on the far-seen mountain blazing high,
Streams from some lonely watch-tower to the sky:
With mournful eyes they gaze and gaze again:
Loud howls the storm and drives them o'er the main.
Next his high head the helmet grac'd; behind
The sweepy crest hung floating in the wind;
Like the red star that from his flaming hair,
Shakes down diseases pestilence and war;
So stream'd the golden honours from his head,
Trembled the sparkling plumes, and the loose glories shed.
The chief beholds himself with wond'ring eyes,
His arms, he poises and his motions tries:
Buoy'd by some inward force he seems to swim,
And feels a pinion lifting every limb.
And now he shakes his great paternal spear,
Pond'rous and huge! which not a Greek could rear.
From Pelion's cloudy top an ash entire,
Old Chiron fell'd and shap'd it for his sire;
A spear which stern Achilles only wields,
The death of heroes, and the dread of fields.”
BOOK XIX.390.

The most striking beauties of Shakspeare, have been so often noticed, and so often brought into view, that were those repeated here which have received most praise, though they might serve as illustrations, they would have no charms of novelty. I have therefore selected one passage from Henry VI. which I have never seen quoted, and which I think, in the united qualities of pathos and sublimity, Shakspeare has never surpassed.

“Ah! who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?
Why ask I that? my mangled body shews;
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shews
That I must yield my body to the earth,
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe;
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle;
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept;
Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree,
And kept low shrubs from Winter's powerful wind.
These eyes that now are dimm'd with Death's black veil,
Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun
To search the secret treasons of the world.
The wrinkles in my brow, now fill'd with blood,
Were likened oft to kingly sepulchres;
For who liv'd king but I could dig his grave?
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo! now my glory, smear'd in dust and blood,
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Ev'n now forsake me; and, of all my lands,
Is nothing left me but my body's length.”

....That the greatness of this dying speech of the earl of Warwick, may be more fully seen, it must be remembered that he was the most powerful subject that surrounded the English throne....that he was unrivalled in the annals of chivalry, and from the excess of his power, was, in those times, called, the king maker and the king destroyer. He was, as he says, the shade beneath which the lion slept, and where the people sought protection and safety. His sword defended his king, and his arm was a bulwark to the nation. Whether this speech is most sublime or most pathetic is difficult to be determined. It is, however, unquestionably both. All the dignity of Warwick remains and increases at his death; but the death of so great a character is followed by sadness....as the shadows of night come after the descent of the sun.

When we open Ossian we are immediately introduced into fairy regions. In the days of this bard, superstition prevailed. Every dusky hill was believed to be the abode of a spirit, who mingled his shriek with the voice of the blast. It is unaccountable, that men of literature should deny the authenticity

of Ossian's poems. There is no evidence wanting to convince all who are willing to believe. Poems are still repeated in the original Erse, by many aged persons in the Highlands, and by some persons whom I have seen in this country, who obtained them from their fathers and that these are the same poems which Mr. M'Pherson has given to the world in an English dress, characters of the highest veracity and literary reputation have positively declared. What futher evidence could we require? But this is not all; for even were every external evidence banished......were there none who spoke the Erse, in which the poems were delivered....had M'Pherson declared them to be his....those who study them could with difficulty believe him; for every internal evidence declares that they could not be written in the present day; so widely different is the state of society which they describe, from that which now exists. But I have digressed. I thought this tribute due to one of the sublimest bards who has appeared in our world...whose genius ranks with Homer's, and Milton's, and Shakspeare's, and with Fingal, “yields not to mortal man.”........... The extract which I shall take from Ossian, is the episode of Oria. I have chosen it because there is no passage of which the reader can better judge, when separated from the whole.

“Who is that, like a cloud, at the rock of the roaring stream? He cannot bound over its course; yet stately is the chief! his bossy shield is on his side; and his spear, like the tree of the desert. Youth of the dark-brown hair art thou of Fingal's foes?” “I am a son of Lochlin,” he cries “and strong is mine arm in war. My spouse is weeping at home; but Orla will never return.” “Or fights or yields the hero,” said Fingal of the noble deeds....“foes do not conquer in my presence: but my friends are renowned in the hall. Son of the wave follow me; partake of the feast of my shells; pursue the deer of my desert; and be the friend of Fingal.” “No,” said the hero “I assist the feeble; my strength shall remain with the weak in arms. My sword has been always unmatched, O warrior; let the king of Morven yield.” “I never yielded Orla, Fingal never yielded to man,

Draw thy sword and chuse thy foe. Many are my heroes.” “And does the king refuse the combat,” said Orla with the dark-brown hair? “Fingal is a match for Orla, and he alone of all his race. But king of Morven, if I shall fall, (as one day the warrior must die,) raise my tomb in the midst, and let it be the greatest on Lena. And send over the dark-blue wave, the sword of Orla to the spouse of his love; that she may shew it to her son with tears, to kindle his soul to war.” “Son of the mournful tale,” said Fingal “why dost thou awaken my tears? one day the warriors must die, and the children see their useless arms in the hall. But Orla thy tomb shall rise, and thy white bosomed spouse, weep over thy sword.” They fought on the heath of Lena, but feeble was the arm of Orla. The sword of Fingal descended and cleft his shield in twain. It fell, and glittered on the ground, as the moon on the stream of night. “King of Morven,” said the hero, “lift thy sword and pierce my breast. Wounded and faint from battle my friends have left me here. The mournful tale shall come to my love on the streamy Loda; when she is alone in the wood; and the rustling blast in the leaves.” “No;” said the king of Morven, “I will never wound thee Orla. On the banks of Loda, let her see thee escaped from the hands of war. Let thy gray-haired father, who perhaps is blind with age, hear the sound of thy voice in the hall. With joy let the hero rise and search for his son with his hands.” “But never will he find him, Fingal,” said the youth of the streamy Loda, “on Lena's heath I shall die; and foreign bards will talk of me. My broad belt covers my wound of death. And now I give it to the wind.” “The dark-blood poured from his side, he fell pale on the heath of Lena. Fingal bends over him as he dies.”

FINGAL, BOOK V.

This extract, as the preceding, is both pathetic and grand. It is one of the poems held in remembrance in its original language, by many in the north of Scotland, and is considered by them as uncommonly beautiful and affecting. The heroism and generosity of Fingal are finely contrasted with the fortitude of Orla, in misfortune. Fingal appears

in all the glory of victory and in all the amiableness of humanity. Orla, sinking under a mortal wound while the thoughts of his spouse and the banks of Loda rushed upon his heart.... still rises superior to his situation, and dies while Fingal bends over him in admiration.

The Germans have obtained an high literary character among the nations of Europe....In the various departments of Science, in the diversified walks of Poesy they have produced several writers of eminence. In the roll of Genius, Gesner, Klopstock, Goethe, Wieland, Herder, Schiller and the author of Alf von Deulmen claim a distinguished place. Very few writers have possessed talents more versatile than those of Wieland. With the inquisitive Philosopher he has searched into the depths of science. In the gravity of Fiction he has travelled through the shades of mystery and of terror; and in indulgence to the spirit of Gaiety and Love he has wantoned on the wings of the most sportive fancy. His “Oberon” is a performance which discovers, in an eminent degree, the powers of Invention, and the elegance and

fascination of narrative and description. Some portions of it should be condemned as licentious. It has been translated into English verse by Sotheby, who in the music of his numbers, in the variety and chasteness of his diction, and in the richness of his Imagery, is not excelled by any poet now living in England. From Oberon I have introduced among these illustrations the two following verses. They exhibit a picture which for boldness of conception and vivid colouring I have never seen surpassed. The Satan of Milton is not a sublimer Portrait.

Plain on his noble aspect shone confest,
Grandeur beneath a cowl that mildly gleam'd;
His eye a smile on all creation beam'd.
And tho' the touch of time had gently prest
His neck, soft bow'd beneath the weight of years,
Sublimely rais'd to heaven his brow appears,
The shrine of peace; and like a sun-gilt height,
Where never earthly mist obscur'd the light,
Above the stormy world its tranquil summit rears.
Time from his features long had wore away
The rust of earth and Passion's gloomy frown,
He would not stoop to grasp a falling crown,
Nor bend the sceptre of the world to sway.
Free from the vain desires that earth inthral,
Free from vain terrors that mankind appal,
Untouch'd by pain and unassail'd by fear
To Truth alone he turn'd his mental ear,
Alone to Nature tun'd and her sweet simple call.

These illustrations, with the observations connected with them have proceeded to a length so far beyond that which I expected; that I shall omit several passages, I had marked in other poets; and shall only further offer the following instances in prose.

“Truth is compared in scriptures to a streaming fountain; if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.

“Truth came once into our world with her divine master, and was a perfect shape, most glorious

to look on: but when he ascended, and his disciples after him were laid asleep, then strait arose a wicked race of deceivers, who, as that story goes of the Egyptian Typhon, with his conspirators, how they dealt with the good Osiris, took the virgin Truth, hewed her lovely form into a thousand pieces, and scattered them to the four winds. From that time ever since, the sad friends of Truth, such as durst appear, immitating the careful search that Isis made for the mangled body of Osiris, went up and down gathering up limb by limb, still as they could find them. We have not yet found them all lords and commons, nor ever shall do, till her master's second coming; he shall bring together every joint and member, and shall mould them into an immortal feature of loveliness and perfection. Suffer not these licensing prohibitions to stand at every place of opportunity, forbidding and disturbing them that continue seeking, that continue to do our obsequies to the torn body of our martyred saint. We boast our light; but if we look not wisely on the sun itself it smites us into darkness. Who can discern those planets that are oft comeust, and those stars of brightest magnitude, that rise and set with the sun, until the opposite motion of their orbs, bring them to such a place in the firmament, where they may be seen evening or morning?

“Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation, rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks: methinks I see her as an eagle muing her mighty young, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam; purging and unscaling her long abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance; while the whole noise of timorous and flocking birds, with those also that love the twilight, flutter about amaz'd at what she means, and in their envious gabble, would prognosticate a year of sects and schisms.”

Milton's Speech for the Liberty of unlicensed Printing.

“Wisdom hath always a good conscience attending it, that purest delight and richest cordial of the soul; that brazen wall and impregnable fortress

against both external assaults, and internal commotions.

“If a fool prosper, the honour is attributed to propitious chance; if he miscarry to his own ill management: but the entire glory of happy undertakings, crowns the head of wisdom; while the disgrace of unlucky events falls otherwhere. His light like that of the sun, cannot totally be eclipsed; it may be dimmed but never extinguished, and always maintains a day though overclouded with misfortune. Who less esteems the famous African captain for being overthrown in that last famous battle, wherein he is said to have shewn the best skill, and yet endured the worst success? Who contemns Cato, and other the grave citizens of Rome, for embracing the just, but unprosperous cause of the commonwealth? A wise man's circumstances may vary and fluctuate, like floods about a rock; but he persists unmoveably the same, and his reputation unshaken: for he can always render a good account of his actions, and by reasonable apology, elude the assaults of reproach.”

Barrow.

These passages which I have quoted, are selected from numbers in the same authors equally solid and lustrous. The expressions which appeared to me most striking, are designated by italics. The political and miscellaneous productions of the writer of Paradise Lost, are mines of intellectual gold; they contain perhaps as many burning thoughts of Genius as his poems. Barrow, the predecessor of the great Newton, in the mathematic chair of Cambridge, is justly entitled to a rank among the most copious and energetic divines of the Christian church. There is a remnant of antiquity in the stile and manner of both these original authors, which may displease the ear, attuned to the lulling harmony of the periods of the present day: but the strength and spirit of their figures, their boldness and elevation of thought, no one can mistake.

Let the reader of discernment and feeling examine particularly the prosaic works of Milton ....let him become familiarised with his manner.... let him learn to follow his vigorous and ascending wings....and he will probably say that he is not only the first poet, but one of the most eloquent

rhetoricians, and gigantic reasoners, that the English nation has ever produced.

“In our little journey up to the grande chartreuse, I do not remember to have gone ten paces without an exclamation, that there was no restraining: not a precipice, not a torrent, not a cliff, but is pregnant with religion and poetry. There are certain scenes that would awe an atheist into belief, without the help of other argument, one need not have a very fantastic imagination to see spirits there at noon-day: you have death perpetually before your eyes, only so far removed as to compose the mind without frighting it. I am well persuaded St. Bruno was a man of no common Genius, to choose such a situation for his retirement; and I perhaps should have been a disciple of his, had I been born in his time. You may believe Abelard and Heloise were not forgot on this occasion: if I do no mistake I saw you too every now and then at a distance among the trees; you seemed to call me from the other side of the precipice, but the noise of the river below was so great that I really could not distinguish what you said; it seemed to have a cadence like verse.”

Gray.

This extract from one of Gray's letters to his friends West, exhibits a painting exquisite, and sublime. It discovers the vigour and imagination of the Poet without his numbers.

“Many works of genius and learning, have been performed in states of life, that appear very little favourable to thought or inquiry: so many that he who considers them, is inclined to think that he sees enterprise and perseverance predominating over all external agency, and bidding help and hindrance vanish before them. The Genius of Shakspeare was not to be depressed by the weight of poverty, nor limited by the narrow conversation to which men in want are inevitably condemned; the incumbrances of his fortune were shaken from his mind, as dew-drops from a lion's mane.”

Johnson.

“He, whose soul reposes on his firm trust in God, like the halcyon that builds on the waves, if storms arise, may be tossed, but not endangered. Or, grant the worst, those tumultuous billows that devour others, rock him to rest eternal.”

Young.

“While your majesty looks down from that eminence to which Providence has raised you: while you behold all your flourishing provinces, reaping the harvest of happiness, and enjoying the blessings of peace; while you behold your throne encompassed with the affections of a loyal people....what have you to fear? Where is that enemy who can injure your felicity? Yes Sir! there is an enemy who can injure your felicity; that enemy is yourself; that enemy is the situation you adorn; that enemy is the glory which encircles you! It is no easy task to submit to the rule that seems to submit to us. Where is the canopy of sufficient texture to screen you from the penetrating and scorching beams of unbounded prosperity.”

Bossuet.

“Religious truth was exiled from the earth, and idolatry sat brooding over the moral world. The Egyptians, the fathers of philosophy, the Grecians, the inventors of the fine arts, the Romans, the conquerors of the universe, were all unfortunately celebrated for the perversion of religious worship,

for the gross errors they admitted into their belief, and the indignities they offered to the true religion. Minerals, vegetables, animals, the elements became objects of adoration; even abstract visionary forms, such as fevers and distempers received the honours of deification; and to the most infamous vices and dissolute passions, altars were erected. The world which God had made to manifest his power, seemed to have become a temple of idols, where every thing was God, but God himself!

“The mystery of the crucifixion was the remedy the almighty ordained for this universal idolatry. He knew the mind of man, and knew that it was not by reasoning an error must be destroyed which reasoning had not established. Idolatry prevailed by the suppression of reason, by suffering the senses to predominate, which are apt to clothe every thing with the qualities with which they are affected. Men gave the divinity their own figure, and attributed to him their vices and passions. Reasoning had no share in so brutal an error. It was the subversion of reason, a delirium, a phrenzy. Argue with a phrenetic person, you do but the more

provoke him, and render the distemper incurable. Neither will reasoning cure the delirium of idolatry. What has learned antiquity gained by her elaborate discourses? her reasonings so artfully framed? Did Plato with that eloquence which was styled divine, overthrow one altar where those monstrous divinities were worshipped. Experience has shewn that the overthrow of idolatry could not be the work of reason alone. Far from committing to human wisdom the cure of such a malady, God completed its confusion by the mystery of the cross. Idolatry (if rightly understood) took its rise from that profound self-attachment inherent in our nature. Thus it was that the Pagan mythology teemed with deities who were subject to human passions weaknesses and vices. When the mysterious cross displayed to the world an agonizing Redeemer; incredulity exclaimed it was foolishness! But the darkening sun, nature convulsed, the dead arising from their graves said it was wisdom.”

Bossuet.

“Go to your natural religion: lay before her Mahomet and his disciples arrayed in armour and

in blood, riding in triumph over the spoils of thousands and tens of thousands, who fell by his victorious sword: shew her the cities which he set in flames, the countries which he ravaged and destroyed, and the miserable distress of all the inhabitants of the earth. When she has viewed him in this scene, carry her into his retirements; shew her the Prophet's chamber, his concubines and his wives; let her see his adultery, and hear him allege revelation and his divine commission to justify his lust and his oppression. When she is tired with this prospect, then shew her the blessed Jesus, humble and meek, doing good to all the sons of men, patiently instructing both the ignorant and perverse. Let her see him in his most retired privacies; let her follow him to the mount, and hear his devotions and supplications to God. Carry her to his table, to view his poor fare, and hear his heavenly converse. Let her see him injured but not provoked: Let her attend him to the tribunal, and consider the patience with which he endured the scoffs and reproaches of his enemies. Lead him to his cross, and let her view him in the agony of death, and hear his last prayer for his persecutors: Father forgive them, &c. When natural religion has viewed both, ask which is the prophet of God? But her answer we have already had, when she saw part of this scene through the eyes of the centurion, who attended at the cross, by him she spoke and said, truly this was the son of God.”

SHERLOCK.

“Sire, if the poison of ambition reach and infect the heart of the prince; if the sovereign forgetting that he is the protector of the public tranquillity, prefer his own glory to the love and to the safety of his people; if he would rather subdue provinces than reign in their hearts; if it appear to him more glorious to be the destroyer of his neighbours, than the father of his people; if the voice of grief and desolation be the only sound that attends his victories; if he use that power which is only given him for the happiness of those he governs, to promote his own passions and interest; in a word if he be a king solely to spread misery, and like the monarch of Babylon, erect the idol of his greatness on the wreck of nations;

great God! what a scourge for the earth! what a present dost thou send to men, in thy wrath, by giving them such a master! His glory, Sire, will ever be steeped in blood. Some insane panegyrists may chaunt his victories, but the provinces the towns, the villages will weep. Superb monuments may be erected to eternise his conquests: but the ashes yet smoking of so many cities formerly flourishing; but the desolation of countries despoiled of their beauty; but the ruins of so many edifices, under which peaceable citizens have perished; but the lasting calamities that will survive him; will be mournful monuments that will immortalize his folly and his vanity: he will have passed like a torrent that destroys, not like a majestic river, spreading joy and abundance: his name will be inscribed in the annals of posterity among conquerors, but never among good kings: the history of his reign will be recollected, only to revive the memory of the evil he has done to mankind.”

Massillon.

If these copious extracts are admired as much by the reader as they deserve, I will not have

trespassed on his patience. I have introduced them with the pleasing hope that they will furnish a repast to cultivated taste, and that they will serve as fires kindled upon a hill, to enlighten the boundless region, where the eagle builds her nest.