(Remarks on Ramsay's miscellaneous poems are here omitted.)
In the year 1725,Ramsaypublished his pastoral comedy ofThe Gentle Shepherd, the noblest and most permanent monument of his fame. A few years before, he had published, in a single sheet,A Pastoral Dialogue between Patie and Roger, which was reprinted in the first collection of his poems, in 1721. This composition being much admired, his literary friends urged him to extend his plan to a regular drama: and to this fortunate suggestion the literary world is indebted for one of the most perfect pastoral poems that has ever appeared.[42]
Thepastoral dramais an invention of the moderns. The first who attempted this species of poetry wasAgostino de Beccari, in hisSacrificio Favola Pastorale, printed in 1553.Tassois supposed to have taken the hint from him; and is allowed, in hisAminta, published in 1573, to have far surpassed his master.Guarinifollowed, whosePastor Fidocontends for the palm with theAminta, and, in the general opinion of the Italians, is judged to have obtained it.Tassohimself is said to have confessed the superior merit of his rival's work; but to have added, in his own defence, that hadGuarininever seen hisAminta, he never would have surpassed it. Yet, I think, there is little doubt, that this preference is ill-founded. Both these compositions have resplendent beauties, with glaring defects and improprieties. I am, however, much mistaken, if the latter are not more abundant in thePastor Fido, as the former are predominant in theAminta. Both will ever be admired, for beauty ofpoetical expression, for rich imagery, and for detached sentiments of equal delicacy and tenderness: but the fable, both of theAminta, andPastor Fido, errs against all probability; and the general language and sentiments of the characters are utterly remote from nature. The fable of theAmintais not dramatic; for it is such, that the principal incidents, on which the plot turns, are incapable of representation: the beautifulSilvia, stripped naked, and bound by her hair to a tree by a brutal satyr, and released by her loverAmyntas;—her flight from the wolves;—the precipitation ofAmyntasfrom a high rock, who narrowly escapes being dashed in pieces, by having his fall broken by the stump of a tree;—are all incidents, incapable of being represented to the eye; and must therefore be thrown into narration. The whole of the last act is narrative, and is taken up entirely with the history ofAmyntas'sfall, and the happy change produced in the heart of the rigorousSilvia, when she found her lover thus miraculously preserved from the cruel death, to which her barbarity had prompted him to expose himself.
Yet, the fable of theAminta, unnatural and undramatic, as it is, has the merit of simplicity. That of thePastor Fido, equally unnatural and incredible, has the additional demerit of being complicated as well as absurd. The distress ofAmyntas, arising from an adequate and natural cause—rejected love, excites our sympathy; but the distress in thePastor Fidois altogether chimerical; we have no sympathy with the calamities arising from the indignation ofDiana, or the supposed necessity of accomplishing the absurd and whimsical response of anoracle. We cannot be affected by the passions of fictitious beings. The love of asatyrhas nothing in it but what is odious and disgusting.
The defects of these celebrated poems have arisen from the erroneous idea entertained by their authors, that the province of this species of poetry was not to imitate nature,but to paint that chimerical state of society, which is termed thegolden age.Mr. Addison, who, in the Guardian, has treated the subject of pastoral poetry at considerable length, has drawn his critical rules from that absurd principle; for he lays it down as a maxim, that, to form a right judgment of pastoral poetry, it is necessary to cast back our eyes on the first ages of the world, and inquire into the manners of men, "before they were formed into large societies, cities built, or commerce established: a state," says he, "of ease, innocence, and contentment; where plenty begot pleasure, and pleasure begot singing, and singing begot poetry, and poetry begot singing again:" a description this, which is so fantastical, as would almost persuade us, that the writer meant to ridicule his own doctrine, if the general strain of his criticism did not convince us it was seriously delivered. Is it necessary to prove, that this notion of pastoral poetry, however founded, in the practice of celebrated writers, has no foundation in fact, no basis in reason, nor conformity to good sense? To a just taste, and unadulterated feelings, the natural beauties of the country, the simple manners, rustic occupations, and rural enjoyments of its inhabitants, brought into view by the medium of a well-contrived dramatic fable, must afford a much higher degree of pleasure, than any chimerical fiction, in which Arcadian nymphs and swains hold intercourse with Pan and his attendant fauns and satyrs. If the position be disputed, let theGentle Shepherdbe fairly compared with theAminta, and,Pastor Fido.
Thestoryof theGentle Shepherdis fitted to excite the warmest interest, because the situations, into which the characters are thrown, are strongly affecting, whilst they are strictly consonant to nature and probability. The whole of thefableis authorized by the circumstances of the times, in which the action of the piece is laid. The era ofCromwell'susurpation, when many loyal subjects, sharing the misfortunes of their exiled sovereign, were stripped of theirestates, and then left to the neglect and desolation of forfeiture; the necessity under which those unhappy sufferers often lay, of leaving their infant progeny under the charge of some humble but attached dependant, till better days should dawn upon their fortunes; the criminal advantages taken by false friends in usurping the rights of the sufferers, and securing themselves against future question by deeds of guilt; these circumstances, too well founded in truth, and nature, are sufficient to account for every particular in this most interesting drama, and give it perfect verisimilitude.
Thefablesof theAmintaandPastor Fido, drawn from a state of society which never had an existence, are, for that reason, incapable of exciting any high degree of interest; and the mind cannot for a moment remain under the influence of that deception, which it is the great purpose of the drama to produce.
Thecharactersorpersonsof the Italian pastorals are coy nymphs and swains, whose sole occupation is hunting wild beasts, brutal satyrs who plot against the chastity of those nymphs, shepherds deriving their origin from the gods, stupid priests of these gods who are the dupes of their ambiguous will, and gods themselves disguised like shepherds, and influencing the conduct and issue of the piece. The manners of these unnatural and fictitious beings are proper to their ideal character. A dull moralizing chorus is found necessary to explain what the characters themselves must have left untold, or unintelligible.
Thepersonsof the Scotish pastoral are the actual inhabitants of the country where the scene is laid; their manners are drawn from nature with a faithful pencil. The contrast of the different characters is happily imagined, and supported with consummate skill.Patie, of a cheerful and sanguine temperament; spirited, yet free from vain ambition; contented with his humble lot; endowed by nature with a superior understanding, and feeling in himself those internalsources of satisfaction, which are independent of the adventitious circumstances of rank and fortune.Roger, of a grave and phlegmatic constitution; of kind affections, but of that ordinary turn of mind, which is apt to suppose some necessary connection between the possession of wealth and felicity. The former, from native dignity of character, assuming a bold pre-eminence, and acting the part of a tutor and counsellor to his friend, who bends, though with some reluctance, to the authority of a nobler mind. The principal female characters are contrasted with similar skill, and equal power of discrimination.Peggy, beautiful in person as in mind, endowed with every quality that can adorn the character of woman; gentle, tender-hearted, constant in affection, free from vanity as from caprice; of excellent understanding; judging of others by the criterion of her own innocent mind, and therefore forming the most amiable views of human nature.Jenny, sensible and affectionate, sprightly and satirical; possessing the ordinary qualities of her sex, self-love, simulation, and the passion of conquest; and pleased with exercising a capricious dominion over the mind of a lover; judging of mankind rather from the cold maxims of instilled prudential caution, than from the native suggestions of the heart.—A contrast of characters strongly and skilfully opposed, and therefore each most admirably fitted to bring the other into full display.
The subordinate persons of the drama are drawn with equal skill and fidelity to their prototypes.GlaudandSymonare the genuine pictures of the old Scotish yeomanry, the Lothian farmers of the last age, in their manners, sentiments, and modes of life; humble, but respectable; homely, yet comfortable. The episode ofBauldy, while it gives a pleasing variety, without interrupting the principal action, serves to introduce a character of a different species, as a foil to the honest and simple worth of the former. It paints in strong colours, and exposes to merited reprobationand contempt, that low and sordid mind, which seeks alone the gratification of its own desires, though purchased by the misery of the object of its affection. Bauldy congratulates himself on the cruel disappointment of Peggy's love;—"I hope we'll a' sleep sound, but ane, this night;"—and judges her present situation of deep distress to be the most favourable moment for preferring his own suit. His punishment, as it is suitable to his demerits, gives entire satisfaction.
TheAminta, andPastor Fido, abound in beautiful sentiments, and passages of the most tender and natural simplicity; but it is seldom we find a single page, in which this pleasing impression is not effaced by some affected and forced conceit. Nothing can be more delicately beautiful, or more agreeable to the true simplicity of pastoral, thanAmyntas'srecounting toTircisthe rise of his passion for Silvia. The description of their joint occupations and sports, till love insensibly arose in the breast ofTircis; the natural and innocent device he employed to obtain a kiss fromSilvia; the discovery of his affection, and his despair on finding her heart insensible to his passion, are proofs thatTassowas a true poet, and knew [how] to touch those strings, with which our genuine feelings must ever harmonize. In elegant and just description he is equally to be admired. The scene in whichTircisdescribes the lovelySilviabound naked to a tree by a brutal satyr, and released byAmyntas, whose passion she treated with scorn, is one of the most beautiful pieces of poetic painting. But, whenAmyntas, unloosing his disdainful mistress, addresses himself to the tree, to which she was tied; when he declares its rugged trunk to be unworthy of the bonds of that beautiful hair, which encircled it, and reproaches its cruelty in tearing and disfiguring those charming tresses, we laugh at such despicable conceits, and lament that vicious taste, to which even a true poet found himself (we presume against his better judgment) so oftencompelled to sacrifice. So likewise when, forgetting nature, he resorts to the ordinary cant of pastoral, the language and thoughts ofTheocritusandVirgil, and even superadds to those common-places, the false refinement, which in his age delighted his countrymen, we turn with dissatisfaction from his page. If we compare him, where the similarity of the subject allows a comparison, with the Scotish poet, how poor does the Italian appear in the competition!
Thus, let the first scene of theAminta, betweenSilviaandDaphne, be compared with the scene betweenJennyandPeggy, in theGentle Shepherd. The subject of both is the preference between a single and a married life:
DAPHNE.But whence can spring thy hate?SILVIA.Whence? from his love.DAPHNE.Too cruel offspring of so kind a sire!When was it heard that e'er the tender lambProduced a tiger, or the rook a swan?—Sure you deceive yourself, or jest with me.SILVIA.How can I choose but hate his love,Which hates my chastity?DAPHNE.Now tell me, should another thus address thee,Would'st thou in such harsh kind receive his love?SILVIA.In such harsh kind I ever would receiveThe traitor who would steal my virgin jewel.Whom you term lover I account a foe.DAPHNE.Thus to the ewe the ramThou deem'st a foe; or to the tender heifer,The sturdy bull; the turtle to its mate.Thus the delightful springSeems in thy mind the season of fell hate,And deadly enmity; the lovely springThat smiling prompts to universal love,That rouses nature's flame thro' all her bounds:Nor less in animals of every kind,Than favour'd man. See how creation glows,In all her works, with love's imperious flame!Mark yonder doves that bill, and sport, and kiss:Hear'st thou the nightingale, as on the boughShe evermore repeats, "I love, I love:"The wily snake sheaths her envenom'd fang,And sinuous glides her to her glossy mate:The savage tiger feels the potent flame:The grim majestic lion growls his loveTo the resounding forest.—Wilder thouThan nature's wildest race, spurn'st at that powerTo which all nature bows.—But why of these,Of the grim lion, or the spotted lynx,Or wily serpent?—these have sense and feeling.Even trees inanimate confess the god:See how the vine clings with a fond embrace;The mountain fir, the pine, the elm, the beech,Have each their favour'd mate: they burn, they sigh, &c.SILVIA.Well, when my ear shall hear their sighs of love,Perhaps I too may learn to love like them.
By a similar strain of argument,Linco, in thePastor Fido, endeavours to persuadeSilvioto love, whose sole delight is in the chase, and who tells his adviser, that he would not give one wild beast, taken by his dogMelampo, for a thousand beautiful nymphs.Lincobids him "See how all nature loves, the heavens, the earth, the sea; and that beautiful morning star that now shines so bright, she likewise loves, and shines more splendid from her amorous flame: see how she blushes, for now perhaps she has just left the stolen embraces of her lover. The woods, and alltheir savage inhabitants, the seas, the dolphins. the huge whales, &c., &c."
How poor is all this refinement and conceit, when compared with the language of truth and nature! When Pegg, in the confidence of a wamr and innocent heart, describes to her copanion the delights of a mutual passion, the enjoyments of domestic bliss, and the happiness arising from the exercise of the parental duties and affections; contrasting these with the cold and selfish feelings of determined celibacy, it is nature that speaks in every line, and the heart yields its warmest sympathy, as the judgment its complete conviction:
PEGGY.Sic coarse-spun thoughts as thae want pith to moveMy settl'd mind; I'm o'er far gane in love.Patie to me is dearer than my breath;But want of him I dread nae other skaith.There's nane of a' the herds that tread the greenHas sic a smile, or sic twa glancening een.And then he speaks with sic a taking art,His words they thirle like musick thro' my heart.How blythly can he sport, and gently rave,And jest a feckless fears that fright the lave!Ilk day that he's alane upon the hill,He reads fell books that teach him meikle skill.He is—but what need I say that or this?I'd spend a month to tell you what he is!
To the sarcastical picture which Jenny draws of the anxieties and turmoil of a wedded life, Peggy thus warmly replies:
Yes, 'tis a heartsome thing to be a wife,When round the ingle-edge young sprouts are rife.Gif I'm sae happy, I shall have delightTo hear their little plaints, and keep them right.Wow! Jenny, can there greater pleasure be,Than see sic wee tots toolying at your knee;When a' they ettle at—their greatest wish,Is to be made of, and obtain a kiss?Can there be toil in tenting day and night,The like of them, when love makes care delight?[43]JENNY.But poortith, Peggy, is the warst of a',Gif o'er your heads ill chance shou'd beggary draw:Your nowt may die—the spate may bear awayFrae aff the howms your dainty rucks of hay.—The thick blawn wreaths of snaw, or blashy thows,May smoor your wathers, and may rot your ews. &c.,PEGGY.May sic ill luck befa' that silly she,Wha has sic fears; for that was never me.Let fowk bode well, and strive to do their best;Nae mair's requir'd, let Heaven make out the rest.I've heard my honest uncle aften say,That lads shou'd a' for wives that's vertuous pray:For the maist thrifty man cou'd never getA well stor'd room, unless his wife wad let:Wherefore nocht shall be wanting on my part,To gather wealth to raise my Shepherd's heart.What e'er he wins, I'll guide with canny care, }And win the vogue, at market, tron, or fair, }For halesome, clean, cheap and sufficient ware. }A flock of lambs, cheese, butter, and some woo,Shall first be said, to pay the laird his due;Syne a' behind's our ain.—Thus, without fear,With love and rowth we thro' the warld will steer:And when my Pate in bairns and gear grows rife,He'll bless the day he gat me for his wife.JENNY.But what if some young giglit on the green,With dimpled cheeks, and twa bewitching een,Shou'd gar your Patie think his haff-worn Meg,And her kend kisses, hardly worth a feg?PEGGY.Nae mair of that;—Dear Jenny, to be free,There's some men constanter in love than we:Nor is the ferly great, when nature kindHas blest them with solidity of mind.They'll reason calmly, and with kindness smile,When our short passions wad our peace beguile.Sae, whensoe'er they slight their maiks at hame,'Tis ten to ane the wives are maist to blame.Then I'll employ with pleasure a' my art,To keep him chearfu', and secure his heart.At even, when he comes weary frae the hill,I'll have a' things made ready to his will.In winter, when he toils thro' wind and rain,A bleezing ingle, and a clean hearth-stane.And soon as he flings by his plaid and staff,The seething pot's be ready to take aff.Clean hagabag I'll spread upon his board,And serve him with the best we can afford.Good-humour and white bigonets shall beGuards to my face, to keep his love for me.Act 1, Scene 2.
Such are the sentiments of nature; nor is the language, in which they are conveyed, inadequate to their force and tenderness: for to those who understand the Scotish dialect, the expression will be found to be as beautiful as the thought. It is in those touches of simple nature, those artless descriptions, of which the heart instantly feels theforce, thus confessing their consonance to truth, that Ramsay excels all the pastoral poets that ever wrote.
ThusPatietoPeggy, assuring her of the constancy of his affection:
I'm sure I canna change, ye needna fear;Tho' we're but young, I've loo'd you mony a year.I mind it well, when thou cou'd'st hardly gang,Or lisp out words, I choos'd ye frae the thrangOf a' the bairns, and led thee by the hand,Aft to the Tansy-know, or Rashy-strand.Thou smiling by my side,—I took delite,To pu' the rashes green, with roots sae white,Of which, as well as my young fancy cou'd,For thee I plet the flowry belt and snood.Act 2, Scene 4.
Let this be contrasted with its corresponding sentiment in thePastor Fido, whenMirtillothus pleads the constancy of his affection forAmaryllis:
(and mark the pledge of this assurance)
The charm of theGentle Shepherdarises equally from the nature of the passions, which are there delineated, and the engaging simplicity and truth, with which their effects are described. The poet paints an honourable and virtuous affection between a youthful pair of the most amiable character; a passion indulged on each side from the purest and most disinterested motives, surmounting the severest of alltrials—the unexpected elevation of the lover to a rank which, according to the maxims of the world, would preclude the possibility of union; and crowned at length by the delightful and most unlooked for discovery, that this union is not only equal as to the condition of the parties, but is an act of retributive justice. In the anxious suspense, that precedes this discovery, the conflict of generous passions in the breasts of the two lovers is drawn with consummate art, and gives rise to a scene of the utmost tenderness, and the most pathetic interest. Cold indeed must be that heart, and dead to the finest sensibilities of our nature, which can read without emotion the interview betweenPatieandPeggy, after the discovery ofPatie'selevated birth, which the following lines describe:
PATIE.——My Peggy, why in tears?Smile as ye wont, allow nae room for fears:Tho' I'm nae mair a shepherd, yet I'm thine.PEGGY.I dare not think sae high: I now repineAt the unhappy chance, that made not meA gentle match, or still a herd kept thee.Wha can, withoutten pain, see frae the coastThe ship that bears his all like to be lost?Like to be carry'd, by some rover's hand,Far frae his wishes, to some distant land?PATIE.Ne'er quarrel fate, whilst it with me remains,>To raise thee up, or still attend these plains.My father has forbid our loves, I own:But love's superior to a parent's frown.I falshood hate: Come, kiss thy cares away;I ken to love, as well as to obey.Sir William's generous; leave the task to me,To make strict duty and true love agree.PEGGY.Speak on!—speak ever thus, and still my grief;But short I dare to hope the fond relief.New thoughts a gentler face will soon inspire,That with nice air swims round in silk attire:Then I, poor me!—with sighs may ban my fate,When the young laird's nae mair my heartsome Pate:Nae mair again to hear sweet tales exprest,By the blyth shepherd that excell'd the rest:Nae mair be envy'd by the tattling gang,When Patie kiss'd me, when I danc'd or sang:Nae mair, alake! we'll on the meadow play!And rin haff breathless round the rucks of hay;As aftimes I have fled from thee right fain,And fawn on purpose, that I might be tane.Nae mair around the Foggy-know I'll creep,To watch and stare upon thee, while asleep.But hear my vow—'twill help to give me ease;May sudden death, or deadly sair disease,And warst of ills attend my wretched life,If e'er to ane but you, I be a wife.PATIE.Sure Heaven approves—and be assur'd of me,I'll ne'er gang back of what I've sworn to thee:And time, tho' time maun interpose a while,And I maun leave my Peggy and this isle;Yet time, nor distance, nor the fairest face,If there's a fairer, e'er shall fill thy place.I'd hate my rising fortune, &c.——
With similar fervent assurances of the constancy of his affection,Patieprevails in calming the agitation ofPeggy'smind, and banishing her fears. She declares she will patiently await the happy period of his return, soothing the long interval with prayers for his welfare, and sedulous endeavours to improve and accomplish her mind, that she may be the more worthy of his affection. The scene concludes with an effusion of her heart in a sentiment of inimitable tenderness and beauty:
To a passion at once so pure, so delicate, so fervent, and so disinterested in its object, with what propriety may we apply that beautiful apostrophe ofBurns, in hisCottar's Saturday Night!
In intimate knowledge of human nature Ramsay yields to few poets either of ancient or of modern times. How naturally does poor Roger conjecture the insensibility of his mistress to his passion, from the following simple, but finely-imagined circumstances:
The counsel, whichPatiegives his friend, to prove with certainty the state ofJenny'saffections, is the result of a profound acquaintance with the human heart:
Then follows a picture so natural, and at the same time so exquisitely beautiful, that there is nothing in antiquity that can parallel it:
If, at times, we discern in theAmintathe proofs of a knowledge of the human heart, and the simple and genuine language of nature, our emotions of pleasure are soon checked by some frivolous stroke of refinement, or some cold conceit. In thePastor Fido, the latter impression is entirely predominant, and we are seldom gratified with any thing like a natural or simple sentiment. The character ofSilvio, utterly insensible to the charms of beauty or of female excellence, and who repays an ardent passion with insolence and hatred, if it exists at all in nature, is fitted only to excite contempt and detestation.Dorinda'scourtship ofSilviois equally nauseous, and the stratagem she employs to gain his love is alike unnatural. She steals and hides his favourite dogMelampo, and then throwing herself in his way while he is whooping after him through the forest, tells him she has found both the dog and a wounded doe, and claims her reward for the discovery. "What shall that be?" saysSilvio.—"Only," replies the nymph, "one of those things that your mother so often gives you."—"What," says he, "a box o' the ear?"—"Nay, nay, but," says Dorinda, "does she never give thee a kiss?"—"She neither kisses me, nor wants that others should kiss me."—The dog is produced, andSilvioasks, "Where is the doe?"—"That poor doe," says she, "am I." A petulance which, though rudely, we cannot say is unjustly punished, by Silvio giving a thousand kisses to his dear dog, and leaving the forward nymph, with a flat assurance of his hatred, toruminate on his scorn, and her own indelicacy. If this is nature, it is at least notla belle nature.
But the circumstance, on which turns the conversion of the obdurate Silvio, bids defiance even to possibility. Hunting in the forest, he holds a long discourse with an echo, and is half persuaded, by the reflected sounds of his own voice, that there is some real pleasure in love, and that he himself must one day yield to its influence. Dorinda clothes herself in the skin of a wolf, and is shot by him with an arrow, mistaking her for that animal. Then all at once he becomes her most passionate lover, sucks out the barb of the arrow with a plaister of green herbs, and swears to marry her on her recovery, which, by the favour of the gods, is fortunately accomplished in an instant.
Equally unnatural with the fable are the sentiments of this pastoral.Amaryllis, passionately adored byMirtillo, and secretly loving him, employs a long and refined metaphysical argument to persuade him, that if he really loves her, he ought to love her virtue; and that man's true glory lies in curbing his appetites. Themoralchorus seems to have notions of love much more consonant to human nature, who discourses for a quarter of an hour on the different kinds of kisses, and the supreme pleasure felt, when they are the expression of a mutual passion. But we need no chorus to elucidatearcanaof this nature.
True it is that in this drama, as in theAminta, there are passages of such transcendent beauty, of such high poetic merit, that we cannot wonder if, to many readers, they should veil every absurdity of fable, or of the general strain of sentiment: for who is there that can read the apostrophe ofAmaryllisto the groves and woods, the eulogy of rural
Care selve beate, &c.;
the charming address ofMirtilloto the spring—
O primavera gioventi del anno, &c.;
or the fanciful, but inspired description of the age of gold—
O bella età de l'oro! &c.;
who is there that can read these passages without the highest admiration and delight? but it must at the same time be owned, that the merit of these Italian poets lies in those highly finished, but thinly sown passages of splendour; and not in the structure of their fables, or the consonance of their general sentiments to truth and nature.
The principal difficulty in pastoral poetry, when it attempts an actual delineation of nature, (which we have seen is too seldom its object,) lies in the association of delicate and affecting sentiments with the genuine manners of rustic life; an union so difficult to be accomplished, that the chief pastoral poets, both ancient and modern, have either entirely abandoned the attempt, by choosing to paint a fabulous and chimerical state of society; or have failed in their endeavour, either by indulging in such refinement of sentiment as is utterly inconsistent with rustic nature, or by endowing their characters with such a rudeness and vulgarity of manners as is hostile to every idea of delicacy. It appears to me thatRamsayhas most happily avoided these extremes; and this he could the better do, from the singularly fortunate choice of his subject. The principal persons of the drama, though trained from infancy in the manners of rustic life, are of generous birth; to whom therefore we may allow, from nature and the influence of blood, an elevation of sentiment, and a nobler mode of thinking, than to ordinary peasants. To these characters the poet has therefore, with perfect propriety and knowledge of human nature, given the generous sentiments that accord with their condition, though veiled a little by the manners, and conveyed in the language which suits their accidental situation. The other characters, who are truly peasants, are painted with fidelity from nature; but even of these, the situation chosen by the poet was favourable for avoiding that extremevulgarity and coarseness of manners which would have offended a good taste. The peasantry of thePentland hills, within six or seven miles of the metropolis, with which of course they have frequent communication, cannot be supposed to exhibit the same rudeness of manners which distinguishes those of the remote part of the country. As the models, therefore, from which the poet drew were cast in a finer mould than mere provincial rustics, so their copies, as drawn by him, do not offend by their vulgarity, nor is there any greater degree of rusticity than what merely distinguishes their mode of life and occupations.
In what I have said of the manners of the characters in theGentle Shepherd, I know that I encounter the prejudices of someScotish critics, who allowing otherwise the very high merits of Ramsay as a poet, and giving him credit in particular for his knowledge of human nature, and skill to touch the passions, quarrel with him only on the score of his language; as they seem to annex inseparably the idea of coarseness and vulgarity to every thing that is written in the native dialect of their country: but of this I have said enough before. To every Englishman, and, I trust, to every Scotsman not of fastidious refinement, the dialect of theGentle Shepherdwill appear to be most perfectly consonant to the characters of the speakers, and the times in which the action is laid. To this latter circumstance the critics I have just mentioned seem not to have been sufficiently attentive. The language of this pastoral is not precisely the Scotish language of the present day: the poet himself spoke the language of the beginning of the century, and his persons were of the age preceding that period. To us their dialect is an antiquated tongue, and as such it carries with it a Doric simplicity. But when we consider both the characters and the times, it has an indispensable propriety; and to have given the speakers in theGentle Shepherda more refined and pollisheddialect, or more modern tone of conversation, would have been a gross violation of truth and nature.
In the faithful painting of rustic life,Ramsayseems to have been indebted to his own situation and early habits, as well as to the want of a learned education. He was familiarly acquainted with rural nature from actual observation; and his own impressions were not weakened or altered by much acquaintance with the classical common-places, or with those artificial pictures which are presented by the poets.[44]It is not therefore the general characters of the country, which one poet can easily draw from the works of others, that we find in his pastoral; it was the country in which he lived, the genuine manners of its inhabitants, the actual scenes with which he was conversant, that fixed his observation, and guided his imitative pencil. The character which, in the preface to his Evergreen, he assigns to the Scotish poetry in general, is in the most peculiar manner assignable to his own: "The morning rises in the poet's description, as she does in the Scotish horizon: we are not carried to Greece and Italy for a shade, astream, or a breeze; the groves rise in our own valleys, the rivers flow from our own fountains, and the winds blow upon our own hills." Ramsay's landscapes are drawn with the most characteristic precision: we view the scene before us, as in the paintings of aClaudeor aWaterloo; and the hinds and shepherds of the Pentland hills, to all of whom this delightful pastoral is as familiar as their catechism, can trace the whole of its scenery in nature, and are eager to point out to the inquiring stranger—the waterfall ofHabbie's how—the cottages ofGlaudandSymon—Sir William's ancient tower, ruinated in the civil wars, but since rebuilt—theauld avenueandshady groves, still remaining in defiance of the modern taste for naked, shadeless lawns. And here let it be remarked, as perhaps the surest criterion of the merit of this pastoral as atrue delineation of nature, that it is universally relished and admired by that class of people whose habits of life and manners are there described. Its sentiments and descriptions are in unison with their feelings. It is recited, with congenial animation and delight, at the fireside of the farmer, when in the evening the lads and lasses assemble to solace themselves after the labours of the day, and share the rustic meal. There is not a milk-maid, a plough-boy, or a shepherd, of the Lowlands of Scotland, who has not by heart its favourite passages, and can rehearse its entire scenes. There are many of its couplets that, like the verses of Homer, are become proverbial, and have the force of an adage, when introduced in familiar writing, or in ordinary conversation.
OPINIONS AND REMARKS
ON
"THE GENTLE SHEPHERD,"
BY VARIOUS AUTHORS.
John Aikin, LL.D. 1772.
"No attempt to naturalizepastoral poetry, appears to have succeeded better than Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd: it has a considerable air of reality, and the descriptive parts, in general, are in the genuine taste of beautiful simplicity."[45]
James Beattie, LL.D. 1776.
"The sentiments of [the 'Gentle Shepherd'], are natural, the circumstances interesting; the characters well drawn, well distinguished, and well contrasted; and the fable has more probability than any other pastoral drama I am acquainted with. To an Englishman who has never conversed with the common people of Scotland, the language would appear only antiquated, obscure, or unintelligible; but to a Scotchman who thoroughly understands it, and is aware of its vulgarity, it appearsludicrous; from the contrast betweenmeannessof phrase anddignityorseriousnessof sentiment.
This gives a farcical air even to the most affecting part of thepoem; and occasions an impropriety of a peculiar kind, which is very observable in the representation. And accordingly, this play, with all its merit, and with a strong national partiality in its favour, has never given general satisfaction upon the stage."[46]
William Tytler.1783.
"Ramsaywas a man of strong natural, though few acquired parts, possessed of much humour, and native poetic fancy. Born in a pastoral country, he had strongly imbibed the manners and humours of that life. As I knew him well, an honest man, and of great pleasantry, it is with peculiar satisfaction I seize this opportunity of doing justice to his memory, in giving testimony to his being the author of theGentle Shepherd, which, for the natural ease of the dialogue, the propriety of the characters, perfectly similar to the pastoral life in Scotland, the picturesque scenery, and, above all, the simplicity and beauty of the fable, may justly rank amongst the most eminent pastoral dramas that our own or any other nation can boast of. Merit will ever be followed by detraction. The envious tale, that theGentle Shepherdwas the joint composition of some wits with whomRamsayconversed, is without truth. It might be sufficient to say, that none of these gentlemen have left the mediumest fragment behind them that can give countenance to such a claim. While I passed my infancy atNewhall, nearPentland hills, where the scenes of this pastoral poem are laid, the seat of Mr.Forbes, and the resort of many of theliteratiat that time, I well remember to have heardRamsayrecite, as his own production, different scenes of theGentle Shepherd, particularly the first two, before it was printed.I believe my honourable friend SirJames Clerk of Pennycuik, whereRamsayfrequently resided, and who I know is possessed of several original poems composed by him, can give the same testimony."
"P.S.The above note was shewn to SirJames Clerk, and had his approbation."[47]
Hugh Blair, D.D. 1783.
"I must not omit the mention of anotherpastoral drama, which will bear being brought into comparison with any composition of this kind, in any language; that is, Allan Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd. It is a great disadvantage to this beautiful poem, that it is written in the old rustic dialect of Scotland, which, in a short time, will probably be entirely obsolete, and not intelligible; and it is a farther disadvantage that it is so entirely formed on the rural manners of Scotland, that none but a native of that country can thoroughly understand or relish it. But, though subject to these local disadvantages, which confine its reputation within narrow limits, it is full of so much natural description, and tender sentiment, as would do honour to any poet. The characters are well drawn, the incidents affecting; the scenery and manners lively and just. It affords a strong proof, both of the power which nature and simplicity possess, to reach the heart in every sort of writing; and of the variety of pleasing characters and subjects with whichpastoral poetry, when properly managed, is capable of being enlivened."[48]
John Pinkerton.1786.
"Allan Ramsay.The convivial buffoonery of this writer has acquired him a sort of reputation, which his poetry by no means warrants; being far beneath the middling, and showing no spark of genius. Even his buffoonery is not that of a tavern, but that of an ale-house.
"TheGentle Shepherdall now allow the sole foundation of his fame. Let us put it in the furnace a little; for, if it be gold, it will come out the purer. Dr. Beattie, in his Essay on Laughter and Ludicrous Composition, observes, that the effect of the Gentle Shepherd is ludicrous from the contrast between meanness of phrase, and dignity or seriousness of sentiment. This is not owing to its being written in the Scotish dialect, now left to the peasantry, as that ingenious writer thinks; for the first part of Hardyknute, written in that very dialect, strikes every English reader as sublime and pathetic to the highest degree. In fact this glaring defect proceeds from Allan Ramsay's own character as a buffoon, so evident from all his poems, and which we all know he bore in private life; and from Allan's total ignorance of the Scotish tongue, save that spoken by the mob of Mid Lothian. It is well known that a comic actor of the Shuter or Edwin class, though highly meritorious in his line, yet, were he to appear in any savequeercharacters, the effect would even be more ludicrous than when he was in his proper parts, from the contrast of the man with his assumed character. This applies also to authors; for Sterne's sermons made us laugh, though there was nothing laughable in them: and, had Rabelais, or Sterne, written a pastoral opera, though the reader had been ignorant of their characters, still a something, a je ne sçai quoi, in the phraseology, would have ever provoked laughter. But this effect Ramsay has even pushed further; for, by his entire ignorance of the Scotish tongue, save that spoken bythe mob around him, he was forced to use the very phraseology of the merest vulgar, rendered yet more ridiculous by his own turn to low humour; being himself indeed one of the mob, both in education and in mind. So that putting suchqueerlanguage into the mouth of respectable characters—nay, pretending to clothe sentiments, pathos, and all that, with such phraseology—his whole Gentle Shepherd has the same effect as a gentleman would have who chose to drive sheep on the highway with a harlequin's coat on. This radical defect at once throws the piece quite out of the class of good compositions.
"Allan was indeed so much apoet, that in hisEvergreenhe even puts rhyming titles to the old poems he publishes; and by this silly idea, and his own low character, has stamped a kind of ludicrous hue on the old Scotish poetry, of which he pretended to be a publisher, that even now is hardly eradicated, though many editors of great learning and high respectability have arisen.
"I have been the fuller on this subject, because, to the great discredit of taste in Scotland, while we admire the effusions of this scribbler, we utterly neglect our really great poets, such as Barbour, Dunbar, Drummond, &c. There is even a sort of national prejudice in favour of the Gentle Shepherd, because it is our only drama in the Scotish language; yet we ought to be ashamed to hold prejudices so ridiculous to other nations, and so obnoxious to taste, and just criticism. I glory in Scotland as my native country; and, while I try to root up all other prejudices out of my mind, shall ever nourish my partiality to my country; as, if that be a prejudice, it has been esteemed an honest and a laudable one in all ages; and is, indeed, the only prejudice perfectly consonant to reason, and vindicable by truth. But Scotland has no occasion to recur to false history, false taste, false science, or false honours of any kind.In the severest light of truth she will stand very conspicuous. Her sons, in trying to adorn her, have shown remarkable defects of judgment. The ancient history of the Picts, so splendid in the page of Tacitus, is lost in our own fables. We neglect all our great poets, and are in raptures with Allan Ramsay. Our prejudices are as pitiful as strong; and we know not that the truth would make us far more illustrious, than all our dreams of prejudice, ifrealized, to use an expression of impossibility. Good sense in antiquities, and good taste in poetry, are astonishingly wanting in Scotland to this hour."[49]
Joseph Ritson.1794.
"Ramsay was a man of strong natural parts, and a fine poetical genius, of which his celebratedpastoralThe Gentle Shepherd will ever remain a substantial monument; and though some of his songs may be deformed by far-fetched allusions and pitiful conceits,The Lass of Patie's Mill,The Yellow-hair'd Laddie,Farewell to Lochaber, and some others, must be allowed equal to any, and even superior, in point of pastoral simplicity, to most lyric productions, either in the Scotish or any other language."[50]
William Roscoe.1795.
"Whether the dialect of Scotland be more favourable to attempts of this nature, or whether we are to seek for the fact in the character of the people, or the peculiar talents of the writers, certain it is, that the idiom of that countryhas been much more successfully employed in poetical composition, than that of any other part of these kingdoms, and that this practice may here be traced to a very early period. In later times the beautifuldramatic poemof The Gentle Shepherd has exhibited rusticity without vulgarity, and elegant sentiment without affectation. Like the heroes of Homer, the characters of this piece can engage in the humblest occupations without degradation."[51]
Thomas Campbell.1819.
"The admirers of the Gentle Shepherd, must perhaps be contented to share some suspicion of national partiality, while they do justice to their own feeling of its merit. Yet as this drama is a picture of rustic Scotland, it would perhaps be saying little for its fidelity, if it yielded no more agreeableness to the breast of a native than he could expound to a stranger by the strict letter of criticism. We should think the painter had finished the likeness of a mother very indifferently, if it did not bring home to her children traits of undefinable expression which had escaped every eye but that of familiar affection. Ramsay had not the force of Burns; but, neither, in just proportion to his merits, is he likely to be felt by an English reader. The fire of Burns' wit and passion glows through an obscure dialect by its confinement to short and concentrated bursts. The interest which Ramsay excites is spread over a long poem, delineating manners more than passions; and the mind must be at home both in the language and manners, to appreciate the skill and comic archness with which he has heightened the display of rustic character without giving it vulgarity, and refined the view of peasant life by situations of sweetness and tenderness, without departing in theleast degree from its simplicity. The Gentle Shepherd stands quite apart from the general pastoral poetry of modern Europe. It has no satyrs, nor featureless simpletons, nor drowsy and still landscapes of nature, but distinct characters and amusing incidents. The principal shepherd never speaks out of consistency with the habits of a peasant, but he moves in that sphere with such a manly spirit, with so much cheerful sensibility to its humble joys, with maxims of life so rational and independent, and with an ascendency over his fellow swains so well maintained by his force of character, that if we could suppose the pacific scenes of the drama to be suddenly changed into situations of trouble and danger, we should, in exact consistency with our former idea of him, expect him to become the leader of the peasants, and the Tell of his native hamlet. Nor is the character of his mistress less beautifully conceived. She is represented, like himself, as elevated, by a fortunate discovery, from obscure to opulent life, yet as equally capable of being the ornament of either. A Richardson or a D'Arblay, had they continued her history, might have heightened the portrait, but they would not have altered its outline. Like the poetry of Tasso and Ariosto, that of the Gentle Shepherd is engraven on the memory of its native country. Its verses have passed into proverbs and it continues to be the delight and solace of the peasantry whom it describes."[52]
Leigh Hunt.1848.
"Poetical expression in humble life is to be found all over the south. In the instances of Burns, Ramsay, and others, the north also has seen it. Indeed, it is not a little remarkable, that Scotland, which is more northern than England,and possesses not even a nightingale, has had more of it than its southern neighbour."
"Allan Ramsay is the prince of the homely pastoral drama. He and Burns have helped Scotland for ever to take pride in its heather, and its braes, and its bonny rivers, and be ashamed of no honest truth in high estate or in low; an incalculable blessing. Ramsay is entitled not only to the designation we have given him, but in some respects is the best pastoral writer in the world. There are, in truth, two sorts of genuine pastoral—the high ideal of Fletcher and Milton, which is justly to be considered the more poetical,—and the homely ideal, as set forth by Allan Ramsay and some of the Idyls of Theocritus, and which gives us such feelings of nature and passion as poetical rustics not only can, but have entertained and eloquently described. And we think the Gentle Shepherd, 'in some respects,' the best pastoral that ever was written, not because it has anything, in a poetical point of view, to compare with Fletcher and Milton, but because there is, upon the whole, more faith and more love in it, and because the kind of idealized truth which it undertakes to represent, is delivered in a more corresponding and satisfactory form than in any other entire pastoral drama. In fact, the Gentle Shepherd has no alloy whatsoever to its pretensions,such as they are—no failure in plot, language, or character—nothing answering to the coldness and irrelevances of 'Comus,' nor to the offensive and untrue violations of decorum in the 'Wanton Shepherdess' of Fletcher's pastoral, and the pedantic and ostentatious chastity of his Faithful one. It is a pure, healthy, natural, and (of its kind) perfect plant, sprung out of an unluxuriant but not ungenial soil; not hung with the beauty and fragrance of the productions of the higher regions of Parnassus; not waited upon by spirits and enchanted music; a dog-rose, if you will; say rather, a rose in a cottage-garden, dabbled with the morning dew, and plucked by an honest lover to give to his mistress.
"Allan Ramsay's poem is not only a probable and pleasing story, containing charming pictures, much knowledge of life, and a good deal of quiet humour, but in some respects it may be called classical, if by classical is meant ease, precision, and unsuperfluousness of style. Ramsay's diction is singularly straightforward, seldom needing the assistance of inversions; and he rarely says anything for the purpose of 'filling up;'—two freedoms from defect the reverse of vulgar and commonplace; nay, the reverse of a great deal of what pretends to be fine writing, and is received as such. We confess we never tire of dipping into it, 'on and off,' any more than into Fletcher or Milton, or into Theocritus himself, who, for the union of something higher with true pastoral, is unrivalled in short pieces. The Gentle Shepherd is not a forest, nor a mountain-side, nor Arcady; but it is a field full of daisies, with a brook in it, and a cottage 'at the sunny end;' and this we take to be no mean thing, either in the real or the ideal world. Our Jar of Honey may well lie for a few moments among its heather, albeit filled with Hybla. There are bees, 'look you,' in Habbie's How. Theocritus and Allan shake hands over a shepherd's pipe. Take the beginning of Scene ii., Act i., both for description and dialogue:—
"This is an out-door picture. Here is an in-door one quite as good—nay, better.
"We would quote, if we could—only it might not look so proper, when isolated—the whole song at the close of Act the Second. The first line of it alone is worth all Pope's pastorals put together, and (we were going to add) half of those of Virgil; but we reverence too much the great follower of the Greeks, and true lover of the country. There is more sentiment, and equal nature, in the song at the end of Act the Fourth. Peggy is taking leave of her lover, who is going abroad:—
"The charming and so (to speak) natural flattery of the loving delicacy of this distinction—
'By vowsyou're mine,by loveis yours,'
was never surpassed by a passion the most refined. It reminds us of a like passage in the anonymous words (Shakspeare might have written them) of the fine old English madrigal by Ford, 'Since first I saw your face.' Perhaps Ford himself wrote them; for the author of that music had sentiment enough in him for anything. The passage we allude to is—
The highest refinement of the heart, though too rare in most classes, is luckily to be found in all; and hence it is, that certain meetings of extremes in lovers of different ranks in life are not always to be attributed either to a failure of taste on the one side, or unsuitable pretensions on the other. Scotish dukes have been known to meet with real Gentle-Shepherd heroines; and everybody knows the story of a lowly Countess of Exeter, who was too sensitive to survive the disclosure of the rank to which her lover had raised her."[53]
Anecdote of Lady Strange.
During nearly twenty years of the latter part of Ramsay's life, "he continued occasionally to write epistles in verse, and other short pieces, as he had done before, for the entertainment of his private friends. When urged by some of them to give some more of his works to the press, he said that he was more inclined, if it were in his power, to recall much of what he had already written, and that if half his printed books were burnt, the other half, like the Sybil's books, would become more valuable by it."[54]Still more deeply was this feeling entertained by his son, who hesitated not to express it in a manner more emphatic than respectful to his father's memory. On one occasion, in London, and in the house of Lady Strange, widow of the celebrated engraver of that name—a lady whose kindness to her countrymen and predilection for Scotland will long be remembered—he is said to have declared that if he could purchase every copy of his father's writings, even at the cost of a thousand pounds, he would commit them to the flames. "Indeed, sir," replied the lady, misunderstanding his meaning, "then let me tell you that if you could, and should do so, your labour would be lost, for I can," says she, "repeat from memoryevery wordof the Gentle Shepherd, and were you to consume every copy of it, I would write out that matchless poem with my own hand, and cause it to be printed at my own charges."[55]
LIST OF ALLAN RAMSAY'S WORKS.
Poems.—Edinburgh, 1721-28. 4to. 2 vols. First collective edition. Many other editions.See Preface, pageix.The Evergreen, being a Collection of Scots Poems, wrote by the Ingenious before 1600. Edinburgh, 1724. 16mo. 2 vols. Reprinted, 1761 and 1824.The Tea-Table Miscellany.Edinburgh, 1724, &c.—4 vols. 12mo. A well-known collection of Songs, English as well as Scotish, by several hands. Many other editions.Tea-Table Miscellany—circa 1726. "Music for Allan Ramsay's collection of Scots Songs: Set by Alexander Stuart, and engraved by R. Cooper, vol. First. Edinburgh; printed and sold by Allan Ramsay."This is a medium oblong volume of 156 pages, divided into six parts, and contains the music of seventy-one Songs, selected from the first volume of the Tea-Table Miscellany, printed in 1724. It is very scarce, and no second volume ever appeared.The Gentle Shepherd, a Scots Pastoral Comedy. Edinburgh, 1725. First edition. Numerous other editions.See Preface, pagex. Included in all the collective editions of the Poems.Translations.—By Cornelius Vanderstop. London, 1777. 8vo.—By W. Ward. London, 1785. 8vo.—By Margaret Turner. London, 1790. 8vo.Fables.—A Collection of thirty Fables. Edinburgh, 1730. First collective edition. The greater part of these were included in the quarto of 1728, and are to be found in all the more recent editions of the Poems.Proverbs.—A Collection of Scots Proverbs. Edinburgh, 1737. 12mo. Numerous editions.
Poems.—Edinburgh, 1721-28. 4to. 2 vols. First collective edition. Many other editions.See Preface, pageix.
The Evergreen, being a Collection of Scots Poems, wrote by the Ingenious before 1600. Edinburgh, 1724. 16mo. 2 vols. Reprinted, 1761 and 1824.
The Tea-Table Miscellany.Edinburgh, 1724, &c.—4 vols. 12mo. A well-known collection of Songs, English as well as Scotish, by several hands. Many other editions.
Tea-Table Miscellany—circa 1726. "Music for Allan Ramsay's collection of Scots Songs: Set by Alexander Stuart, and engraved by R. Cooper, vol. First. Edinburgh; printed and sold by Allan Ramsay."This is a medium oblong volume of 156 pages, divided into six parts, and contains the music of seventy-one Songs, selected from the first volume of the Tea-Table Miscellany, printed in 1724. It is very scarce, and no second volume ever appeared.
The Gentle Shepherd, a Scots Pastoral Comedy. Edinburgh, 1725. First edition. Numerous other editions.See Preface, pagex. Included in all the collective editions of the Poems.Translations.—By Cornelius Vanderstop. London, 1777. 8vo.—By W. Ward. London, 1785. 8vo.—By Margaret Turner. London, 1790. 8vo.
Fables.—A Collection of thirty Fables. Edinburgh, 1730. First collective edition. The greater part of these were included in the quarto of 1728, and are to be found in all the more recent editions of the Poems.
Proverbs.—A Collection of Scots Proverbs. Edinburgh, 1737. 12mo. Numerous editions.
TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
SUSANNA,
COUNTESS OF EGLINTOUN.[56]
Madam,
The love of approbation, and a desire to please the best, have ever encouraged the Poets to finish their designs with chearfulness. But, conscious of their own inability to oppose a storm of spleen and haughty ill-nature, it is generally an ingenious custom amongst them to chuse some honourable shade.
Wherefore, I beg leave to put my Pastoral under your Ladyship's protection. If my Patroness says, the Shepherds speak as they ought, and that there are severalnatural flowers that beautify the rural wild, I shall have good reason to think myself safe from the awkward censure of some pretending judges that condemn before examination.
I am sure of vast numbers that will crowd into your Ladyship's opinion, and think it their honour to agree in their sentiments with the Countess ofEglintoun, whose penetration, superior wit, and sound judgment, shines with an uncommon lustre, while accompanied with the diviner charms of goodness and equality of mind.