Chapter 7

This is a most majesticVision, andHarmonious charmingLays—

’Tis true, another Poet, who possessed a great part of Shakespear’s genius and all Jonson’s learning, has carried this courtly entertainment to its last perfection. But theMask at Ludlow Castlewas, in some measure, owing to thefairy Scenesof his Predecessor; who chose this province ofTradition, not only as most suitable to the wildness of his vast creativeimagination, but as thesafestfor his unlettered Muse to walk in. For here he had much, you knew, to expect from the popular credulity, and nothing to fear from the classic superstition of that time.

2. It were endless to apply thisnoteof imitation to other poets confessedly learned. Yet one instance is curious enough to be just mentioned.

Mr. Waller, in his famous poem on the victory over the Dutch on June 3, 1665, has the following lines;

His flight tow’rds heav’n th’ aspiringBelgiantook;But fell, likePhaeton, with thunder strook:From vaster hopes than his, he seem’d to fall,That durst attempt theBritishAdmiral:From her broadsides a ruder flame is thrown,Than from the fiery chariot of the Sun:That, bearsTHE RADIANT ENSIGN OF THE DAY;AndShe, the flag that governs in the Sea.

He is comparing the British Admiral’sShipto theChariotof the Sun. You smile at the quaintness of the conceit, and the ridicule he falls into, in explaining it. But that is not the question at present. Thelatter, he says,bearsthe radiant ensign of the day: Theother,the ensign of naval dominion. We understand how properly theEnglish Flagis here denominated. But what is thatother Ensign? TheSunitself, it will be said. But who, in our days, ever expressed the Sun by such a periphrasis? The image is apparently antique, and easily explained by those who know that anciently the Sun was commonly emblematized by astarry or radiate figure; nay, that such a figure was placed aloft, as anEnsign, over theSun’s charioteer, as we may see in representations of this sort on ancient Gems and Medals.

From this original then Mr. Waller’s imagery was certainly taken; and it is properly applied in this place where he is speaking of theChariot of the Sun, andPhaeton’s fallfrom it. But to remove all doubt in the case, we can even point to the very passage of a Pagan poet, which Mr. Waller had in his eye, or rather translated.

Proptereà noctes hiberno tempore longæCessant, dum veniatRADIATUM INSIGNE DIEI.Lucr.l. v. 698.

Here, you see, the poet’s allusion to a classic idea has led us to the discovery of the verypassage from which it was taken. And this use a learned reader will often make of the species of Imitation, here considered.

V. Great writers, you find, sometimes forget the character of theAge, they live in; theprinciples, andnotionsthat belong to it. “Sometimes they forgetthemselves, that is, their own situation and character.” Another sign of the influence ofImitation.

1. When we see such men, asStradaandMariana, writers of fine talents indeed, but of recluse lives and narrow observation, chusing to talk like men of the world, and abounding in the most refined conclusions of the cabinet, we are sure that this character, which we find so natural in a Cardinalde Retz, is but assumed by these Jesuits. And we are not surprized to discover, on examination, that their best reflexions are copied fromTacitus.

On the other hand, when a man of the world took it into his head, the other day, in a moping fit, to talkSentences, every body concluded that this was not the language of the writer or his situation, but that he had been poaching in some pedant; perhaps in theStoical Fop, he affected so much contempt of,Seneca.

2. Sometimes we catch a great writer deviating from hisnatural manner, and taking pains, as it were, to appear the very reverse of his propercharacter. Would you wish a stronger proof of his being seduced, at least for the time, by the charms ofimitation?

Nothing is better known than the easy, elegant, agreeable vein ofVoiture. Yet you have read his famous Letter toBalzac, and have been surprized, no doubt, at the forced, quaint, and puffy manner, in which it is written. The secret is, Voiture is aping Balzac from one end of this letter to the other. Whether to pay his court to him, or to laugh at him, or that perhaps, in the instant of writing, he really fancied an excellence in the style of that great man, is not easy to determine. An eminent French critic, I remember, is inclined to take it for a piece of mockery. At all events, we must needs esteem it animitation.

3. This remark on the turn of a writer’sgeniusmay be further applied to that of histemper or disposition.

The natural misanthropy of Swift may account for his thinking and speaking very oftenin the spirit ofRochefoucault, without any thought of taking from hisMaxims, though he was an admirer of them. But if at any time we observe so humane and benevolent a man as Mr. Pope giving into this language, we say of course, “This is not his own, but an assumed manner.”

Or what say you to an instance that exemplifies both these observations together? The natural unaffected turn of Mr. Cowley’s manner, and the tender sensibility of his mind, are equally seen and loved in his prose-works, and in such of his poems as were written after a good model, or came from the heart. A clear sparkling fancy, softened with a shade of melancholy, made him, perhaps, of all our poets the most capable of excelling in the elegiac way, or of touching us in any way where a vein of easy language and moral sentiment is required. Who but laments then to see this fine genius perverted by the prevailing pedantry of his age, and carried away, against the bias of his nature, to an emulation of the rapturous, high-spirited Pindar?

I might give many more examples. But you will observe them in your own reading. I take the first that come to hand only toexplain my meaning, which is, “That if you find a course of sentiments or cast of composition different from that, to which the writer’ssituation,genius, orcomplexionwould naturally lead him, you may well suspect him of imitation.”

Still it may be, these considerations are rather too general. I come to others more particular and decisive.

VI. It may be difficult sometimes to determine whether a single sentiment or image be derived or not. But when we see a cluster of them in two writers, applied to the same subject, one can hardly doubt that one of them has copied from the other.

A celebrated French moralist makes the following reflexions. “Quelle chimere est-ce donc que l’homme? Quelle nouveautè, quel chaos, quel sujet de contradiction? Juge de toutes choses, imbecile ver de terre; depositaire du vrai, amas d’incertitude; gloire, et rebut de l’univers.”

Turn now to theEssay on Man, and tell me if Mr. Pope did not work up the following lines out of these reflexions.

“Chaos of thought and passion, all confus’d;Still by himself abus’d or disabus’d;Created half to rise, and half to fall,Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl’d:The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.”

2. This conclusion is still more certain, when, together with a general likeness of sentiments, we find the samedispositionof the parts, especially if that disposition be in no common form.

“Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweetWith charm of earliest birds: pleasant the sun,When first on this delightful land he spreadsHis orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flow’r,Glist’ring with dew”——

and the rest of that fine speech in the IVth Book ofParadise Lost, which you remember so perfectly that I need not transcribe more of it.

Milton’s fancy, as usual, is rich and exuberant; but the conduct and application of his imagery shews, that the whole passage wasshadowed out of those charming but simpler lines in theDanaeof Euripides.

——φίλον μὲν φέγγος ἡλίου τόδε.Καλὸν δὲ πόντου χεῦμ’ ἰδεῖν εὐήνεμον,Γῆ τ’ ἠρινὸν θάλλουσα, πλούσιόν θ’ ὕδωρ,Πολλῶν τ’ ἔπαινόν ἐστί μοι λέξαι καλῶν.Ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν οὕτω λαμπρὸν, οὐδ’ ἰδεῖν, καλὸν,Ὡς τοῖς ἄπαισι, καὶ πόθῳ δεδηγμένοις,Παίδων νεογνῶν ἐν δόμοις ἰδεῖν φάος.

VII. There is little doubt in such cases as these. There needs not perhaps be much in the case, sometimes, ofsinglesentiments or images. As where we find “a sentiment or image in two writers precisely the same, yet new and unusual.”

1. Thus we are told very reasonably, thatMilton’s clust’ring locksis the copy of Apollonius’ ΠΛΟΚΑΜΟΙ ΒΟΤΡΥΟΕΝΤΕΣ.Obs. on Spenser, p. 80. For though the metaphor be a just one and very natural, yet there is perhaps no other authority for the use of it, but in these two poets. And Milton had certainly read Apollonius.

2. What the same critic observes of Milton’s

——“Andcurlthe groveIn ringletsquaint”—

being taken from Jonson’s

When was old Sherwood’s head morequaintly curl’d?

is still more unquestionable. For here is a combination of signs to convict the former of imitation: Not only thesingularity of the image, but theidentity of expression, and, what I lay the most stress upon, theboldness of the figure, as employed by Milton. Jonson speaks of old Sherwood’shead, as curl’d. Milton, as conscious of his authority, drops the preparatory idea, and says at once, Thegrovecurl’d.

Let me add to these, two more instances from the same poet.

3.Spensertells us of

A littleglooming light, much like a shade.F. Q. c.II., s. 14.

Can you imagine that Milton did not take his idea from hence, when he said, in hisPenseroso,

—glowing embers thro’ the roomTeachlightto counterfeit agloom?

4. Again, in his description of Paradise,

Flow’rs of all hues, and without thorn the rose.

Every poet of every time is lavish of his flowers on such occasions. Butthe rose without thornis a rarity. And, though it was fine to imagine such an one in Paradise, could only be an Italian refinement. Tasso, you will think, is the original, when you have read the following lines;

Senza quei suoi pungenti ispidi dumiSpiegò le foglie la purpurea Rosa.

5. Another instance, still more remarkable, may be taken from Mr. Pope. One of the most striking passages in theEssay on Manis the following,

Superior Beings, when of late they sawA mortal man unfold all nature’s law,Admir’d such wisdom in an earthly shape,And shew’d aNewton, as we shew an ape.Ep. ii. v. 31.

Can you doubt, from thesingularityof this sentiment, that the great poet had his eye on Plato? who makes Socrates say, in allusion to a remark of Heraclitus, Ὅτι ἀνθρώπων ὁ σοφώτατος πρὸς θεὸν πίθηκος φανεῖται.Hipp. Major.

The application indeed is different. And it could not be otherwise. For the observation, which the Philosopher refers πρὸς θεὸν, is in the Poet given tosuperior Beingsonly. The consequence is, that theApeis an object ofderisionin the former case, ofadmiration, in the latter.

To conclude this head, I will just observe to you, that, though thesame uncommon sentimentin twowritersbe usually the effect of imitation, yet we cannot affirm this ofActorsin real life. The reason is, when the situation of two men is the same,Naturewill dictate the same sentiments more invariably thanGenius. To give a remarkable instance of what I mean.

Tacitus relates, in thefirstbook of hisAnnals, what passed in the senate on its first meeting after the death of Augustus. His politic successor carried it, for some time, with much apparent moderation. He wished, besides other reasons, to get himself solemnly recognized for Emperor by that Body, before he entered on the exercise of his new dignity.Dabat famæ, says the historian,ut vocatus electusque potiùs à Republicâ videretur, quàm per uxorium ambitum et senili adoptione irrepsisse. One of his courtiers would not bewanting to himself on such an occasion. When therefore several motions had been made in the Senate, concerning the honours to be paid to the memory of their late Prince,Valerius MessallamovedRenovandum per annos sacramentum in nomen Tiberii; in other words, that the oath of allegiance should be taken to Tiberius. This was the very point that Tiberius drove at. And the consciousness of it made him suspect that this motion might be thought to proceed from himself. He therefore asked Messalla, “Num, se mandante, eam sententiam promsisset?” His answer is in the following words. “Spontèdixisse, respondit; neque in iis, quæ ad rempublicam pertinerent, consilio nisi suo usurum, vel cum periculo offensionis.”Ea, concludes the historian,sola species adulandi supererat.

Now it is very remarkable, that we find in Ludlow’s memoirs, one of Cromwell’s officers, on the very same occasion, answering the Protector in the very same species of flattery.

ColonelWilliam Jephsonmoved in the House that Cromwell might be made King. Cromwell took occasion, soon after, to reprove the Colonel for this proposition, telling him, that he wondered what he could mean by it. Towhich the other replied, “That while he was permitted the honour of sitting in that House, he must desire the liberty to discharge his conscience, though his opinion should happen to displease.”

Here we have a very striking coincidence ofsentiment, without the least probability of imitation. For no body, I dare say, suspects Colonel William Jephson of stealing this refined stroke of adulation from Valerius Messalla. The truth is, the same situation, concurring with the same corrupt disposition, dictated this peculiar sentiment to the two courtiers. Yet, had these similar thoughts been found in two dramatic poets of the Augustan and Oliverian ages, we should probably have cried out, “An Imitation.” And with good reason. For, besides the possibility of an Oliverian poet’s knowing something of Tacitus, the speakers had then beenfeigned, not real personages. And it is not so likely that two such should agree in this sentiment: I mean, considering how new and particular it is. For, as to the more common and obvious sentiments, even dramatic speakers will very frequently employ thesame, without affording any just reason to conclude that their prompters had turned plagiaries.

VIII. If to this singularity of a sentiment, you add theapparent harshnessof it, especially when not graduallyprepared(as such sentiments always will be by exact writers, when of their own proper invention), the suspicion grows still stronger. I just glanced at an instance of this sort in Milton’scurl’dgrove. But there are others still more remarkable. Shall I presume for once to take an instance from yourself?

Your fine Ode to Memory begins with these very lyrical verses:

Mother of Wisdom! Thou whose swayThe throng’d ideal hosts obey;Who bidst their ranks now vanish, now appear,Flame in the van, and darken in the rear.

This sublime imagery has a very original air. Yet I, who know how familiar the best ancient and modern critics are to you, have no doubt that it is taken fromStrada.

“Quid accommodatius, says he, speaking of your subject, Memory, quàmsimulachrorum ingentes copias, tanquàmaddictam ubique tibi sacramento militiam, eo inter se nexu ac fide conjunctam cohærentemque habere; ut siveunumquodque separatim, sive confertim universa, sive singula ordinatimin aciem proferrevelis; nihil planè in tantâ rerum herbâ turbetur, sed aliaprocul atque in recessusita prodeuntibus locum cedant; alia, se tota confestim promant atque in mediumcertò evocata prosiliant? Hoc tam magno, tam fido domesticorumagmineinstructus animus, &c.”Prol. Acad.I.

Common writers know little of the art ofpreparingtheir ideas, or believe the very name of an Ode absolves them from the care of art. But, if this uncommon sentiment had been intirely your own, you, I imagine, would have dropped someleadingidea to introduce it.

IX. You see with what a suspicious eye, we who aspire to the name of critics, examine your writings. But every poet will not endure to be scrutinized so narrowly.

1. B. Jonson, in his Prologue to theSad Shepherd, is opening the subject of that poem. Thesadnessof his shepherd is

For his lost Love, who in theTrentis saidTo have miscarried;’las! what knows the headOf a calm river, whom the feet have drown’d!

The reflexion in this place is unnecessary and even impertinent. Who besides ever heard of thefeetof a river? Ofarms, we have. And so it stood in Jonson’s original.

Greatest and fairest Empress, know you this,Alas! no more than Thames’ calm head doth knowWhose meads his arms drown, or whose corn o’erflow.Dr.Donne.

The poet is speaking of the corruption of the courts of justice, and the allusion is perfectly fine and natural. Jonson was tempted to bring it into his prologue by the mere beauty of the sentiment. He had a river at his disposal, and would not let slip the opportunity. But “his unnatural use” of it detects his “imitation.”

2. I don’t know whether you have taken notice of a miscarriage, something like this, in the most judicious of all the poets.

Theocritus makes Polypheme say,

Καὶ γὰρ θὴν οὐδ’ εἶδος ἔχω κακὸν, ὥς με λέγοντι,Ἦ γὰρ πρὰν ἐς Πόντον ἐσέβλεπον· ἦν δὲ γαλάνα.

Nothing could be better fancied than to make this enormous son of Neptune use the sea for his looking-glass. But is Virgil so happy when his little land-man says,

Nec sum adeò informis: nuper me in littore vidi,Cùm placidum ventis staretmare——

His wonderful judgment for once deserted him, or he might have retained the sentiment with a slight change in the application. For instance, what if he had said,

Certè ego me novi, liquidæque in imagine vidiNuper aquæ, placuitque mihi mea forma videnti.

It is a sort of curiosity, you say, to find Ovid reading a lesson to Virgil. I will dissemble nothing. The lines are, as I have cited them, in the 13th book of the Metamorphosis. But unluckily they are put into the mouth of Polypheme. So that instead of instructing one poet by the other, I only propose that they should make an exchange; Ovid take Virgil’ssea, and Virgil be contented with Ovid’swater. However this be, you may besure the authority of the Prince of the Latin poets will carry it with admiring posterity above all such scruples of decorum. Nobody wonders therefore to read in Tasso,

————————————Non son’ ioDa disprezzar, se ben me stesso vidiNel liquido del mar, quando l’altr’ hieriTaceano i venti, et ei giacea senz’ onda.

But of all the misappliers of this fine original sentiment, commend me to thatotherItalian, who made his shepherd survey himself, in afountainindeed, but a fountain of his own weeping.

3. You will forgive my adding one other instance “of this vicious application of a fine thought.”

You remember those agreeable verses of SirJohn Suckling,

“Tempests of winds thus (as my storms of griefCarry my tears which should relieve my heart)Have hurried to the thankless ocean cloudsAnd show’rs, that needed not at all the courtesy.When the poor plains have languish’d for the want,And almost burnt asunder.”——Brennoralt.A.III.S. 1.

I don’t stay to examine how far the fancy oftears relieving the heartis allowable. But admitting the propriety of the observation, in the sense the poet intended it, the simile is applied and expressed with the utmost beauty. It accordingly struck the best writers of that time.Sprat, in his history of theRoyal Society, is taking notice of the misapplication of philosophy to subjects of Religion. “That shower, says he, has done very much injury by falling on the sea, for which the shepherd, and the ploughman, called in vain: The wit of men has been profusely poured out onReligion, which needed not its help, and which was only thereby made more tempestuous: while it might have been more fruitfully spent, on some parts ofphilosophy, which have been hitherto barren, and might soon have been made fertile.”p. 25.

You see what wire-drawing here is to make the comparison, so proper in its original use, just and pertinent to a subject to which it hadnaturally no relation. Besides, there is an absurdity in speaking of a shower’s doinginjuryto the sea by falling into it. But the thing illustrated by this comparison requiring the idea ofinjury, he transfers the idea to the comparing thing. He would soften the absurdity, by running the comparison into metaphorical expression, but, I think, it does not remove it. In short, for these reasons, one might easily have inferred an Imitation, without that parenthesis to apologize for it—“To use that metaphor which an excellent poet of our nation turns toanotherpurpose—”

But a poet of that time has no better success in the management of this metaphor, than the Historian.

Lovemakes so many hearts the prizeOf the brightCarlisle’sconqu’ring eyes;Which she regards no more, than theyThe tears of lesser beauties weigh.So have I seen the lost clouds pourInto the Sea an useless show’r;And the vex’d Sailors curse the rain,For which poor Shepherds pray’d in vain.Waller’sPoems, p. 25.

The Sentiment stands thus: “She regards the captiveheartsof others no more thanthose others—thetearsof lesser beauties.” Thus, with much difficulty, we get totears. And when we have them, the allusion tolost cloudsis so strained (besides that he makes his shower bothuselessandinjurious), that one readily perceives the poet’s thought was distorted byimitation.

X. The charge of Plagiarism is so disreputable to a great writer that one is not surprized to find him anxious to avoid the imputation of it. Yet “this very anxiety serves, sometimes, to fix it upon him.”

Mr. Dryden, in the Preface to his translation of Fresnoy’s Art of Painting, makes the following observation on Virgil: “He pretends sometimes to trip, but ’tis only to make you think him in danger of a fall when he is most secure. Like a skilful dancer on the Rope (if you will pardon the meanness of the similitude) who slips willingly and makes a seeming stumble, that you may think him in great hazard of breaking his neck; while at the same time he is only giving you a proof of his dexterity. My late Lord Roscommon was often pleased with this reflexion, &c.” p. 50.

His apology for the use of this simile, and his concluding with Lord Roscommon’s satisfaction at his remark, betray, I think, an anxiety to pass for original, under the consciousness of being but an imitator. So that if we were to meet with a passage, very like this, in a celebrated ancient, we could hardly doubt of its being copied by Mr. Dryden. What think you then of this observation in one of Pliny’s Letters, “Ut quasdam artes, ità eloquentiam nihil magis quàm ancipitia commendant. Vides qui fune in summa nituntur, quantos soleant excitare clamores, cùm jam jamque casuri videntur.” L. ix. Ep. 26.

Prior, one may observe, has acted more naturally in hisAlma, and by so doing, though the resemblance be full as great, one is not so certain of his being an Imitator. The verses are, ofButler:

He perfect Dancer climbs the Rope,And balances your fear and hope:If after some distinguish’d leap,He drops his Pole and seems to slip;Strait gath’ring all his active strengthHe rises higher half his length.Withwonderyou approve his slight,And owe your pleasure to yourfright.C.II.

Though the two last lines seem taken from the application of this similitude in Pliny, “Sunt enim maximèmirabilia, quæ maximè inexpectata, et maximèpericulosa.”

XI. Writers are, sometimes, sollicitous to conceal themselves: At others, they are fond to proclaim their Imitation. “It is when they have a mind to shew their dexterity in contending with a great original.”

You remember these lines of Milton in his Comus,

Wisdom’s selfOft seeks to sweet retired Solitude,Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation,She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings,That in the various bustle of resortWere all too ruffled, and sometimes impair’d.

On which Dr. Warburton has the following note. “Mr. Pope has imitated this thoughtand (as was always his way when he imitated) improved it.

“Bear me, some Gods! oh, quickly bear me henceTo wholesome Solitude, the nurse of Sense;Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings,And the free Soul looks down to pity Kings.

“Mr. Pope has not only improved the harmony, but the sense. In Milton,Contemplationis called theNurse; in Pope, more properlySolitude: In Milton,Wisdomis said topruneher wings; in Pope,Contemplationis said to do it, and with much greater propriety, as she is of asoaringnature, and on that account is called by Milton himself, theCherub Contemplation.”

One sees that Mr. Pope’s view was to surpass his original; “which, it is said, was always his way when he imitated.” The meaning is, when he purposely and professedly bent himself to Imitation; for then his fine genius taught him to seize every beauty, and his wonderful judgment, to avoid every defect or impropriety, in his author. And this distinction is very material to our passing a right judgment on the merit of Imitation. It iscommonly said, that their imitations fall short of their originals. And they will do so, whatever the Genius of the Imitator be, if they are formed only on ageneralresemblance of the thought imitated. For an Inventor comprehends his own ideas more distinctly and fully, and of course expresses his purpose better, than a casual Imitator. But the case is different, when a good writerstudiesthe passage from which he borrows. For then he not only copies, but improves on the first idea; and thus there will frequently (as in the case of Pope) be greater merit in the Copyist, than the original.

XII. We sometimes catch an Imitation lurking “in a licentious Paraphrase.” The ground of suspicion lies in the very complacency with which a writer expatiates on a borrowed sentiment. He is usually more reserved in adorning one of his own.

1.Aurelius Victorobserves of Fabricius, “quòd difficiliùs ab honestate, quàm Sol à suo cursu, averti posset.”

Tassoflourishes a little on this thought;

Prima dal corso distornar la LunaE le stelle potrà, che dal dirittoTorcere un sol mio passo—C. x. S. 24.

Mr. Waller rises upon the Italian,

“where her love was due,So fast, so faithful, loyal, and so true,That a bold hand as soon might hope to forceThe rowling lights of heav’n, as change her course.”On the Death of LadyRich.

But Mr.Cowley, knowing what authority he had for the general sentiment, gives the reins to his fancy and wantons upon it without measure.

Virtue was thy Life’s centre, and from thenceDid silently and constantly dispenseThe gentle vigorous influenceTo all the wide and fair circumference:And all the parts upon it lean’d so easilie,Obey’d the mighty force so willinglie,That none could discord or disorder seeIn all their contrarietie.Each had his motion natural and free,And the whole no more mov’d, than the whole world could be.Brutus.

2. The ingenious author of theObservations on Spenser(from which fine specimen of his critical talents one is led to expect great things) directs us to another imitation of this sort.

Tasso had said,

Cosi a le belle lagrime le piumeSi bagna Amore, e gode al chiaro lume.

On which short hint Spenser has raised the following luxuriant imagery,

The blinded archer-boy,Like lark in show’r of rain,Sate bathing of his wings,And glad the time did spendUnder those crystal drops,Which fall from her fair eyes,And at their brightest beamsHim proyn’d in lovely wise.

3. I will just add two more examples of the same kind; chiefly, because they illustrate an observation, very proper to be attended to on this subject; which is, “That in this display of a borrowed thought, the Imitation will generally fall short of the Original, even though the borrower be the greater Genius.”

The Italian poet, just now quoted, says sublimely of theNight,

—Usci la Notte, è sotto l’aliMenò il silentio—C. v. S. 79.

Milton has given a paraphrase of this passage, but very much below his original,

Now came still ev’ning on, and twilight grayHad in her sober livery all things clad;Silence accompany’d—

The striking part of Tasso’s picture, is, “Night’s bringing in Silence under her wings.” So new and singular an idea as this had detected an Imitation. Milton contents himself, then, with saying simply,Silence accompany’d. However, to make amends, as he thought, for this defect,Night itself, which the Italian had merely personized, the English poet not onlypersonizes, but employs in a very becoming office:

Now came still ev’ning on, and twilight grayHad in her sober livery all things clad.

Every body will observe a little blemish, in this fine couplet. He should not have usedthe epithetstill, when he intended to add,

Silenceaccompanied—

But there is a worse fault in thisImitation. To hide it, he speaks ofNight’s livery. When he had done that, to speak of herwings, had been ungraceful. Therefore he is forced to say obscurely as well assimply,Silence accompany’d: And so loses a more noble image for a less noble one. The truth is, they would not stand together.Liverybelongs tohuman grandeur; wingstodivineorcelestial. So that in Milton’s very attempt to surpass his original, he put it out of his power to employ thecircumstancethat most recommended it.

He is not happier on another occasion. Spenser had said with his usual simplicity,

“Virtue gives herself light thro’ darkness for to wade,”F. Q. B. 1.

Milton catched at this image, and has run it into a sort of paraphrase, in those fine lines,

“Virtue could see to do what virtue wouldBy her own radiant light, tho’ Sun and MoonWere in the flat sea sunk—”Comus.

In Spenser’s line we have the idea of Virtue dropt down into a world, all over darkened with vice and error. Virtue excites the light of truth to see all around her, and not only dissipate the neighbouring darkness, but to direct her course in pursuing her victory and driving her enemy out of it; the arduousness of which exploit is well expressed by—thro’ darkness for toWADE. On the contrary, Milton, in borrowing, substitutes the physical for the moral idea—by her own radiant light—andtho’ Sun and Moon were in the flat sea sunk. It may be asked, how this happened? Very naturally, Milton was caught with the obviousimagery, which he found he could display to more advantage; and so did not enough attend to the noblesentimentthat was couched under it.

XIII. These are instances of a paraphrastical licence in dilating on a famous Sentiment or Image. Thegroundis the same, only flourished upon by the genius of the Imitator. At times we find him practising a different art; “not merely spreading, as it were, and laying open the same sentiment, butaddingto it, and by a new and studied device improving upon it.” In this case we naturally conclude that the refinement had not been made, if theplain and simple thought had not preceded and given rise to it. You will apprehend my meaning by what follows.

1. Shakespear had said of Henry IVth,

—He cannot long hold out these pangs;The incessant care and labour of his mindHath wrought the mure, that should confine it in,So thin, that life look through, and will break out.Hen. IV.A. 4.

You have, here, the thought in its first simplicity. It was not unnatural, after speaking of the body, as a case or tenement of the Soul,the mure that confinesit, to say, that as that case wears away and grows thin, life looks through, and is ready to break out.

Daniel, by refining on this sentiment, if by nothing else, shews himself to be the copyist. Speaking of the same Henry, he observes,

And Pain and Grief, inforcing more and more,Besieg’d the hold that could not long defend;Consuming so all the resisting storeOf those provisions Nature deign’d to lend,As that the Walls, worn thin, permit the mindTo look out thorough, and his frailty find.

Here we see, not simply thatLifeis going to break through the infirm and much-worn habitation, but that theMindlooks through andfindshis frailty, that it discovers, that Life will soon make his escape. I might add, that the four first lines are of the nature of theParaphrase, considered in the last article: And that theexpressionof the others is too much the same to be original. But we are not yet come to the head ofexpression. And I choose to confine myself to the single point of view we have before us.

Daniel’s improvement, then, looks like the artifice of a man that would outdo his Master. Though he fails in the attempt: for his ingenuity betrays him into a false thought. The mind, looking through, does not findits own frailty, but the frailty of thebuildingit inhabits. However, I have endeavoured to rectify this mistake in my explanation.

The truth is, Daniel was not a man to improve upon Shakespear. But now comes a writer, that knew his business much better.He chuses to employ this well-worn image, or rather to alter it a little and then employ it, for the conveyance of a very new fancy. If the mind could look through athinbody, much more one that wascrackedand battered. And if it be for looking through at all, he will have it look to good purpose, and find, not its frailty only, but much other useful knowledge.

The lines are Mr. Waller’s, and in the best manner of that veryrefinedwriter.

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