fhould be in fome measure confonant with, and conducive to, the purposes of Morality;-and thirdly, it is indifputably fettled, that it fhould have a Hero. I trust that in none of thefe points the poem before us will be found deficient. There are other inferior properties, which I fhall confider in due order. Not to keep my readers longer in fufpenfe, the fubject of the poem is "The Reformation of the Knave of Hearts." It is not improbable, that fome may object to me that a Knave is an unworthy Hero for an EpicPoem; that a Hero ought to be all that is great and good. The objection is frivolous. The greatest work of this kind that the World has ever produced, hos "The Devil" for its Hero; and supported as my author is by fo great a precedent, I contend, that his Hero is a very decon: Hero; and efpecially as he has the advantage of Milton's, by reforming at the end, is evidently entitled to a competent fhare of celebrity. I fhall now proceed to the more immediate ex-. amination of the poem in its different parts. The beginning, fay the Critics, ought to be plain and fimple; neither embellished with the flowers of poetry, nor turgid with pompofity of diction. In this this how exactly does our Author conform to the established opinion! he begins thus, "The Queen of Hearts "She made fome Tarts" Can any thing be more clear! more natural! more agreeable to the true fpirit of fimplicity! Here are no tropes,-no figurative expreffions, -not even fo much as an Invocation to the Mufe. He does not detain his readers by any needlefs circumfocution; by unneceffarily informing them, what he is going to fing; or still more unneceffarily enumerating what he is not going to fing: but according to the precept of Horace, in medias res, Non fecus ac notas, auditorem rapit, That is, he at once introduces us, and fets us on the moft eafy and familiar footing imaginable, with her Majefty of Hearts, and interests us deeply in her domestic concerns. But to proceed, "The Queen of Hearts "All on a Summer's Day." Here indeed the profpect brightens, and we are led to expect fome liveliness of imagery, fome. warmth of poetical colouring;-but here is no fuch thing.There is no task more difficult to a Poet, than that of Rejection. Ovid, among the ancients, and Dryden, among the moderns, were perhaps perhaps the most remarkable for the want of it. The latter from the hafte in which he generally produced his compofitions, feldom paid much attention to the "lime labor," "the labour of coTrection," and feldom therefore rejected the affiftance of any idea that prefented itself. Ovid, not content with catching the leading features of any fcene or character, indulged himfelf in a thoufand minutiæ of defcription, a thoufand puerile prettineffes, which were in themfelves uninterefting, and took off greatly from the effect of the whole; as the numberless fuckers, and ftraggling branches of a fruit-tree, if permitted to shoot out unreftrained, while they are themselves barren and useless, diminish confiderably the vigour of the parent ftock. Ovid had more genius, but lefs judgement than Virgil; Dryden more imagination, but lefs correctnefs than Pope; had they not been deficient in thefe points, the former would certainly have equalled, the latter infinitely outfhone the merits of his countryman.-Our Author was undoubtedly poffeffed of that power which they wanted; and was cautious not to indulge too far the fallies of a lively imagination. Omitting therefore any mention of-fultry Sirius,-filvan fhade,fequeftered glade,-verdant hills,-purling rills, moffy mountains,-gurgling fountains,&c. &c.-he fimply tells us that it was "ALL "All on a Summer's Day." For my own part, I confefs, that I find myself rather flattered than disappointed; and confider the Poet as rather paying a compliment to the abilities of his readers, than baulking their expectations. It is certainly a great pleasure to fee a picture well painted; but it is a much greater to paint it well oneself. This therefore I look upon as a stroke of excellent ma nagement in the Poet. Here every reader is at liberty to gratify his own tafte; to defign for himfelf just what fort of "Summer's Day" he likes best; to choose his own fcenery; difpofe his lights and fhades as he pleases; to folace himself with a ri vulet, or a horfe-pond, a fhower, or a fun-beam, -a grove, or a kitchen garden,-according to his fancy. How much more confiderate this, than if the Poet had, from an affected accuracy of defcription, thrown us into an unmannerly perfpiration by the heat of the atmosphere; forced us into a landscape of his own planning, with perhaps a paltry good-for-nothing zephyr or two, and a limited quantity of wood and water.-All this Ovid would undoubtedly have done. Nay, to use the expreffion of a learned brother-commentator, "quovis pignore decertem" "I would lay any wager," that he would have gone fo far as to tell us what the tarts were made of; and perhaps wandered into an epifode on the art of preferving cherries. But our Poet, above above fuch confiderations, leaves every reader to choose his own ingredients, and sweeten them to his own liking; wifely forefeeing, no doubt, that the more palatable each had rendered them to his own tafte, the more he would be affected at their approaching lofs. "All on a Summer's Day." I cannot leave this line without remarking, that one of the Scribleri, a defcendant of the famous Martinus, has expreffed his fufpicions of the text being corrupted here, and proposes, instead of "All on" reading "Alone," alledging, in favour of this alteration, the effect of Solitude in raifing the paffions. But Hiccius Doctius, a High Dutch commentator, one nevertheless well verfed in British literature, in a note of his ufual length and learning,has confuted the arguments of Scriblerus. In fupport of the prefent reading, he quotes a paffage from a poem written about the fame period with our author's,by the celebrated Johannes Paftor*, intituled "An ElegiacEpifle to theTurnkey of Newgate," wherein the gentleman declares, that rather indeed in compliance with an old cuftom, than to gratify any particular wish of his own, he is going "All hanged for to be Upon that fatal Tyburn tree." Now More commonly known, I believe, by the appellation of "Jack She herd." |