NOTES ON BOOK I.*

VER. 151. Say why was man, &c.] In apologizing for the fre quent negligences of the sublimest authors of Greece, "those godlike geniuses," says Longinus, "were well assured that Nature had not intended man for a low-spirited or ignoble being; but bringing us into life and the midst of this wide universe, as before a multitude assembled at some heroic solemnity, that we might be spectators of all her magnificence, and candidates high in emulation for the prize of glory; she has therefore implanted in our souls an inextinguishable love of every thing great and exalted, of every thing which appears divine beyond our comprehension. Whence it comes to pass, that even the whole world is not an object sufficient for the depth and rapidity of human imagination, which often sallies forth beyond the limits of all that surrounds us. Let any man cast his eye through the whole circle of our existence, and consider how especially it abounds in excellent and grand objects, he will soon acknowledge for what enjoyments and pursuits we were destined. Thus, by the very propensity of nature, we are led to admire, not little springs or shallow rivulets, however clear and delicious, but the Nile, the Rhine, the Danube, and, much more than all, the Ocean," &c.- Dionys. Longin. de Sublim. § xxiv.

Ver. 202. The empyreal waste.] "Ne se peut-il point qu'il yait un grand espace au delà de la région des étoiles? Que ce soit le ciel empyrée, ou non, toujours cet espace immense qui environne toute cette région pourra être rempli de bonheur et de gloire. Il pourra être conçu comme l'océan, où se rendent les fleuves de toutes les créatures bienheureuses, quand elles seront venues à leur perfection dans le système des étoiles." Leibnitz dans la Théodicée, part. i. § 19.

Ver. 204. Whose unfuuling light, &c.] It was a notion of the great Mr. Huygens, that there may be fixed stars at such a distance from our solar system, as that their light should not have had time to reach us, even from the creation of the world to this day.

the neglect

Ver. 234. Of all familiar prospects, &c.] It is here said, that, in consequence of the love of novelty, objects which at first were highly delightful to the mind lose that effect by repeated attention to them. But the instance of habit is

opposed to this observation; for there, objects at first distasteful are in time rendered entirely agreeable by repeated atten

tion.

The difficulty in this case will be removed, if we consider, that, when objects at first agreeable lose that influence by frequently recurring, the mind is wholly passive, and the perception involuntary; but habit, on the other hand, generally supposes choice and activity accompanying it: so that the pleasure arises here, not from the object, but from the mind's conscious determination of its own activity; and consequently increases in proportion to the frequency of that determination.

It will still be urged, perhaps, that a familiarity with disagreeable objects renders them at length acceptable, even when there is no room for the mind to resolve or act at all. In this case, the appearance must be accounted for one of these

Ways.

The pleasure from habit may be merely negative. The object at first gave uneasiness: this uneasiness gradually wears off as the object grows familiar; and the mind, finding it at last entirely removed, reckons its situation really pleasurable, compared with what it had experienced before.

The dislike conceived of the object at first might be owing to prejudice or want of attention. Consequently the mind, being necessitated to review it often, may at length perceive its own mistake, and be reconciled to what it had looked on with aversion. In which case, a sort of instinctive justice naturally leads it to make amends for the injury, by running toward the other extreme of fondness and attachment.

Or, lastly, though the object itself should always continue disagreeable, yet circumstances of pleasure or good fortune may occur along with it. Thus an association may arise in the mind, and the object never be remembered without those pleasing circumstances attending it; by which means the disagreeable impression which it at first occasioned will in time be quite obliterated.

Ver. 240.

this desire

Of objects new and strange-.] These two ideas are oft confounded; though it is evident the mere novelty of an object makes it agreeable, even where the mind is not affected with the least degree of wonder: whereas wonder indeed always implies novelty, being never excited by common or well-known appearances. But the pleasure in both cases is explicable from the same final cause, the acquisition of knowledge and enlargement of our views of nature: on this account, it is natural to treat of them together.

Ver. 374.

Truth and good are one,

And beauty dwells in them, &c.] "Do you imagine," says Socrates to Aristippus, "that what is good is not beautiful? Have you not observed that these appearances always coincide? Virtue, for instance, in the same respect as

to which we call it good, is ever acknowledged to be beautiful also. In the characters of men we always * join the two denominations together. The beauty of human bodies corresponds, in like manner, with that economy of parts which constitutes them good; and, in every circumstance of life, the same object is constantly accounted both beautiful and good, inasmuch as it answers the purposes for which it was designed.” — Xenophont. Memorab. Socrat. 1. iii. c. 8.

This excellent observation has been illustrated and extended by the noble restorer of ancient philosophy; see the Characteristics, vol. ii. pp. 339 and 422, and vol. iii. p. 181. And another ingenious author has particularly shown, that it holds in the general laws of nature, in the works of art, and the conduct of the sciences, - Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, Treat. 1. § 8. As to the connection between beauty and truth, there are two opinions concerning it. Some philosophers assert an independent and invariable law in nature, in consequence of which all rational beings must alike perceive beauty in some certain proportions, and deformity in the contrary. And this necessity being supposed the same with that which commands the assent or dissent of the understanding, it follows of course that beauty is founded on the universal and unchangeable law of truth.

But others there are who believe beauty to be merely a relative and arbitrary thing; that indeed it was a benevolent provision in nature to annex so delightful a sensation to those objects which are best and most perfect in themselves, that so we might be engaged to the choice of them at once, and without staying to infer their usefulness from their structure and effects; but that it is not impossible, in a physical sense, that two beings, of equal capacities for truth, should perceive, one of them beauty, and the other deformity, in the same proportions. And upon this supposition, by that truth which is always connected with beauty, nothing more can be meant than the conformity of any object to those proportions upon which, after careful examination, the beauty of that species is found to depend. Polycletus, for instance, à famous ancient sculptor, from an accurate mensuration of the several parts of the most perfect human bodies, deduced a canon or system of proportions which was the rule of all succeeding artists. Suppose a statue modelled according to this: a man of mere natural taste, upon looking at it, without entering into its proportions, confesses and admires its beauty; whereas a professor of the art applies his measures to the head, the neck, or the hand, and, without attending to its beauty, pronounces the workmanship to be just and true.

This the Athenians did in a peculiar manner, by the words καλοκάγαθός and καλοκαγαθία.

Ver. 492. As when Brutus rose, &c.] Cicero himself describes this fact: " Cæsare interfecto - statim cruentum alte extollens M. Brutus pugionem, Ciceronem nominatim exclamavit, atque ei recuperatam libertatem est gratulatus." — Cic. Philipp. ii. 12.

Ver. 548. Where virtue, rising from the awful depth

-

Of truth's mysterious bosom, &c.] According to the opinion of those who assert moral obligation to be founded on an immutable and universal law, and that which is usually called the moral sense, to be determined by the peculiar temper of the imagination and the earliest associations of ideas. Ver. 591. Lyceum] The school of Aristotle.

Ver. 592 Academus.] The school of Plato.

Ver. 594. Ilissus.] One of the rivers on which Athens was situated. Plato, in some of his finest dialogues, lays the scene of the conversation with Socrates on its banks.

NOTES ON BOOK II.

VER. 19. At last the Muses rose, &c.] About the age of Hugh Capet, founder of the third race of French kings, the poets of Provence were in high reputation; a sort of strolling bards or rhapsodists, who went about the courts of princes and noblemen, entertaining them at festivals with music and poetry. They attempted both the epic, ode, and satire; and abounded in a wild and fantastic vein of fable, partly allegorical, and partly founded on traditionary legends of the Saracen wars. These were the rudiments of Italian poetry. But their taste and composition must have been extremely barbarous, as we may judge by those who followed the turn of their fable in much politer times; such as Boiardo, Bernardo, Tasso, Ari osto, &c.

Ver. 21. Valclusa.] The famous retreat of Francisco Petrarcha, the father of Italian poetry, and his mistress Laura, a lady of Avignon.

Ver. 22. Arno.] The river which runs by Florence, the birth-place of Dante and Boccaccio.

Ver. 23. Parthenope.] Or Naples, the birth place of Sannazaro. The great Torquato Tasso was born at Sorento, in the kingdom of Naples.

Ibid.

the rage

Of dire ambition, &c.] This relates to the cruel wars among the republics of Italy, and abominable politics of its little princes, about the fifteenth century. These, at last, in conjunction with the papal power, entirely extinguished the

spirit of liberty in that country, and established that abuse of the fine arts which has been since propagated over all Europe.

66

Ver. 30. Thus from their guardians torn, the tender arts, &c.] Nor were they only losers by the separation. For philoso phy itself, to use the words of a noble philosopher, "being thus severed by the sprightly arts and sciences, must consequently grow dronish, insipid, pedantic, useless, and directly opposite to the real knowledge and practice of the world." Insomuch that "a gentleman," says another excellent writer, cannot easily bring himself to like so austere and ungainly a form; so greatly is it changed from what was once the delight of the finest gentlemen of antiquity, and their recreation after the hurry of public affairs!" From this condition it cannot be recovered but by uniting it once more with the works of imagination; and we have had the pleasure of observing a very great progress made towards their union in England within these few years. It is hardly possible to conceive them at a greater distance from each other than at the Revolution, when Locke stood at the head of one party, and Dryden of the other. But the general spirit of liberty, which has ever since been growing, naturally invited our men of wit and genius to im prove that influence which the arts of persuasion gave them with the people, by applying them to subjects of importance to society. Thus poetry and eloquence became considerable; and philosophy is now of course obliged to borrow of their embellishments, in order even to gain audience with the pub

lic.

Ver. 157. From passion's power alone, &c.]. This very mys terious kind of pleasure, which is often found in the exercise of passions generally counted painful, has been taken notice of by several authors. Lucretius resolves it into self-love:

Suave mari magno, &c. lib. ii. 1.

As if a man was never pleased in being moved at the distress of a tragedy, without a cool reflection that though these fictitious personages were so unhappy, yet he himself was perfectly at ease and in safety. The ingenious author of the "Reflections Critiques sur la Poésie et sur la Peinture," accounts for it by the general delight which the mind takes in its own activity, and the abhorrence it feels of an indolent and inattentive state; and this, joined with the moral approbation of its own temper, which attends these emotions when natural and just, is certainly the true foundation of the pleasure, which, as it is the origin and basis of tragedy and epic, deserved a very particular consideration in this poem.

Ver. 304. Inhabitant of earth, &c.] The account of the economy of Providence here introduced, as the most proper to calm and satisfy the mind when under the compunction of private evils, seems to have come originally from the Pythagorean school; but, of the ancient philosophers, Plato has most