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this were the necessary result of all description. Because that union of affecting words, which is the most powerful of all poetical instruments, would frequently lose its force, along with its propriety and consistency, if the sensible images were always excited. There is not perhaps in the whole Eneid a more grand and laboured passage than the description of Vulcan's cavern in Etna, and the works that are there carried on. Virgil dwells particularly on the formation of the thunder, which he describes unfinished under the hammers of the Cyclops. But what are the principles of this extraordinary composition ?

Tres imbris torti radios, tres nubis aquose
Addiderant; rutili tres ignis, et alitis austri :
Fulgores nunc terrificos, sonitumque, metumque

Miscebant operi, flammisque sequacibus iras. This seems to me admirably sublime; yet if we attend coolly to the kind of sensible images which a combination of ideas of this sort must form, the chimeras of madmen cannot appear more wild and absurd than such a picture. Three

rays of twisted showers, three of watery clouds, three of fire, and three of the winged south wind; then mixed they in the work terrific lightnings, and sound, and fear, and anger, with pursuing flames." This strange composition is formed into a gross body; it is hammered by the Cyclops, it is in part polished, and partly continues rough. The truth is, if poetry gives us a noble assemblage of words corresponding to many noble ideas which are connected by circumstances of time or place, or related to each other as cause and effect, or associated in any natural way, they may be moulded together in any form, and perfectly answer their end. The picturesque connexion is not demanded; because no real picture is formed; nor is the effect of the description at all the less upon this account. What is said of Helen by Priam and the old men of his council, is generally thought to give us the highest possible idea of that fatal beauty.

Ου νέμεσις, Τρώας και εύκνήμιδας Αχαιούς,
Αίνως δ' αθανάτισι θεός εις ώπα έoικεν.

They cried, No wonder such celestial charms
For nine long years have set the world in arms;

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What winning graces! what majestic mien !

She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen. Pope.
Here is not one word said of the particulars of her beauty;
nothing which can in the least help us to any precise idea of
her person ; but yet we are much more touched by this man-
ner of mentioning her, than by those long and laboured de-
scriptions of Helen, whether handed down by tradition, or
formed by fancy, which are to be met with in some authors.
I am sure it affects me much more than the minute descrip-
tion which Spenser has given of Belphebe; though I own
that there are parts in that description, as there are in all
the descriptions of that excellent writer, extremely fine and
poetical. The terrible picture which Lucretius has drawn of
religion, in order to display the magnanimity of his philo-
sophical hero in opposing her, is thought to be designed with
great boldness and spirit.

Humana ante oculos fædè cum vita jaceret,
In terris, oppressa gravi sub religione,
Que caput e cæli regionibus ostendebat
Horribili super aspectu mortalibus instans ;
Primus Graius homo mortales tollere contra

Est oculos ausus,
What idea do you derive from so excellent a picture ? none
at all, most certainly: neither has the poet said a single word
which might in the least serve to mark a single limb or feature
of the phantom, which he intended to represent in all the

ination cai conceive. In reality, poetry and rhetoric do not succeed in exact description so well as painting does; their business is, to affect rather by sympathy than imitation; to display rather the effect of things on the mind of the speaker, or of others, than to present a clear idea of the things themselves. This is their most extensive province, and that in which they succeed the best.

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HENCE we may observe that poetry, taken in its most general sense, cannot with strict propriety be called an art of limitation.

It is indeed an imitation so far as it describes the manners and passions of men which their words can express ; ; where animi motus effert interprete lingua. There it is strictly


imitation; and all merely dramatic poetry is of this sort. But descriptive poetry operates chiefly by substitution ; by v the means of sounds, which by custom have the effect of realities. Nothing is an imitation further than as it resembles some other thing; and words undoubtedly have no sort of resemblance to the ideas for which they stand.


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Now, as words affect, not by any original power, but by representation, it might be supposed, that their influence over the passions should be but light; yet it is quite otherwise ; for we find by experience, that eloquence and poetry are as capable, nay indeed much more capable, of making deep and lively impressions than any other arts, and even than nature itself in very many cases. And this arises chiefly from these three causes. First, that we take an extraordinary part in the passions of others, and that we are easily af. fected and brought into sympathy by any tokens which are shown of them; and there are no tokens which can express all the circumstances of most passions so fully as words; so that if a person speaks upon any subject, he can not only convey the subject to you, but likewise the manner in which he is himself affected by it. Certain it is, that the influence of most things on our passions is not so much from the things themselves, as from our opinions concerning them; and these again depend very much on the opinions of other men, conveyable for the most part by words only. Secondly, there are many things of a very affecting nature, which can seldom occur in the reality, but the words that represent them often do; and thus they have an opportunity of making a deep impression and taking root in the mind, whilst the idea of the reality was transient; and to some perhaps never really occurred in any shape, to whom it is notwithstanding very affecting, as war, death, famine, &c.

Besides, many ideas have never been at all presented to the senses of any men but by words, as God, angels, devils, heaven, and hell, all of which have however a great influence over the passions. Thirdly, by words we have it in our power to make such combinations as we cannot possibly do otherwise. By this power of combining, we are able, by the addition of well

chosen circumstances, to give a new life and force to the simple object. In painting we may represent any fine figure we please; but we never can give it those enlivening touches which it may receive from words. To represent an angel in a picture, you can only draw a beautiful young man winged: but what painting can furnish out anything so grand as the addition of one word,“ the angel of the Lord ?" It is true, I have here no clear idea ; but these words affect the mind more than the sensible image did; which is all I contend for. A picture of Priam dragged to the altar's foot, and there murdered, if it were well executed, would undoubtedly be very moving; but there are very aggravating circumstances, which it could never represent:

Sanguine fædantem quos ipse sacraverat ignes. As a further instance, let us consider those lines of Milton, where he describes the travels of the fallen angels through their dismal habitation:

-O’er many a dark and dreary vale
They passed, and many a region dolorous;
O’er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp;
Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death,

A universe of death.-
Here is displayed the force of union in

Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades; which yet would lose the greatest part of their effect, if they were not the

Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades

of Death. This idea or this affection caused by a word, which nothing but a word could annex to the others, raises a very great degree of the sublime; and this sublime is raised yet higher by what follows, a universe of Death.Here are again two ideas not presentable but by language; and an union of them great and amazing beyond conception; if they may properly be called ideas which present no distinct image to the mind : --but still it will be difficult to conceive how words can move the passions which belong to real objects, without representing these objects clearly. This is difficult to us, because we do not sufficiently distinguish, in our observations upon language, between a clear expression and a strong expression. These are frequently confounded with each other, though they are in reality extremely different. The former regards the understanding; the latter belongs to the passions. The one describes a thing as it is; the latter describes it as it is felt. Now, as there is a moving tone of voice, an impassioned countenance, an agitated gesture, which affect independently of the things about which they are exerted, so there are words, and certain dispositions of words, which being peculiarly devoted to passionate subjects, and always used by those who are under the influence of any passion, touch and move us more than those which far more clearly and distinctly ex

press the subject matter. We yield to sympathy what we i refuse to description. The truth is, all verbal description,

merely as naked description, though never so exact, conveys so poor and insufficient an idea of the thing described, that it could scarcely have the smallest effect, if the speaker did not call in to his aid those modes of speech that mark a strong and lively feeling in himself. Then, by the contagion of our passions, we catch a fire already kindled in another, which probably might never have been struck out by the object described. Words, by strongly conveying the passions, by those means which we have already mentioned, fully compensate for their weakness in other respects. It may be observed, that very polished languages, and such as are praised for their superior clearness and perspicuity, are generally deficient in strength. The French language has that perfection and that defect, whereas the Oriental tongues, and in general the languages of most unpolished people, have a great force and energy of expression, and this is but natural. Uncultivated people are but ordinary observers of things, and not critical in distinguishing them; but, for that reason, they admire more, and are more affected with what they see, and therefore express themselves in a warmer and more passionate

If the affection be well conveyed, it will work its effect without any clear idea, often without any idea at all of the thing which has originally given rise to it.

It might be expected from the fertility of the subject, that I should consider poetry, as it regards the sublime and beautiful, more at large ; but it must be observed that in this light it has been often and well handled already. It was not


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