the mind loses all its wish for wandering, past sorrows operate as harbingers of future benefits. And every object, speaking to the imagination in language tender, glowing, and eloquent, the mind recognizes its birthright of immortality, since ESTO PERPETUA appears to be engraven on every sensible sign. III. In youth, the imagination arrays hope in fairy forms and brilliant colours. At that period, when every joy is in perspective, no bound is fixed to our projects or our wishes. One height, climbed, presents others, yet more high to overcome; and one desire gratified becomes a mean, by which youth expects to indulge another, more expanded and more promising. Preşent difficulties fly before the resolution of a young and ardent mind:-animated with the vis vivida animi, it rushes boldly on, climbs the mountain, nor stoops to enjoy the landscape, it has left behind. The horse of Statius' is not more eager and impetuous. Such are the aspirations of those youth, in whom the God of Nature has implanted a faculty of perceptive elegance, or an innate sense of harmonic feeling. For, in the same manner as the wind, fluttering upon the wires of an Æolian harp,2 produces the most Stare loco nescit, pereunt vestigia mille Ante fugam, absentemque ferit gravis angula campum.' 2 For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd By fabling Nilus, to the quiv'ring touch Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string Consenting, sounded through the warbling air Akenside tender and bewitching music, so has Nature's hand เ To certain species of external things When youth has lost somewhat of its elasticity, the effects of joy and of sorrow upon minds, so tuned, are far different from those, which affect men of ordinary feeling, and of common capacity. Joy produces a soft, mellow, pathetic solemnity of thought; sorrow a chastened dignity of manner, which raises man to the rank of a Petrarch; and woman to the elevation of a Madonna. With Nature for their friend, her flowers, her odours, her real and aerial landscapes, have power to charm, when the world has wounded their feelings, or fortune divested them of her favours. -Stretched upon a rock, lulled to reveries beside the Akenside seems to have caught this idea from a passage in one of Moliere's comedies :—Mademoiselle, says Diaforius, ne plus, ne moins que la Statue de Memnon rendoit un son harmonieux lorsqu'elle venoit à être éclairée des rayons du soleil: tout de même me sens-je animé d'un doux transport à l'apparition du soleil de vos beautés. Le Malade Imaginaire, act ii., sc. 5. There is a passage in some degree allied to this in Lope de Vega's heroic poem of "La Hermosura de Angelica." Que coma con la musica se haze, Concorde son, &c. &c. For as in music concord is produced By various different sounds, that symphonize, And from their union harmony is born; So in the human frame harmonious parts Compose one perfect whole; and touch the keys, VOL. IV. Southey. M fall of a fountain, beholding Nature here rough and untutored, wild and majestic; there soft or gay, elegant or enchanting; feeling her separate and contrasted charms whisper peace to their hearts, they resemble travellers, who, having, for a long time, wandered over dreary and pathless deserts, find themselves, on a sudden, in a narrow, winding defile, where the perfumes of aromatics, wholesome fruits, and clear springs, invite to enjoyment, to admiration and repose. But I think I hear you, my Lelius, whisper, that the imagination must be chastised by the sober dictates of judgment; and that those pleasures, which it undoubtedly affords, lead only to disappointment, if, in giving unlimited sway to our fancy, we indulge `in all the wild varieties of its nature; and wanton, free and unfettered, in all the enjoyments it promises. Doubtless, my friend, your argument is correct. I promise you, in the cultivation of the imagination, no solid satisfaction, unless it be corrected by reason, good sense, order, and propriety. So corrected, the imagination is ever pointing to something beyond the limits of our present state of imperfection. IV. It is this invincible love of grandeur, which prompts the mind to the contemplation of those objects, which raise our thoughts in gratitude and admiration; and which, even from the pre-existence of time, are supposed to have had the love of the Deity himself. For, -as Akenside observes, in the true spirit of Plato, and with all the sublimity of Milton and Lucretius,— Ere the radiant sun Sprung from the east, or midst the vault of night, Ere mountains, woods, or streams, adorned the globe, Then lived the ALMIGHTY ONE1:-Then deep, retired, This passage seems to have been conceived from a few lines in a poem, containing an insufferable degree of bombast with some portion, and more imitation, of Miltonic fire.-It is entitled The Last Day; written by J. Bulkeley, Esq., of Clare Hall, Cambridge, who died September 1718, in the 24th year of his age. His poem was published in 1720. Ere Titan learn'd to shower his golden streams, Ere clouds adorn'd the air, or stars the void, Rude rocks, mishapen hills, and globes unform'd. B. ii, c. 64. This poem seems to have furnished Akenside with many of his cadences; and some of those diamonds, which by polishing he knew so well how to make his own. Blair, too, seems to have been under some obli.gation to it. It is not improbable, also, that Akepside read Georgius. Unus perfectus Deus est, qui cuncta creavit, &c. &c. Franc. Georg. in lib. de Hermo de Mund. The forms external of created things; The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp, The mountains, woods, and streams, the rolling globe, Of days, on them his love divine he fix'd, Of life, informing each organic frame; Hence the green earth and wild resounding waves, Hence light and shade, alternate; warmth and cold; There is a singular coincidence of thought between this fine passage and a beautiful one in an Hindoo hymn to "the spirit of God;" translated by Sir Wil liam Jones. There is also a similar idea in a fragment of Orpheus, quoted by Proclus;-and another in the Edda of Sæmund. V. But however agreeable the visions of Nature may be, the imagination has the power of forming scenes more captivating to our fancy, than any she unfolds to us. Not that scenes, so drawn, are in reality more beautiful; but they are more adapted to our peculiar ideas; every person having the power of comparing and associating for himself, in a manner, most conformable to the justness or viciousness of his taste, and in a measure proportioned to the width and compass of his own mind. |