Mr. Crowe, the author of Lewisdon Hill, has attempted a new version of this celebrated passage respecting Sisyphus, and it is not without great merit, though unequal perhaps to that of Pope. Then Sisyphus I saw, with ceaseless pain Labouring beneath a ponderous stone in vain. Turned the curst stone, and slipping from his hold Down again, down the steep rebounding, down it rolled. Paradise Lost abounds in examples of the beauty of which I am now treating. The toil of Satan perhaps even surpasses that of Sysiphus, So he with difficulty and labour hard Moved on with difficulty and labour he— Now for the "harsh thunder" of the gates of Hell! With what rapidity they fly open! On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound Here is a happy imitation of an echo. I fled and cried out, death! Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sighed The pause after the word shook in the next extract is very effective. And over them triumphant Death his dart Shook, but delayed to strike. The quick and joyous movement of the ensuing verses is a particularly happy instance of representative harmony. Let the merry bells ring round, To many a youth, and many a maid, There is a watery music in the following lines. Fountains! and ye that warble as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. Here is a description of carriage wheels descending and ascending a hill. It is noticed by Mr. Crowe, but I know not who the author is. Dyer in his Which in their different courses as they pass Rush violently down precipitate, Or slowly turn, oft resting, up the steep. Ruins of Rome," a poem that Wordsworth remarks has been very undeservedly neglected, has a fine specimen of imitative harmony, in which the fall of ruins is represented with great effect. The passage is quoted by Johnson with com mendation. The pilgrim oft At dead of night, 'mid his orison, hears Aghast the voice of time; disparting towers Tumbling all precipitate down dashed, Rattling around, loud thundering to the moon. The same poet well describes the sudden delay in a ship's progress on the Indian Ocean by a cessation of wind. With easy course The vessels glide; unless their speed be stopped The following remarkably successful adaptation of sound to sense is from Pope's Homer's Iliad. It has a greater freedom of versification than the translator usually exhibits. As from some mountain's craggy forehead torn (Which from the stubborn stone a torrent rends) At every shock the crackling wood resounds; Still gathering strength, it smokes; and urged amain, Whirls, leaps, and thunders down, impetuous to the plain ; The ensuing lines from Shakespeare's "Troilus and Cressida" seem inflated with the bulky meaning. "The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling, From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause." Cowley laboured hard to produce an echo to the sense, and sometimes succeeded, as the next four lines may show. The continuity of a stream is well represented. He who defers his work from day to day, Does on a river's brink expecting stay, Till the whole stream that stopped him shall be gone, The progress of Milton's fiend is a very striking illustration of the effect to be gained by an artful and choice arrangement of words. "The fiend O'er bog, or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps or flies." I need hardly give any further specimens*, for every reader, though he may not previously have studied the subject, must now understand the nature of imitative harmony in verse. It depends, it will be seen, sometimes on the sound of particular words, sometimes on the management of the pauses, sometimes on the length or shortness of the metrical feet, and sometimes on all these circumstances artfully or happily combined. * A few of these examples have been noticed before by Johnson, Beattie and Crowe; but I have introduced as many new ones as I could recollect. [101] UNIV. OF CALIFORNIA A SOLDIER'S DREAM. The foulest stain and scandal of our nature Became a boast ;-one murder made a Villain, Millions a Hero! Porteus. THE foe had fled-the fearful strife had ceased- As the loud trumpet's wild exulting voice Recalled the fallen brave, 'twas like the cloud Yet on the battle-plain how many lay, In their last dreamless sleep! Some too were there Of that stern conqueror-Death. The fearful throes Of parting life, at intervals, would wring, E'en from the proudest heart, the piercing cry In pain I sunk, Worn and disabled, 'mid the dead and dying. MIA OL AIMBOTLIAD 102 A SOLDIER'S DREAM. And there was one who passed me at this hour, From long-departed years. For we had met There was a taunt upon his haughty lip, A fiery language in his scowling eye, E'en like a vision of the fevered brain, His image haunted me—and urged to madness.— My lullaby, the moaning midnight wind I had a dream—a strange bewildered dream— And he was with me! Methought I heard the hollow voice of Death Of wild despair, and agony, and dread, Deep silence came,—and all the scene was changed! Insufferable radiance glared around, And pained the dazzled eye. In robes of light High on a gorgeous throne, appeared a Form Of pure celestial glory! In deep awe A silent, vast, innumerable throng Of earth-freed warriors bowed. The Form sublime, |