good cheer, which often carried to riot and debauchery, mirth of consequence prevailed; and this was always attended with buffoonery. Taunts and jokes, and raillery and repartee, would necessarily ensue; and individuals would contend for the victory in wit and genius. These contests would in time be reduced to some regulations, for the entertainment of the people thus assembled, and some prize would be decreed to him who was judged to excel his rivals. The candidates for fame and profit being thus stimulated, would task their talents, and naturally recomend these alternate recriminations to the audience, by clothing them with a kind of poetical measure, which should bear a near resemblance to prose. Thus, as the solemn service of the day was composed in the most sublime species of poetry, such as the ode or hymn, the subsequent altercation was carried on in iambics, and gave rise to satire. We are told by the Stagyrite, that the highest species of poetry was employed in celebrating great actions, but the humbler sort used in this kind of contention ; and that in the ages of antiquity, there were some bards that professed heroics, and some that pretended to iambics only. 1 * Οἱ μὲν ἡροϊκῶν, οἱ δὲ ἰάμβων ποιηταί. To these rude beginnings we not only owe the birth of satire, but likewise the origin of dramatic poetry. Tragedy herself, which afterwards attained to such dignity as to rival the epic muse, was at first no other than a trial of crambo, or iambics, between two peasants, and a goat was the prize, as Horace calls it, vile certamen ob hircum, "a mean contest for a he-goat." Hence the name Tpaywdía, signifying the goat song, from rpdyos hircus, and 4on carmen. Carmine qui tragico vilem certavit ob hircum, The tragic bard, a goat his humble prize Bade satyrs naked and uncouth arise; His muse severe, secure and undismay'd, The rustic joke in solemn strain convey'd; For novelty alone he knew could charm HOR, A lawless crowd, with wine and feasting warm. Satire, then, was originally a clownish dialogue in loose iambics, so called because the actors were disguised like satyrs, who not only recited the praises of Bacchus, or some other deity, but interspersed their hymns with sarcastic jokes and altercation. Of this kind is the Cyclop of Euripides, in which Ulysses is the principal actor. The Romans also had their Atellana, or interludes, of the same nature, so called from the city of Atella, where they were first acted; but these were highly polished in comparison of the original entertainment, which was altogether rude and indecent. Indeed the Cyclop itself, though composed by the accomplished Euripides, abounds with such impurity as ought not to appear on the stage of any civilised nation. It is very remarkable, that the Atellana, which * Οἱ μὲν γὰρ σεμνότεροι, τὰς καλὰς ἐμιμοῦντα πράξειςυἱ δὲ εὐτελέστεροι, τὰς τῶν φαύλων, πρῶτον λόγοις ποιοῦντες. were in effect tragi-comedies, grew into such esteem among the Romans, that the performers in these pieces enjoyed several privileges which were refused to the ordinary actors. They were not obliged to unmask, like the other players, when their action was disagreeable to the audience. They were admitted into the army, and enjoyed the privileges of free citizens, without incurring that disgrace, which was affixed to the characters of other actors*. The poet Laberius, who was of equestrian order, being pressed by Julius Cæsar to act a part in his own performance, complied with great reluctance, and complained of the dishonour he had incurred, in his prologue preserved by Macrobius, which is one of the most elegant morsels of antiquity. Tragedy and comedy flowed from the same fountain, though their streams were soon divided. The same entertainment which, under the name of tragedy, was rudely exhibited by clowns, for the prize of a goat, near some rural altar of Bacchus, assumed the appellation of comedy when it was transferred into cities, and represented with a little more decorum in a cart or wagon that strolled from street to street, as the name Koupbia implies , being derived from noun a street, and wa poem. To this origin Horace alludes in these lines: Dicitur et plaustris vexisse poemata Thespis, High o'er the crowd the mimic tribe appear'd, And play'd and sung, with lees of wine besmear'd. Thespis is called the inventor of the dramatic art, because he raised the subject from clownish altercation to the character and exploits of some hero: he improved the language and versification, and relieved the chorus by the dialogue of two actors. This was the first advance towards that consummation of genius and art, which constitutes what is now called a perfect tragedy. The next great improver was Eschylus, of whom the same critic says, Post hunc personæ pallæque repertor honestæ The dialogue which Thespis introduced was called the Episode, because it was an addition to the former subject, namely, the praises of Bacchus ; so that now tragedy consisted of two distinct parts, independent of each other; the old recitalire, which was the chorus, sung in honour of the gods and the episode, which turned upon the adventures agreeable to the people, Eschylus, who lived about of some hero. This episode being found very half a century after Thespis, still improved the drama, united the chorus to the episode, so as to make them both parts or members of one fable, multiplied the actors, contrived the stage, and introduced the decorations of the theatre; so that *Cum artem ludicram, scenamque totam probro ducerent genus id hominum non modo honore civium reliquorum carere, sed etiam tribu moveri notatione censoria voluerunt. Cic. apud S. Aug. de Civit. Dei. Sophocles, who succeeded Eschylus, had but one step to surmount in order to bring the drama to perfection. Thus tragedy was gradually detached from its original institution, which was entirely religious. The priests of Bacchus loudly complained of this innovation by means of the episode, which was foreign to the intention of the chorus; and hence arose the proverb Nihil ad Dionysium, Nothing to the purpose." Plutarch himself mentions the Episode, as a perversion of tragedy from the honour of the gods to the passions of men. But notwithstanding all opposition, the New Tragedy succeeded to admiration; because it was found the most pleasing vehicle of conveying moral truths, of meliorating the heart, and extending the interests of humanity. Comedy, according to Aristotle, is the younger sister of Tragedy. As the first originally turned upon the praises of the gods, the latter dwelt on the follies and vices of mankind. Such, we mean, was the scope of that species of poetry which acquired the name of comedy, in contradistinction to the tragic muse; for in the beginning they were the same. The foundation upon which comedy was built, we have already explained to be the practice of satirical repartee or altercation, in which individuals exposed the follies and frailties of each other on public occasions of worship and festivity. The first regular plan of comedy is said to have been the Margites of Homer, exposing the idleness and folly of a worthless character; but of this performance we have no remains. That division which is termed the ancient comedy, belongs to the labours of Eupolis, Cratinus, and Aristophanes, who were contemporaries, and flourished at Athens about four hundred and thirty years before the Christian era. Such was the licence of the muse at this period, that, far from lashing vice in general characters, she boldly exhibited the exact portrait of every individual who had rendered himself remarkable or notorious by his crimes, folly, or debauchery. She assumed every circumstance of his external appearance,— his very attire, air, manner, and even his name; according to the observation of Horace, -Poetæ -quorum comedia prisca virorum est: The comic poets, in its earliest age, Who form'd the manners of the Grecian stageWas there a villain who might justly claim A better right of being damn'd to fame, Rake, cut-throat, thief, whatever was his crime, They boldly stigmatised the wretch in rhyme. Eupolis is said to have satirised Alcibiades in this manner, and to have fallen a sacrifice to the resentment of that powerful Athenian; but others say he was drowned in the Hellespont, during a war against the Lacedemonians; and that in consequence of this accident. the Athenians passed a decree, that no poet should ever bear arms. The comedies of Cratinus are recommended by Quintilian for their eloquence; and Plutarch tells us, that even Pericles himself could not escape the censure of this poet. Aristophanes, of whom there are eleven come dies still extant, enjoyed such a pre-eminence of reputation, that the Athenians, by a public decree, honoured him with a crown made of a consecrated olive-tree, which grew in the citadel, for his care and success in detecting and exposing the vices of those who governed the commonwealth. Yet this poet, whether impelled by mere wantonness of genius, or actuated by malice and envy, could not refrain from employing the shafts of his ridicule. against Socrates, the most venerable character of Pagan antiquity. In the comedy of The Clouds, this virtuous philosopher was exhibited on the stage, under his own name, in a cloak exactly resembling that which Socrates wore, in a mask modelled from his features, disputing publicly on the nature of right and wrong. This was undoubtedly an instance of the most flagrant licentiousness; and what renders it the more extraordinary, the audience received it with great applause, even while Socrates himself sat publicly in the theatre. The truth is, the Athenians were so fond of ridicule, that they relished it even when employed against the gods themselves, some of whose characters were very roughly handled by Aristophanes and his rivals in reputation. We might here draw a parallel between the inhabitants of Athens and the natives of England, in point of constitution, genius, and disposition. Athens was a free state, like England, that piqued itself upon the influence of the democracy. Like England, its wealth and strength depended upon its maritime power; and it generally acted as umpire in the disputes that arose among its neighbours. The people of Athens, like those of England, were remarkably ingenious, and made great progress in the arts and sciences. They excelled in poetry, history, philosophy, mechanics, and manufactures; they were acute, discerning, disputatious, fickle, wavering, rash, and combustible, and, above all other nations in Europe, addicted to ridicule a character which the English inherit in a very remarkable degree. If we may judge from the writings of Aristophanes, his chief aim was to gratify the spleen and excite the mirth of his audience; of an audience, too, that would seem to have been uninformed by taste, and altogether ignorant of decorum; for his pieces are replete with the most extravagant absurdities, virulent slander, impiety, impurities, and low buffoonery. The comic muse, not contented with being allowed to make free with the gods and philosophers, applied her scourge so severely to the magistrates of the commonwealth, that it was thought proper to restrain her within bounds by a law, enacting, that no person should be stigmatized under his real name; and thus the chorus was silenced. In order to elude the penalty of this law, and gratify the taste of the people, the poets began to substitute fictitious names, under which they exhibited particular characters in such lively colours, that the resemblance could not possibly be mistaken or overlooked. This practice gave rise to what is called the Middle Comedy, which was but of short duration; for the legisla ture, perceiving that the first law had not removed the grievance against which it was provided, issued a second ordinance, forbidding, under severe penalties, any real or family occurrences to be represented. This restriction was the immediate cause of improving comedy into a general mirror, held forth to reflect the various follies and foibles incident to human nature; a species of writing called the New Comedy, introduced by Diphilus and Menander, of whose works nothing but a few fragments remain. ESSAY XV. POETRY DISTINGUISHED FROM OTHER WRITING, HAVING Communicated our sentiments touching the origin of poetry, by tracing tragedy and comedy to their common source, we shall now endeavour to point out the criteria by which poetry is distinguished from every other species of writing. In common with other arts, such as statuary and painting, it comprehends imitation, invention, composition, and enthusiasm. Imitation is indeed the basis of all the liberal arts; invention and enthusiasm constitute genius, in whatever manner it may be displayed. Eloquence of all sorts admits of enthusiasm. Tully says, an orator should be "vehemens ut procella, excitatus ut torrens, incensus ut fulmen: tonat, fulgurat, et rapidis eloquentiæ fluctibus cuncta proruit et proturbat.” "Violent as a tempest, impetuous as a torrent, and, glowing intense like the red bolt of heaven, he thunders, lightens, overthrows, and bears down all before him, by the irresistible tide of eloquence.” This is the mens divinior atque os magna sonaturum of Horace. This is the talent, -Meum qui pectus inaniter angit, With passions not my own who fires my heart; As with a magic influence possess'd. We are told that Michael Angelo Buonaroti used to work at his statues in a fit of enthusiasm, during which he made the fragments of the stone fly about him with surprising violence. The celebrated Lully being one day blamed for setting nothing to music but the languid verses of Quinault, was animated with the reproach, and running in a fit of enthusiasm to his harpsichord, sung in recitative, and accompanied four pathetic lines from the Iphigenia of Racine, with such expression as filled the hearers with astonishment and horror. Though versification be one of the criteria that distinguish poetry from prose, yet it is not the sole mark of distinction. Were the histories of Polybius and Livy simply turned into verse, they would not become poems; because they would be destitute of those figures, embellishments, and flights of imagination, which display the poet's art and invention. On the other hand, we have many productions that justly lay claim to the title of poetry, without having the advantage of versification; witness the Psalms of David, the Song of Solomon, with many beautiful hymns, descriptions, and rhapsodies, to be found in different parts of the Old Testament, some of them the immediate production of divine inspiration; witness the Celtic fragments which have lately appeared in the English language, and are certainly replete with poetical merit. But though good versification alone will not constitute poetry, bad versifica* Macpherson's Ossian. tion alone will certainly degrade and render dis- Non homines, non Di, non concessere columnæ. How is that beautiful ode, beginning with Justum et tenacem propositi virum, chilled and tamed by the following translation:— He who by principle is sway'd, In truth and justice still the same, Is neither of the crowd afraid, Though civil broils the state inflame; Nor to a haughty tyrant's frown will stoop, Nor to the raging storm, when all the winds are up. The final doom and dreadful crack Cannot his constant courage move. That long alexandrine-" Nor to a raging storm, when all the winds are up," is drawling, feeble, swoln with a pleonasm or tautology, as well as deficient in the rhyme; and as for the "dreadful crack," in the next stanza, instead of exciting terror, it conveys a low and ludicrous idea. How much more elegant and energetic is this paraphrase of the same ode, inserted in one of the volumes of Hume's History of England : The man whose mind, on virtue bent, Serene beholds the angry crowd; Nor the proud tyrant's fiercest threat, The lawless surges wake; - Nor Jove's dread bolt, that shakes the pole, With all its power can shake. Resume primeval sway, His courage chance and fate defies, Nor feels the wreck of earth and skies If poetry exists independent of versification, it will naturally be asked, how then is it to be distinguished? Undoubtedly by its own peculiar expression: it has a language of its own, which speaks so feelingly to the heart, and so pleasingly to the imagination, that its meaning cannot possibly be misunderstood by any person of delicate sensations. It is a species of painting with words, in which the figures are happily conceived, ingeniously arranged, affectingly expressed, and recommended with all the warmth and harmony of colouring it consists of imagery, description, metaphors, similes, and sentiments, adapted with propriety to the subject, so contrived and executed as to soothe the ear, surprise and delight the fancy, mend and melt the heart, elevate the mind, and please the understanding. According to Flaccus: Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare poetæ ; Poets would profit or delight mankind, And with th' amusing show th' instructive join'd. Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci, Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo. Profit and pleasure mingled thus with art, To soothe the fancy and improve the heart. Tropes and figures are likewise liberally used in rhetoric; and some of the most celebrated orators have owned themselves much indebted to the poets. Theophrastus expressly recommends the poets for this purpose. From their source, the spirit and energy of the pathetic, the sublime, and the beautiful, are derived *. But these figures must be more sparingly used in rhetoric than in poetry, and even then mingled with argumentation, and a detail of facts altogether different from poetical narration. The poet, instead of simply relating the incident, strikes off a glowing picture of the scene, and exhibits it in the most lively colours to the eye of the imagination. "It is reported that Homer was blind," says Tully in his Tusculan Questions, "yet his poetry is no other than painting. What country, what climate, what ideas, battles, commotions, and contests of men, as well as of wild beasts, has he not painted in such a manner, as to bring before our eyes those very scenes which he himself could not behold+!" We cannot, therefore, subscribe to the opinion of some ingenious critics, who have blamed Mr. Pope for deviating in some instances from the simplicity of Homer, in his translation of the Iliad and Odyssey. For example, the Grecian bard says simply, the sun rose; his translator gives us a beautiful picture of the sun rising. Homer mentions a person who played upon the lyre; the translator sets him before us warbling to the silver strings. If this be a deviation, it is at the same time an improvement. Homer himself, as Cicero observes above, is full of this kind of painting, and particularly fond of description, even in situ. ations where the action seems to require haste. Neptune, observing from Samothrace the discomfiture of the Grecians before Troy, flies to their assistance, and might have been wafted thither in half a line but the bard describes him, first, descending the mountain on which he sat; secondly, striding toward his palace at Egæ, and yoking his horses; thirdly, he describes him putting on his armour; and, lastly, ascending his car, and driving along the surface of the sea. Far from being disgusted by these delays, we are delighted with the particulars of the description. Nothing can be more sublime than the circumstance of the mountain's trembling beneath the footsteps of an immortal: Τρέμε δ' οὐρέα μακρὰ καὶ ὕλη Ποσσὶν ὑπ' ἀθανάτοισι Ποσειδάωνος ἰόντος. But his passage to the Grecian fleet is altogether transporting. Βῆ δ ̓ ἐλάαν ἐπὶ κύματ, κ. τ. λ. He mounts the car, the golden scourge applies, * Namque ab his (scilicet poetis) et in rebus spiritus, et in verbis sublimitas, et in affectibus motus omnis, et in personis decor petitur.-QUINTILIAN. 1. x. † Quæ regio, quæ ora, quæ species formæ, quæ pugna, qui malus hominum, qui ferarum, non ita expictus est, ut quæ ipse non viderit, nos ut videremus, effecerit ! His whirling wheels the glassy surface sweep; The wond'ring waters leave his axle dry. With great veneration for the memory of Mr. Pope, we cannot help objecting to some lines of this translation. We have no idea of the sea's exulting and crowning Neptune, after it had subsided into a level plain. There is no such image in the original. Homer says, the whales exulted, and knew, or owned their king; and that the sea parted with joy: vnlooúvn de láλaoσa ditoтato. Neither is there a word of the wondering waters: we therefore think the lines might be thus altered to advantage: They knew and own'd the monarch of the main : The sea subsiding spreads a level plain; The curling waves before his coursers fly; The parting surface leaves his brazen axle dry. Besides the metaphors, similes, and allusions of poetry, there is an infinite variety of tropes, or turns of expression, occasionally disseminated through works of genius, which serve to animate the whole, and distinguish the glowing effusions science. These tropes consist of a certain happy of real inspiration from the cold efforts of mere choice and arrangement of words, by which ideas are artfully disclosed in a great variety of attitudes; of epithets, and compound epithets; of sounds collected in order to echo the sense con veyed; of apostrophes ; and, above all, the enchanting use of the prosopopoeia, which is a kind of magic, by which the poet gives life and motion to every inanimate part of nature. Homer, debook of the Iliad, strikes off a glowing image in scribing the wrath of Agamemnon, in the first two words: ὄσσε δ' οἳ πυρὶ λαμπετόωντι εΐκτην. - and from his eyeballs flash'd the living fire. This indeed is a figure which has been copied by Virgil, and almost all the poets of every ageoculis micat acribus ignis-ignescunt iræ: auris dolor ossibus ardet. Milton, describing Satan in hell, says, With head uplift above the wave, and eye He spake and to confirm his words out flew There are certain words in every language particularly adapted to the poetical expression; some from the image or idea they convey to the imagination, and some from the effect they have upon the ear. The first are truly figurative; the others may be called emphatical. Rollin observes, that Virgil has, upon many occasions, poetized (if we may be allowed the expression) a whole sentence by means of the same word, which is pendere. Ite meæ, felix quondam pecus, ite capellæ, Non ego vos posthac, viridi projectus in antro, Dumosa pendere procul de rupe videbo. At ease reclined beneath the verdant shade, No more shall I behold my happy flock Aloft hang browsing on the tufted rock. Here the word pendere wonderfully improves the landscape, and renders the whole passage beautifully picturesque. The same figurative verb we meet with in many different parts of the Æneid. Hi summo fluctu pendent, his unda dehiscens These on the mountain billow hung; to those The yawning waves the yellow sand disclose. In this instance, the words pendent and dehiscens, hung and yawning, are equally poetical. Addison seems to have had this passage in his eye, when he wrote his Hymn, which is inserted in the Spectator: For though in dreadful whirls we hung, And, in another piece of a like nature in the same collection: Thy Providence my life sustain'd, And all my wants redress'd, Shakspeare, in his admired description of Dover cliff, uses the same expression : -half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire-dreadful trade! Nothing can be more beautiful than the following picture, in which Milton has introduced the same expressive tint : he, on his side, Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love We shall give one example more from Virgil, to show in what a variety of scenes it may appear with propriety and effect. In describing the progress of Dido's passion for Æneas, the poet says, Iliacos iterum demens audire labores Exposcit, pendetque iterum narrantis ab ore. The woes of Troy once more she begg'd to hear; Once more the mournful tale employ'd his tongue, While in fond rapture on his lips she hung. The reader will perceive, in all these instances, that no other word could be substituted with equal energy; indeed, no other word could be used, without degrading the sense and defacing the image. There are many other verbs of poetical import fetched from nature and from art, which the poet uses to advantage, both in the literal and metaphorical sense; and these have been always translated for the same purpose from one language to another; such as quasso, concutio, cio, suscito, lenio, savio, mano, fluo, ardeo, mico, aro, to shake, to wake, to rouse, to soothe, to rage, to flow, to shine or blaze, to plough. Quassantia tectum limina - Æneas casu coneussus acerbore ciere viros, Martemque accendere vantu-Anas acuit Martem et se suscitat ira-Impium lenite clamorem. Lenibant curas Ne sævi magne sacerdos Sudor ad imos manabat solos Suspensæque diu lachrymæ fluxere per ora- Juvenali ardebat amore-Mient arous ensis-- Nullum maris æquor arandum. It will be unnecessary to insert examples of the same nature from the English poets. The words we term emphatical are such as by their sound express the sense they are intended to convey; and with these the Greek abounds, above all other languages, not only from its natural copiousness, flexibility, and significance, but also from the variety of its dialects, which enables a writer to vary his terminations occasionally 28 the nature of the subject requires, without offending the most delicate ear, or incurring the impetation of adopting vulgar provincial expressions. Every smatterer in Greek can repeat Βῆ δ ̓ ἀκέων παρὰ θῖνα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης, in which the two last words wonderfully echo to the sense, conveying the idea of the sea dashing on the shore. How much more significant in sound than that beautiful image of Shakspeare The sea that on the unnumber'd pebbles beats. And yet, if we consider the strictness of propriety, this last expression would seem to have been selected on purpose to concur with the other circumstances, which are brought together to ascer tain the vast height of Dover-cliff; for the poet adds, "cannot be heard so high." The place where Glo'ster stood was so high above the surface of the sea, that the pλois Bos, or dashing, could not be heard; and therefore an enthusiastic admirer of Shakspeare might with some plausibility affirm, the poet had chosen an expression in which that sound is not at all conveyed.. In the very same page of Homer's Iliad we meet with two other striking instances of the same sort of beauty. Apollo, incensed at the insults his priest had sustained, descends from the top of Olympus, with his bow and quiver rattling on his shoulder as he moved along: Here the sound of the word "Eλaygav admirably Ἔκλαγξαν δ ̓ ἄρ ̓ ὀϊστοὶ ἐπ' ὤμων. expresses the clanking of armour; as the third line after this surprisingly imitates the twanging of a bow. Δεινὴ δὲ κλαγγὴ γένετ' ἀργυρέοιο βιοῖο. In shrill-toned murmurs sung the twanging bow. Many beautics of the same kind are scattered through Homer, Pindar, and Theocritus, such as the BoμBevσa μéxioσa, susurrans apicula; the asù lupio ua, dulcem susurrum; and the pexlodetai for the sighing of the pine. The Latin language teems with sounds adapted to every situation, and the English is not destitute of this significant energy. We have the cooing turtle, the sighing reed, the warbling rivulet, the gliding stream, the whispering breeze, the glance, the gleam, the flash, the bickering flame, the dashing wave, the gushing spring, the howling blast, the rattling storm, the pattering shower, the crimp earth, the mouldering tower, the twanging bow-string, the clanging arms, the clanking chains, the twinkling stars, the tinkling chords, the trickling drops, the twittering swallow, the cawing rook, the screeching owl ; and a thousand other words and epithets, wonderfully suited to the sense they imply. Among the select passages of poetry which we shall insert by way of illustration, the reader will find instances of all the different tropes and figures which the best authors have adopted in the variety of their poetical works, as well as of the apostrophe, abrupt transition, repetition, and prosopopœia. In the mean time, it will be necessary still farther to analyse those principles which constitute the essence of poetical merit; to display those de |