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dulging himself in too florid a manner of expreffion, efpecially in the dramatic parts of his fable, where he introduces dialogue: And the writer of tragedy cannot fall into so nauseous and unnatural an affectation, put laboured descriptions, pompous epithets, studied phrases, and high-flown metaphors, into the mouths of his characters. But as the didactic poet speaks in his own person, it is necessary and proper for him to use a brighter colouring of stile, and to be more studious of ornament. And this is agreeable to an admirable precept of Aristotle, which no writer should ever forget, - that diction ought most to be labour'd in the unactive, that is the defcriptive parts of a poem, in which the opinions, manners and passions of men are not reprefented; for too glaring an expression obfcures the manners and the fentiments.'

We have already observed that any thing in nature may be the fubject of this poem. Some things however will appear to more advantage than others, as they give a greater latitude to genius, and admit of more poetical ornaments. Natural history and philosophy are copious subjects. Precepts in these might be decorated with all the flowers in poetry; and, as Dr. Trapp observes, how can poetry be better employed, or more agreeably to its nature and dignity, than in celebrating the works of the great Creator, and describing the nature and generation of animals, vegetables, and minerals; the revolutions of the heavenly bodies; the motions of the earth; the flux and reflux of the fea; the cause of thunder, lightning, and other meteors; the attraction of the magnet; the gravitation, cohesion, and repulfion of matter; the impulfive motion of light; the flow progreffion of founds; and other amazing phænomena of nature. Most of the arts and sciences are also proper subjects for this poem, and none are more fo than its two sister arts, painting and music. In the former, particularly, there is room for the most entertaining precepts concerning the disposal of colours; the arrangement of lights and shades; the secret attractives of beauty; the various ideas which make up the one; the diftinguishing between the attitudes proper to either sex, and every paffion; the reprefenting prospects of buildings, battles, or the country, and lastly, concerning the nature of imitation, and the power of painting. What a boundless field of invention is here? What room for defcrip. tion, comparison, and poetical fable? How easy the transition, at any time, from the draught to the original, from the shadow to the subitance? and from hence, what noble excursions may be made into history, into panegyric upon the greatest beauties or heroes of the paft or present age? The task, I confess is difficult; but, according to that noted, but true saying, so are all things that are great.

A

CHAP. XV.

Of TALES.

Tale implies nothing more than a relation of a not be embaraffed with a multitude of foreign circumftances, but may admit of fuch digressions as arife naturally from the fubject, and do not break in upon, or obfcure the main defign. It should inculcate some useful leffon, and be both interefling and perplexing, in order that it may excite and fupport the attention of the reader; for great part of the pleasure or entertainment which the mind receives from a well-written Tale, will be found to arife from the fufpense and anxiety we are kept in; and which, (as in the plot of a 'Tragedy or Comedy) should not be removed till the end. Were the whole scope and design, or, if I may so speak, the point of the Tale first difcovered, the reader would grow languid and indifferent, and have nothing to attend to but the diction and verfification.

The reader will find these rules illustrated in the HERMIT, a Tale, by Mr. PARNEL; which we esteem an excellent example.

The HERMIT. A Tale. By Mr. PARNEL.

Far in a wild, unknown to publick view,
From youth to age a rev'rend Hermit grew :
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well.
Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days,
Pray'r all his bus'ness, all his pleasure praise.

A life so sacred, such serene repose,
Seem'd heav'n itself, 'till one suggestion rose;
That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey,
This sprung fome doubt of Providence's sway:
His hopes no more a certain profpect boast,
And all the tenor of his foul is loft:
So when a smooth expanse receives imprest
Calm nature's image on its watry breast,
Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
And skies beneath with answ'ring colours glow;
But if a stone the gentle sea divide,
Swift rufiling circles curl on ev'ry fide,
And glimmering fragments of a broken sun,
Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.

To clear this doubt, to know the world by fight,
To find if books, or swains report it right;
(For yet by swains alone the world he knew,
Whose feet came wand'ring o'er the nightly dew)
He quits his cell; the pilgrim staff he bore,
And fix'd the scallop in his hat before;
Then with the Sun a rifing journey went,
Sedate to think, and watching each event.

The morn was wasted in the pathless grafs, And long and lonesome was the wild to pass; But when the fouthern sun had warm'd the day, A youth came posting o'er a crossing way; His rayment decent, his complexion fair, And foft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair. Then near approaching, Father, hail! he cry'd; And hail, my fon, the rev'rend Sire reply'd : Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road; 'Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part,

While in their age they differ, join in heart:
Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound;
Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.

Now funk the fun; the closing hour of day
Came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey :
Nature in filence bid the world repose:
When near the road a stately palace rose:
There by the moon thro' ranks of trees they pass,
Whose verdure crown'd their sloping fides of grass.
It chanc'd the noble master of the dome
Still made his house the wand'ring stranger's home:
Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise,
Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease.
The pair arrive: the liv'ry servants wait;
Their lord receives them at the pompous gate.
The table groans with costly piles of food,
And all is more than hofpitably good.
Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown,
Deep funk in sleep, and filk, and heaps of down.

At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day

Along the wide canals the zephyrs play;
Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep,
And shake the neighb'ring wood to banish sleep.
Up rise the guests, obedient to the call;
An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall;
Rich luscious wine a golden goblet grac'd,
Which the kind master forc'd the guests to taste.
Then pleas'd and thankful, from the porch they go;
And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe:
His cup was vanish'd; for in secret guise
The younger guest purloin'd the glitt'ring prize.

As one who 'spies a ferpent in his way,
Glist'ning and basking in the summer ray,
Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near,
Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear;
So seem'd the fire, when far upon the road,
The shining spoil his wiley partner show'd.
He stopp'd with filence, walk'd with trembling heart,
And much lie wish'd, but durst not ask to part;
Murm'ring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard,
That generous actions meet a base reward.

While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, The changing skies hang out their sable clouds; A found in air presag'd approaching rain, And beafts to covert scud a-cross the plain. Warn'd by the figns the wand'ring pair retreat, To feek for fhelter at a neighbouring seat; 'Twas built with turrets, on a riting ground, And trong, and large, and unimprov'd around; Its owner's temper, tim'rous and severe, Unkind and griping, caus'd a desart there.

As near the Mifer's heavy doors they drew, Fierce rifing gusts with fudden fury blew; The nimble light'ning mix'd with show'rs began, And o'er their heads loud rolling thunder ran. Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain Driv'n by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. At length some pity warm'd the master's breast, ('Twas then, his threshold first receiv'd a guest.) Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, And half he welcomes in the shiv'ring pair; One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, And nature's fervor thro' their limbs recalls : Bread of the coarsest fort, with eager wine, (Each hardly granted) serv'd them both to dine; And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, A ready warning bid them part in peace.

With ftill remark the pond'ring Hermit view'd In one so rich, a life so poor and rude, And why shou'd such, (within himself he cry'd) Lock the loft wealth a thousand want beside ? But what new marks of wonder foon took place, In every fettling feature of his face ! When from his vest the young companion bore That cup, the generous landlord own'd before, And paid profusely with the precious bowl The stinted kindness of this churlish soul.

But now the clouds in airy tumults fly, The fun emerging opes an azure sky; A fresher green the smelling leaves display, And glitt'ring as they tremble, cheer the day; The weather courts them from the poor retreat, And the glad master bolts the wary gate.

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