"In everything there naturally grows A balsamum to keep it fresh and new, Your youth and beauty are this balm in you. Keeps off, or cures what can be done or said." Though the following lines of Donne, on the last night of the year, have something in them too scholastic, they are not inelegant: This twilight of two years, not past nor next, Nor trust I this with hopes; and yet scarce true This bravery is, since these times show'd me you." Yet more abstruse and profound is Donne's reflection upon man as a microcosm: "If men be worlds, there is in every one Something to answer in some proportion; All the world's riches; and in good men this Virtue, our form's form, and our soul's soul, is." Of thoughts so far-fetched as to be not only unexpected, but unnatural, all their books are full. To a lady who wrote posies for rings: "They who above do various circles find, Say, like a ring th' equator Heaven does bind. When Heaven shall be adorn'd by thee, (Which then more Heaven than 'tis will be) Tis thou must write the poesy there, For it wanteth one as yet, Then the sun pass through't twice a year, The sun, which is esteem'd the god of wit." -(COWLEY.) The difficulties which have been raised about identity in philosophy are by Cowley, with still more perplexity, applied to love: "Five years ago (says story) I loved you, For which you call me most inconstant now; From whence these take their birth which now are here. If then this body love what th' other did, The love of different women is, in geographical poetry, compared to travels through different countries: "Hast thou not found each woman's breast Or wild, and uninhabited? Rages with immoderate heat; A lover, burned up by his affection, is compared to Egypt: "The fate of Egypt I sustain, And never feel the dew of rain, From clouds which in the head appear; But all my too-much moisture owe To overflowings of the heart below."-(COWLEY.) The lover supposes his lady acquainted with the ancient laws of augury and rites of sacrifice: "And yet this death of mine, I fear, Will ominous to her appear: When, sound in every other part, Her sacrifice is found without an heart. Shall sigh out that too, with my breath." That the chaos was harmonized, has been recited of old; but whence the different sounds arose remained for a modern to discover: "Th' ungovern'd parts no correspondence knew; An artless war from thwarting motions grew; The tears of lovers are always of great poetical account; but Donne has extended them into worlds. If the lines are not easily understood, they may be read again: Who but Donne would have thought that a good man is a telescope? "Though God be our true glass through which we see All, since the being of all things is he, Yet are the trunks, which do to us derive Who would imagine it possible that in a very few lines so many remote ideas could be brought together? Since 'tis my doom, love's undershrieve, Why this reprieve? Why doth my she advowson fly Incumbency? Of enormous and disgusting hyberboles, these may be examples: "By every wind that comes this way, Send me at least a sigh or two, Such and so many I'll repay As shall themselves make winds to get to you." "In tears I'll waste these eyes, By love so vainly fed: So lust of old the deluge punished." "All arm'd in brass, the richest dress of war, (A dismal glorious sight!) he shone afar. The sun himself started with sudden fright, To see his beams return so dismal bright." - (COWLEY.) An universal consternation: "His bloody eyes he hurls round, his sharp paws -(COWLEY.) Upon a paper written with the juice of lemon. and read by the fire: "Nothing yet in thee is seen, But when a genial heat warms thee within. -(COWLET) As they sought only for novelty, they did not much inquire whether their allusions were to things high or low, elegant or gross; whether they compared the little to the great, or the great to the little. Physic and chirurgery for a lover: "Gently, ah gently, madam, touch For I too weak of purgings grow."—(Cowley.) The world and a clock: Mahol th' inferior world's fantastic face -(COWLEY) A coal-pit has not often found its poet; but that it may not want its due honour, Cleveland has paralleled it with the sun: "Yet why should hallow'd vestal's sacred shrine Had he our pits, the Persian would admire "No family E'er rigg'd a soul for Heaven's discovery, Their thoughts and expressions were some times grossly absurd, and such as no figures or license can reconcile to the understanding. A lover neither dead nor alive: "Then down I laid my head Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead, Ah, sottish soul, said I, When back to its cage again I saw it fly; And row her galley here again! Fool, to that body to return Where it condemned and destined is to burn! Once dead, how can it be, Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee, That thou should'st come to live it o'er again in me?" (COWLEY.) A lover's heart a hand grenado: "Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine come "Twill tear and blow up all within, Shall out of both one new one make; From hers th' alloy, from mine the metal take." -(COWLEY.) The poetical propagation of light: "The prince's favour is diffus'd o'er all, From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall; Then from those wombs of stars, the Bride's bright eyes, At every glance a constellation flies, And sowes the court with stars, and doth prevent Then from their beams their jewels' lustres rise; They were in very little care to clothe their notions with elegance of dress, and therefore miss the notice and the praise which are often gained by those who think less, but are more diligent to adorn their thoughts. That a mistress beloved is fairer in idea than in reality is by Cowley thus expressed: "Thou in my fancy dost much higher stand Than woman can be placed by Nature's hand; And I must needs, I'm sure, a loser be, To change thee as thou'rt there, for very thee." That prayer and labour should co-operate are thus taught by Donne: "In none but us are such mix'd engines found, By the same author, a common topic, the danger of procrastination, is thus illustrated: "That which I should have begun In my youth's morning, now late must be done; Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost All that man has to do is to live and die; the sum of humanity is comprehended by Donne in the following lines: "Think in how poor a prison thou didst lie; After enabled but to suck and cry. Think, when 'twas grown to most, 'twas a poor inn, A province pack'd up in two yards of skin, VOL. IV. These poets were sometimes indelicate and disgusting. They were not always strictly curious, whether the opinions from which they drew their illustrations were true; it was enough that they were popular. Bacon remarks that some falsehoods are continued by tradition, because they supply commodious allusions. "It gave a piteous groan, and so it broke; In vain it something would have spoke; The love within too strong for't was, Like poison put into a Venice-glass."-(CowLEY.) In forming descriptions, they looked out not for images, but for conceits. Night has been a common subject, which poets have contended to adorn. Dryden's Night is well known; Donne's is as follows: "Thou seest me here at midnight, now all rest: It must be, however, confessed of these writers, that if they are upon common subjects, often unnecessarily and unpoetically subtle; yet, where scholastic speculation can be properly admitted, their copiousness and acuteness may justly be admired. What Cowley has written upon Hope shows an unequalled fertility of invention: If things then from their end we happy call, Who, whilst thou should'st but taste, devour'st Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor, travels and his wife that stays at home, with a To the following comparison of a man that pair of compasses, it may be doubted whether absurdity or ingenuity has the better claim: "Our two souls, therefore, which are one, A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. As stiff twin compasses are two; Yet when the other far doth roam And grows erect as that comes home. Like th' other foot obliquely run. And makes me end where I begun."—(DONNE.) In all these examples it is apparent that whatever is improper or vicious is produced by a voluntary deviation from nature in pursuit of something new and strange; and that the writers fail to give delight by their desire of exciting admiration. Essay on Cowley. ALCANDER AND SEPTIMIUS. BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Athens, even long after the decline of the Roman empire, still continued the seat of learning, politeness, and wisdom. The emperors and generals, who in these periods of approaching ignorance still felt a passion for science, from time to time added to its buildings, or increased its professorships. Theodoric, the Ostrogoth, was of the number: he repaired those schools which barbarity was suffering to fall into decay, and continued those pensions to men of learning which avaricious governors had monopolized to themselves. In this city, and about this period, Alcander and Septimius were fellow students together. The one the most subtle reasoner of all the Lyceum; the other the most eloquent speaker in the Academic Grove. Mutual admiration soon begot an acquaintance, and a similitude of disposition made them perfect friends. Their fortunes were nearly equal, their studies the same, and they were natives of the two most celebrated cities in the world; for Alcander was of Athens, Septimius came from Rome. In this mutual harmony they lived for some time together, when Alcander, after passing the first part of his youth in the indolence of philosophy, thought at length of entering into the busy world, and as a step previous to this, placed his affections on Hypatia, a lady of exquisite beauty. Hypatia showed no dislike to his addresses. The day of their intended nuptials was fixed, the previous ceremonies were performed, and nothing now remained but her being conducted in triumph to the apartment of the intended bridegroom. An exultation in his own happiness, or his being unable to enjoy any satisfaction without making his friend Septimius a partner, prevailed upon him to introduce his mistress to his fellow student, which he did with all the gaiety of a man who found himself equally happy in friendship and love. -But this was an interview fatal to the peace of both; for Septimius no sooner saw her but he was smit with an involuntary passion. He used every effort, but in vain, to suppress desires at once apartment in inexpressible agony; and the so imprudent and unjust. He retired to his emotions of his mind in a short time became the physicians judged incurable. so strong, that they brought on a fever, which During this illness Alcander watched him with all the anxiety of fondness, and brought his mistress to join in those amiable offices of friendship. The sagacity of the physicians, by this means, soon discovered the cause of their patient's disorder; and Alcander, being apprised of their discovery, at length extorted a confession from the reluctant dying lover. It would but delay the narrative to describe the conflict between love and friendship in the breast of Alcander on this occasion; it is enough to say, that the Athenians were at this time arrived at such refinement in morals, that every virtue was carried to excess. In short, forgetful of his own felicity, he gave up his intended bride, in all her charms, to the young Roman. They were married privately by his connivance; and this unlooked-for change of fortune wrought as unexpected a change in the constitution of the now happy Septimius. In a few days he was perfectly recovered, and set out with his fair partner for Rome. Here, by an exertion of those talents of which he was so eminently possessed, he in a few years arrived at the highest dignities of the state, and was constituted the city judge, or pretor. Meanwhile Alcander not only felt the pain of being separated from his friend and mistress, but a prosecution was also commenced against him by the relations of Hypatia, for his having basely given her up, as was suggested, for money. Neither his innocence of the crime laid to his charge, nor his eloquence in his own defence, was able to withstand the influence of a powerful party. He was cast, and condemned to pay an enormous fine. Unable to raise so large a sum at the time appointed, his possessions were confiscated, himself stripped of the habit of freedom, exposed in the market-place, and sold as a slave to the highest bidder. A merchant of Thrace becoming his purchaser, Alcander, with some other companions of distress, was carried into that region of desolation and sterility. His stated employment was to follow the herds of an imperious master; and his skill in hunting was all that was allowed him to supply a precarious subsistence. Condemned to hopeless servitude, every morning waked him to a renewal of famine or toil, and every change of season served but to aggravate his unsheltered distress. Nothing but death or flight was left him, and almost certain death was the consequence of his attempting to flee. After some years of bondage, however, an opportunity of escaping offered: he embraced it with ardour, and travelling by night, and lodging in caverns by day, to shorten a long story, he at last arrived in Rome. The day of Alcander's arrival Septimius sat in the forum administering justice; and hither our wanderer came, expecting to be instantly known and publicly acknowledged. Here he stood the whole day among the crowd, watching the eyes of the judge, and expecting to be taken notice of; but so much was he altered by a long succession of hardships, that he passed entirely without notice; and in the evening, when he was going up to the pretor's chair, he was brutally repulsed by the attending lictors. The attention of the poor is generally driven from one ungrateful object to another; night coming on, he now found himself under a necessity of seeking a place to lie in, and yet knew not where to apply. All emaciated and in rags as he was, none of the citizens would harbour so much wretchedness, and sleeping in the streets might be attended with interruption or danger: in short, he was obliged to take up his lodging in one of the tombs without the city, the usual retreat of guilt, poverty, or despair. In this mansion of horror, laying his head upon an inverted urn, he forgot his miseries for a while in sleep; and virtue found on this flinty couch more ease than down can supply to the guilty. It was midnight when two robbers came to make this cave their retreat, but happening to disagree about the division of their plunder, one of them stabbed the other to the heart, and left him weltering in blood at the entrance. In these circumstances he was found next morning, and this naturally induced a further inquiry. The alarm was spread, the cave was examined, Alcander was found sleeping, and immediately apprehended and accused of robbery and murder. The circumstances against him were strong, and the wretchedness of his appearance confirmed suspicion. Misfortune and he were now so long acquainted, that he at last became regardless of life. He detested a world where he had found only ingratitude, falsehood, and cruelty, and was determined to make no defence. Thus, lowering with resolution, he was dragged, bound with cords, before the tribunal of Septimius. The proofs were positive against him, and he offered nothing in his own vindication; the judge, therefore, was proceeding to doom him to a most cruel and ignominious death, when, as if illumined by a ray from heaven, he discovered, through all his misery, the features, though dim with sorrow, of his long-lost, loved Alcander. It is impossible to describe his joy and his pain on this strange occasion; happy in once more seeing the person he most loved on earth, distressed at finding him in such circumstances. Thus agitated by contending passions, he flew from his tribunal, and, falling on the neck of his dear benefactor, burst into an agony of distress. The attention of the multitude was soon, however, divided by another object. The robber who had been really guilty was apprehended selling his plunder, and, struck with a panic, confessed his crime. He was brought bound to the same tribunal, and acquitted every other person of any partnership in his guilt. Need the sequel be related? Alcander was acquitted, shared the friendship and the honours of his friend Septimius, lived afterwards in happiness and ease, and left it to be engraved on his tomb, that "no circumstances are so desperate which Providence may not relieve." BARREN FAITH. The Bee, 1759. O, friend, we nurse in vain a scholar-faith, It carries with it no awakening force, Of active goodness, is mere barren thought WILLIAM SAWYER. |