So I have seen some _fearful hare_ maintain A course, till tired before the dog she lay, Who stretched behind her, pants upon the plain, Past power to kill, as she to get away.

132.

With his loll'd tongue he faintly licks his prey; His warm breath blows her flix up as she lies: She trembling creeps upon the ground away And looks back to him with _beseeching eyes_.

Thomson paints the _stag_ in a similar situation:--

----Fainting breathless toil Sick seizes on his heart--he stands at bay: The _big round tears_ run down his _dappled_ face, He _groans_ in anguish.

_Autumn_, v. 451.

Shakspeare exhibits the same object:--

The wretched animal heaved forth such _groans_, That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting; and the _big round tears_ Coursed one another down his _innocent nose_ In piteous chase.

Of these three pictures the _beseeching eyes_ of Dryden perhaps is more pathetic than _the big round tears_, certainly borrowed by Thomson from Shakspeare, because the former expression has more pa.s.sion, and is therefore more poetical. The sixth line in Dryden is perhaps exquisite for its imitative harmony, and with peculiar felicity paints the action itself. Thomson adroitly drops the _innocent nose_, of which one word seems to have lost its original signification, and the other offends now by its familiarity. _The dappled face_ is a term more picturesque, more appropriate, and more poetically expressed.

EXPLANATION OF THE FAC-SIMILE.

The ma.n.u.scripts of Pope's version of the Iliad and Odyssey are preserved in the British Museum in three volumes, the gift of David Mallet. They are written chiefly on the backs of letters, amongst which are several from Addison, Steele, Jervaise, Rowe, Young, Caryl, Walsh, Sir G.o.dfrey Kneller, Fenton, Craggs, Congreve, Hughes, his mother Editha, and Lintot and Tonson the booksellers.[26]

From these letters no information can be gathered, which merits public communication; they relate generally to the common civilities and common affairs of life. What little could be done has already been given in the additions to Pope's works.

It has been observed, that Pope taught himself to write, by copying printed books: of this singularity we have in this collection a remarkable instance; several parts are written in Roman and Italic characters, which for some time I mistook for print; no imitation can be more correct.

What appears on this Fac-Simile I have printed, to a.s.sist its deciphering; and I have also subjoined the pa.s.sage as it was given to the public, for immediate reference. The ma.n.u.script from whence this page is taken consists of the first rude sketches; an intermediate copy having been employed for the press; so that the corrected verses of this Fac-Simile occasionally vary from those published.

This pa.s.sage has been selected, because the parting of Hector and Andromache is perhaps the most pleasing episode in the Iliad, while it is confessedly one of the most finished pa.s.sages.

The lover of poetry will not be a little gratified, when he contemplates the variety of epithets, the imperfect idea, the gradual embellishment, and the critical rasures which are here discovered.[27] The action of Hector, in lifting his infant in his arms, occasioned Pope much trouble; and at length the printed copy has a different reading.

I must not omit noticing, that the whole is on the back of a letter franked by Addison; which cover I have given at one corner of the plate.

The parts distinguished by Italics were rejected.

Thus having spoke, the ill.u.s.trious chief of Troy _Extends his eager arms to embrace his boy_, lovely Stretched his fond arms to seize the _beauteous_ boy; babe The _boy_ clung crying to his nurse's breast, Scar'd at the dazzling helm and nodding crest.

each _kind_ With silent pleasure _the_ fond parent smil'd, And Hector hasten'd to relieve his child.

The glittering terrors unbound, _His radiant helmet_ from his brows _unbrac'd_, _on the ground, he And on the ground the glittering terror plac'd_, beamy And placed the _radiant_ helmet on the ground, _Then seized the boy and raising him in air_, lifting Then _fondling_ in his arms his infant heir, _dancing_ Thus to the G.o.ds addrest a father's prayer.

glory fills O thou, whose _thunder shakes_ th' ethereal throne, deathless And all ye other _powers_ protect my son!

_Like mine, this war, blooming youth with every virtue blest_, _grace_ _The shield and glory of the Trojan race; Like mine his valour, and his just renown.

Like mine his labours, to defend the crown_.

Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown, the Trojans To guard _my country_, to defend the crown: _In arms like me, his country's war to wage_, And rise the Hector of the future age!

Against his country's foes the war to wage, And rise the Hector of the future age!

successful So when triumphant from the _glorious_ toils Of heroes slain, he bears the reeking spoils, Whole hosts may _All Troy shall_ hail him, with deserv'd acclaim, own the son And _cry, this chief_ transcends his father's fame.

While pleas'd, amidst the general shouts of Troy, His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.

fondly on her He said, and gazing _o'er his consort's charms_, Restor'd his infant to her longing arms.

on Soft _in_ her fragrant breast the babe she laid, _Prest to her heart_, and with a smile survey'd; to repose Hush'd _him to rest_, and with a smile survey'd.

_pa.s.sion_ But soon the troubled pleasure _mixt with rising fears_, dash'd with fear, The tender pleasure soon, chastised by fear, She mingled with the smile a tender tear.

The pa.s.sage appears thus in the printed work. I have marked in Italics the _variations_.

Thus having spoke, the ill.u.s.trious chief of Troy Stretch'd his fond arms to _clasp_ the lovely boy.

The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast, Scar'd at the dazzling helm and nodding crest.

With _secret_[28] pleasure each fond parent smil'd, And Hector hasted to relieve his child, The glittering terrors from his brows unbound, And placed the _beaming_ helmet on the ground: _Then kiss'd the child_, and lifting high in air, Thus to the G.o.ds _preferr'd_ a father's prayer:

O thou, whose glory fills th' ethereal throne, And all ye deathless powers, protect my son!

Grant him like me to purchase just renown, To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown; Against his country's foes the war to wage, And rise the Hector of the future age!

So when, triumphant from successful toils, Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils, Whole hosts may hail him, with deserv'd acclaim, And say, _this chief_ transcends his father's fame: While pleas'd amidst the general shouts of Troy, His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.

He _spoke_, and fondly gazing on her charms, Restor'd _the pleasing burden to her arms_: Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid, Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd.

The _troubled pleasure_ soon chastis'd by fear, She mingled with the smile a tender tear.

LITERARY FASHIONS.

There is such a thing as Literary Fashion, and prose and verse have been regulated by the same caprice that cuts our coats and c.o.c.ks our hats.

Dr. Kippis, who had a taste for literary history, has observed that "'Dodsley's Oeconomy of Human Life' long received the most extravagant applause, from the supposition that it was written by a celebrated n.o.bleman; an instance of the power of _Literary Fashion_; the history of which, as it hath appeared in various ages and countries, and as it hath operated with respect to the different objects of science, learning, art, and taste, would form a work that might be highly instructive and entertaining."

The favourable reception of Dodsley's "Oeconomy of Human Life," produced a whole family of oeconomies; it was soon followed by a _second part_, the gratuitous ingenuity of one of those officious imitators, whom an original author never cares to thank. Other oeconomies trod on the heels of each other.

For some memoranda towards a history of literary fashions, the following may be arranged:--

At the restoration of letters in Europe, commentators and compilers were at the head of the literati; translators followed, who enriched themselves with their spoils on the commentators. When in the progress of modern literature, writers aimed to rival the great authors of antiquity, the different styles, in their servile imitations, clashed together; and parties were formed who fought desperately for the style they chose to adopt. The public were long hara.s.sed by a fantastic race, who called themselves Ciceronian, of whom are recorded many ridiculous practices, to strain out the words of Cicero into their hollow verbosities. They were routed by the facetious Erasmus. Then followed the brilliant aera of epigrammatic points; and good sense, and good taste, were nothing without the spurious ornaments of false wit.

Another age was deluged by a million of sonnets; and volumes were for a long time read, without their readers being aware that their patience was exhausted. There was an age of epics, which probably can never return again; for after two or three, the rest can be but repet.i.tions with a few variations.

In Italy, from 1530 to 1580, a vast mult.i.tude of books were written on Love; the fashion of writing on that subject (for certainly it was not always a pa.s.sion with the indefatigable writer) was an epidemical distemper. They wrote like pedants, and pagans; those who could not write their love in verse, diffused themselves in prose. When the Poliphilus of Colonna appeared, which is given in the form of a dream, this dream made a great many dreamers, as it happens in company (says the sarcastic Zeno) when one yawner makes many yawn. When Bishop Hall first published his satires, he called them "Toothless Satires," but his latter ones he distinguished as "Biting Satires;" many good-natured men, who could only write good-natured verse, crowded in his footsteps, and the abundance of their labours only showed that even the "toothless"

satires of Hall could bite more sharply than those of servile imitators.

After Spenser's "Faerie Queen" was published, the press overflowed with many mistaken imitations, in which fairies were the chief actors--this circ.u.mstance is humorously animadverted on by Marston, in his satires, as quoted by Warton: every scribe now falls asleep, and in his

----dreams, straight tenne pound to one Outsteps some _fairy_---- Awakes, straiet rubs his eyes, and PRINTS HIS TALE.

The great personage who gave a fashion to this cla.s.s of literature was the courtly and romantic Elizabeth herself; her obsequious wits and courtiers would not fail to feed and flatter her taste. Whether they all felt the beauties, or languished over the tediousness of "The Faerie Queen," and the "Arcadia" of Sidney, at least her majesty gave a vogue to such sentimental and refined romance. The cla.s.sical Elizabeth introduced another literary fashion; having translated the Hercules Oetacus, she made it fashionable to translate Greek tragedies. There was a time, in the age of fanaticism, and the Long Parliament, that books were considered the more valuable for their length. The seventeenth century was the age of folios. Caryl wrote a "Commentary on Job" in two volumes folio, of above one thousand two hundred sheets! as it was intended to inculcate the virtue of patience, these volumes gave at once the theory and the practice. One is astonished at the mult.i.tude of the divines of this age; whose works now lie buried under the brick and mortar tombs of four or five folios, which, on a moderate calculation, might now be "wire-woven" into thirty or forty modern octavos.

In Charles I.'s time, love and honour were heightened by the wits into florid romance; but Lord Goring turned all into ridicule; and he was followed by the Duke of Buckingham, whose happy vein of ridicule was favoured by Charles II., who gave it the vogue it obtained.

Sir William Temple justly observes, that changes in veins of wit are like those of habits, or other modes. On the return of Charles II., none were more out of fashion among the new courtiers than the old Earl of Norwich, who was esteemed the greatest wit, in his father's time, among the old.

Modern times have abounded with what may be called fashionable literature. Tragedies were some years ago as fashionable as comedies are at this day;[29] Thomson, Mallet, Francis, Hill, applied their genius to a department in which they lost it all. Declamation and rant, and over-refined language, were preferred to the fable, the manners, and to nature--and these now sleep on our shelves! Then too we had a family of paupers in the parish of poetry, in "Imitations of Spenser." Not many years ago, Churchill was the occasion of deluging the town with _political poems in quarto_.--These again were succeeded by _narrative poems_, in the ballad measure, from all sizes of poets.--The Castle of Otranto was the father of that marvellous, which once over-stocked the circulating library and closed with Mrs. Radcliffe.--Lord Byron has been the father of hundreds of graceless sons!--Travels and voyages have long been a cla.s.s of literature so fashionable, that we begin to prepare for, or to dread, the arrival of certain persons from the Continent!

Different times, then, are regulated by different tastes. What makes a strong impression on the public at one time, ceases to interest it at another; an author who sacrifices to the prevailing humours of his day has but little chance of being esteemed by posterity; and every age of modern literature might, perhaps, admit of a new cla.s.sification, by dividing it into its periods of _fashionable literature_.