Lives of the Poets Part 37

It seems, as ev'ry s.h.i.+p their sov'reign knows, His awful summons they so soon obey: So hear the scaly herds when Proteus blows, And so to pasture follow through the sea.

It would not be hard to believe that Dryden had written the two first lines seriously, and that some wag had added the two latter in burlesque.

Who would expect the lines that immediately follow, which are, indeed, perhaps indecently hyperbolical, but certainly in a mode totally different:

To see this fleet upon the ocean move, Angels drew wide the curtains of the skies; And heav'n, as if there wanted lights above, For tapers made two glaring comets rise.

The description of the attempt at Bergen will afford a very complete specimen of the descriptions in this poem:

And now approach'd their fleet from India, fraught With all the riches of the rising sun: And precious sand from southern climates brought, The fatal regions where the war begun.

Like hunted castors, conscious of their store, Their waylaid wealth to Norway's coast they bring: Then first the north's cold bosom spices bore, And winter brooded on the eastern spring.

By the rich scent we found our perfum'd prey, Which, flank'd with rocks, did close in covert lie; And round about their murd'ring cannon lay, At once to threaten and invite the eye.

Fiercer than cannon, and than rocks more hard, The English undertake th' unequal war; Sev'n s.h.i.+ps alone, by which the port is barr'd, Besiege the Indies, and all Denmark dare.

These fight like husbands, but like lovers those; These fain would keep, and those more fain enjoy; And to such height their frantick pa.s.sion grows, That what both love, both hazard to destroy:

Amidst whole heaps of spices lights a ball, And now their odours arm'd against them fly: Some preciously by shatter'd porc'lain fall, And some by aromatick splinters die.

And though by tempests of the prize bereft, In heav'n's inclemency some ease we find; Our foes we vanquish'd by our valour left, And only yielded to the seas and wind.

In this manner is the sublime too often mingled with the ridiculous.

The Dutch seek a shelter for a wealthy fleet: this, surely, needed no ill.u.s.tration; yet they must fly, not like all the rest of mankind on the same occasion, but "like hunted castors;" and they might with strict propriety be hunted; for we winded them by our noses--their _perfumes_ betrayed them. The _husband_ and the _lover_, though of more dignity than the castor, are images too domestick to mingle properly with the horrours of war. The two quatrains that follow are worthy of the author. The account of the different sensations with which the two fleets retired, when the night parted them, is one of the fairest flowers of English poetry:

The night comes on, we eager to pursue The combat still, and they asham'd to leave: Till the last streaks of dying day withdrew, And doubtful moonlight did our rage deceive.

In th' English fleet each s.h.i.+p resounds with joy, And loud applause of their great leader's fame: In fiery dreams the Dutch they still destroy, And, slumb'ring, smile at the imagin'd flame.

Not so the Holland fleet, who, tir'd and done, Stretch'd on their decks like weary oxen lie; Faint sweats all down their mighty members run, (Vast bulks, which little souls but ill supply.)

In dreams they fearful precipices tread, Or, s.h.i.+pwreck'd, labour to some distant sh.o.r.e; Or, in dark churches, walk among the dead: They wake with horrour, and dare sleep no more.

It is a general rule in poetry, that all appropriated terms of art should be sunk in general expressions, because poetry is to speak an universal language. This rule is still stronger with regard to arts not liberal, or confined to few, and, therefore, far removed from common knowledge; and of this kind, certainly, is technical navigation. Yet Dryden was of opinion, that a seafight ought to be described in the nautical language; "and certainly," says he, "as those, who in a logical disputation keep to general terms, would hide a fallacy, so those who do it in any poetical description would veil their ignorance."

Let us then appeal to experience; for by experience, at last, we learn as well what will please as what will profit. In the battle, his terms seem to have been blown away; but he deals them liberally in the dock:

So here some pick out bullets from the side, Some drive old _ok.u.m_ through each _seam_ and rift; Their left hand does the _calking-iron_ guide, The rattling _mallet_ with the right they lift.

With boiling pitch another near at hand (From friendly Sweden brought) the _seams in-slops_: Which, well-laid o'er, the salt sea-waves withstand, And shake them from the rising beak in drops.

Some the _gall'd_ ropes with dauby _marling_ bind, Or sear-cloth masts with strong _tarpawling_ coats; To try new _shrouds_ one mounts into the wind, And one below, their ease or stiffness notes.

I suppose there is not one term which every reader does not wish away[121].

His digression to the original and progress of navigation, with his prospect of the advancement which it shall receive from the Royal Society, then newly inst.i.tuted, may be considered as an example seldom equalled of seasonable excursion and artful return.

One line, however, leaves me discontented; he says, that, by the help of the philosophers,

Instructed s.h.i.+ps shall sail to quick commerce, By which remotest regions are allied.

Which he is constrained to explain in a note "by a more exact measure of longitude." It had better become Dryden's learning and genius to have laboured science into poetry, and have shown, by explaining longitude, that verse did not refuse the ideas of philosophy.

His description of the Fire is painted by resolute meditation, out of a mind better formed to reason than to feel. The conflagration of a city, with all its tumults of concomitant distress, is one of the most dreadful spectacles which this world can offer to human eyes; yet it seems to raise little emotion in the breast of the poet; he watches the flame coolly from street to street, with now a reflection, and now a simile, till at last he meets the king, for whom he makes a speech, rather tedious in a time so busy; and then follows again the progress of the fire.

There are, however, in this part some pa.s.sages that deserve attention; as in the beginning:

The diligence of trades and noiseful gain, And luxury, more late, asleep were laid; All was the night's, and in her silent reign No sound the rest of nature did invade In this deep quiet----

The expression, "all was the night's," is taken from Seneca, who remarks on Virgil's line,

Omnia noctis erant, placida composta quiete,

that he might have concluded better,

Omnia noctis erant.

The following quatrain is vigorous and animated:

The ghosts of traitors from the bridge descend, With hold fanatick spectres to rejoice; About the fire into a dance they bend, And sing their sabbath notes with feeble voice.

His prediction of the improvements which shall be made in the new city is elegant and poetical, and, with an event which poets cannot always boast, has been happily verified. The poem concludes with a simile that might have better been omitted.

Dryden, when he wrote this poem, seems not yet fully to have formed his versification, or settled his system of propriety.

From this time he addicted himself almost wholly to the stage, "to which," says he, "my genius never much inclined me," merely as the most profitable market for poetry. By writing tragedies in rhyme, he continued to improve his diction and his numbers. According to the opinion of Harte, who had studied his works with great attention, he settled his principles of versification in 1676, when he produced the play of Aureng Zebe; and, according to his own account of the short time in which he wrote Tyrannick Love, and the State of Innocence, he soon obtained the full effect of diligence, and added facility to exactness.

Rhyme has been so long banished from the theatre, that we know not its effect upon the pa.s.sions of an audience; but it has this convenience, that sentences stand more independent on each other, and striking pa.s.sages are, therefore, easily selected and retained. Thus the description of night in the Indian Emperor, and the rise and fall of empire in the Conquest of Granada, are more frequently repeated than any lines in All for Love, or Don Sebastian.

To search his plays for vigorous sallies and sententious elegancies, or to fix the dates of any little pieces which he wrote by chance, or by solicitation, were labour too tedious and minute.

His dramatick labours did not so wholly absorb his thoughts, but that he promulgated the laws of translation in a preface to the English Epistles of Ovid; one of which he translated himself, and another in conjunction with the earl of Mulgrave.

Absalom and Achitophel is a work so well known, that particular criticism is superfluous. If it be considered as a poem political and controversial, it will be found to comprise all the excellencies of which the subject is susceptible; acrimony of censure, elegance of praise, artful delineation of characters, variety and vigour of sentiment, happy turns of language, and pleasing harmony of numbers; and all these raised to such a height as can scarcely be found in any other English composition.

It is not, however, without faults; some lines are inelegant or improper, and too many are irreligiously licentious. The original structure of the poem was defective; allegories drawn to great length will always break; Charles could not run continually parallel with David.

The subject had likewise another inconvenience; it admitted little imagery or description; and a long poem of mere sentiments easily becomes tedious; though all the parts are forcible, and every line kindles new rapture, the reader, if not relieved by the interposition of something that sooths the fancy, grows weary of admiration, and defers the rest.

As an approach to historical truth was necessary, the action and catastrophe were not in the poet's power; there is, therefore, an unpleasing disproportion between the beginning and the end. We are alarmed by a faction formed out of many sects various in their principles, but agreeing in their purpose of mischief, formidable for their numbers, and strong by their supports, while the king's friends are few and weak. The chiefs on either part are set forth to view; but when expectation is at the height, the king makes a speech, and

Henceforth a series of new times began.

Who can forbear to think of an enchanted castle, with a wide moat and lofty battlements, walls of marble and gates of bra.s.s, which vanishes at once into air, when the destined knight blows his horn before it?

In the second part, written by Tate, there is a long insertion, which, for poignancy of satire, exceeds any part of the former. Personal resentment, though no laudable motive to satire, can add great force to general principles. Self-love is a busy prompter.

The Medal, written upon the same principles with Absalom and Achitophel, but upon a narrower plan, gives less pleasure, though it discovers equal abilities in the writer. The superstructure cannot extend beyond the foundation; a single character or incident cannot furnish as many ideas, as a series of events, or multiplicity of agents. This poem, therefore, since time has left it to itself, is not much read, nor, perhaps, generally understood; yet it abounds with touches both of humorous and serious satire. The picture of a man whose propensions to mischief are such, that his best actions are but inability of wickedness, is very skilfully delineated and strongly coloured: