No More Learning

The mighty master smiled to see
That love was in the next degree;
'Twas but a kindred-sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love.
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures.
War, he sung, is toil and trouble,
Honour but an empty bubble,
Never ending, still beginning;
Fighting still, and still destroying;
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think, it worth enjoying:
Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
Take the good the gods provide thee!
--The many rend the skies with loud applause;
So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause.
The prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gazed on the fair
Who caused his care,
And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:
At length, with love and wine at once opprest
The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

Now strike the golden lyre again:
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain!
Break his bands of sleep asunder,
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark, hark! the horrid sound
Has raised up his head:
As awaked from the dead,
And amazed he stares around.
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the Furies arise!
See the snakes that they rear
How they hiss in their hair,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Behold a ghastly band
Each a torch in his hand!
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain
And unburied remain
Inglorious on the plain:
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew!
Behold how they toss their torches on high,
How they point to the Persian abodes
And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
--The princes applaud with a furious joy:
And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy;
Thais led the way,
To light him to his prey,
And like another Helen, fired another Troy!
--Thus, long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,
While organs yet were mute,
Timotheus, to his breathing flute
And sounding lyre
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store
Enlarged the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
--Let old Timotheus yield the prize
Or both divide the crown;
He raised a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down!

J. DRYDEN.





THIRD BOOK.


SUMMARY.


It is more difficult to characterise the English Poetry of the
eighteenth century than that of any other. For it was an age not only of
spontaneous transition, but of bold experiment: it includes not only
such divergences of thought as distinguished the "Rape of the Lock" from
the "Parish Register," but such vast contemporaneous differences as lie
between Pope and Collins, Burns and Cowper. Yet we may clearly trace
three leading moods or tendencies:--the aspects of courtly or educated
life represented by Pope and carried to exhaustion by his followers; the
poetry of Nature and of Man, viewed through a cultivated, and at the
same time an impassioned frame of mind by Collins and Gray:--lastly, the
study of vivid and simple narrative, including natural description,
begun by Gay and Thomson, pursued by Burns and others in the north, and
established in England by Goldsmith, Percy, Crabbe, and Cowper. Great
varieties in style accompanied these diversities in aim: poets could not
always distinguish the manner suitable for subjects so far apart; and
the union of the language of courtly and of common life, exhibited most
conspicuously by Burns, has given a tone to the poetry of that century
which is better explained by reference to its historical origin than by
naming it, in the common criticism of our day, artificial. There is
again, a nobleness of thought, a courageous aim at high and, in a strict
sense manly, excellence in many of the writers:--nor can that period be
justly termed tame and wanting in originality, which produced poems such
as Pope's Satires, Gray's Odes and Elegy, the ballads of Gay and Carey,
the songs of Burns and Cowper. In truth Poetry at this as at all times
was a more or less unconscious mirror of the genius of the age; and the
brave and admirable spirit of Enquiry which made the eighteenth century
the turning-time in European civilisation is reflected faithfully in its
verse. An intelligent reader will find the influence of Newton as
markedly in the poems of Pope, as of Elizabeth in the plays of
Shakespeare. On this great subject, however, these indications must here
be sufficient.




117.