Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

and so honourable to himself, by bearing the chief offices in the Roman government, and sharing in the important councils and debates of the senate.

Cæsar had a prodigious wit, and universal learning; was noble by birth, a consummate statesman, a brave and wise gene. ral, anda most heroic prince. His prudence and modesty in speaking of himself, the truth and clearness of his descriptions, the inimitable purity and perspicuity of his style, distinguish him with advantage from all other writers. None bears a nearer resemblance to him in more instances than the admirable Xenophon. What useful and entertaining accounts might reasonably be expected from such a writer, who gives you the geography and history of those countries and nations, which he himself conquered, and the description of those military engines, bridges, and encampments, which he himself contrived and marked out.

The best authors in the reign of Augustus, as Horace, Virgil, Tibullus, Propertius, &c. enjoyed happy times, and plentiful circumstances. That was the golden age of learning. They flourished under the favours and bounty of the richest and most generous court in the world; and the beams of majesty shone bright and propi

tious on them.

What could be too great to expect from such poets as Horace and Virgil, beloved and munificently encouraged by such patrons as Mæcenas and Augustus?

A chief reason why Tacitus writes with such skill and authority, that he makes such deep searches into the nature of things, and designs of men, that he so exquisitely understands the secrets and intrigues of courts, was, that he himself was admitted into the highest places of trust, and employed in the most public and important affairs. The statesman brightens the scholar, and the consul improves and elevates the historian. Blackwall.

§ 153. Thoughts on the Edipus Tyrannus of SOPHOCLES, and several circumstances respecting the Grecian Drama. Of the three Greek dramatic poets, Sophocles is the most celebrated; and of the productions of Sophocles, the Edipus Tyrannus is the most excellent. It has stood the test of the severest criticism. The unities of time, place, and action are inviolably preserved in it: and while it satisfies the critic who judges by the laws of Aristotle, it pleases the common reader

and spectator, who forms his opinion from the feelings of his nature. Never was there a tale more affecting than that of Edipus, and never was any tale told more pathetically than this is by Sophocles. Many a tear has it excited among the Athenians, whose hearts were ever finely susceptible of the sentiments of humanity: but the best translation of it would not equally please in a modern theatre. Many other causes of its failure may be assigned, besides that simplicity, artlessness, and incomplexity of fable, which the taste of the moderns is too much vitiated to relish.

In the first place, it must be considered, that every original composition must lose something of its beauty from the best translation. It is a common remark, that the spirit of an author, like that of some essences, evaporates by transfusion. Foreign manners, and foreign customs, are seldom understood by a common audience, and as seldom approved. The majority of an English audience are unacquainted with ancient learning, and can take no pleasure in the representation of men and things which have not fallen under their notice. Add to this, that they love to see tragedies formed on their own histories, or on histories in which they are in some measure nearly interested. When Shakspeare's historical dramas are represented, they feel as Englishmen in every event; they take part with their Edwards and Henries, as friends and fellow-countrymen; they glory in their successes, and sympathize with their misfortunes. To a similar circumstance may be attributed part of the applause which the Athenians bestowed on this tragedy of Sophocles; for Edipus was king of a neighbouring country, with which the Athenians were always intimately connected either in war or peace.

These considerations should teach us to content ourselves with admiring Sophocles in the closet, without attempting to obtrude him on the stage, which must always accommodate itself to the taste of the times, whether unreasonable or just, consistent or capricious.

In truth, the warmest admirer of ancient Greek poetry must acknowledge a barrenness of invention in the choice of subjects. The Trojan war, and the misfortunes of the Theban king, are almost the only sources from which those great masters of composition, Homer, Eschylus,

Euripides, and Sophocles, have derived their subject-matter. They have, indeed, embellished these little parts of history with all the fire of imagination and melody of poetry; but is it not strange, that in a country like Greece, where the restless spirit of military virtue was continually forming noble designs, and achieving glorious exploits, the poets could discover no illustrious deed worthy of being painted in never-fading colours, but the worn-out stories of a wooden horse, and a sphinx's riddle? It is difficult for an age like the present, which hungers and thirsts after novelty, to conceive that an audience could sit with patience during the recital of a story which all must have heard a thonsand times; especially as it was unadorned with the meretricious artifices of players, with the tricks of the stage, with thunder and lightning, hail and rain, tolling bells, and tinsel garments.

But the sameness of the story in the Grecian poets became agreeable to the audience, through that veneration which every record of ancient history demands; and it was a kind of poetical fashion to select the stories from the Trojan war. That the tale on which a dramatic poem is founded should not be of modern date, has, I think, been laid down as a rule. Nor is it the precept of an arbitrary critic, but is justified by nature and reason. Imagination always exceeds reality. The vulgar could never prevail upon themselves to look on scenes, to the reality of which they have been eye-witnesses, with the same ardour as on those which they have received from their ancestors, and have painted with the strongest colours on their fancy. In obedience to this rule, the Greek poets borrowed their subjects from ancient facts universally known, believed, and admired; and the audience entered the theatre to behold a lively representation of the picture already formed in their own imagination.

A modern reader has not a preparatory disposition of mind necessary to receive all that pleasure from these compositions which transported an ancient Greek. He does not glow with that patriotic ardour which he would feel on reading glorious deeds of a fellow-countryman, when Homer represents a hero breaking the Trojan phalanx and encountering a Hector. He does not consider an ancient Theban or Athenian involved in the guilt of undesigned parricide or incest, nearly enough

connected with him to excite his sympathy in a violent degree; but all these feelings in a Grecian audience, occasioned by a Grecian sufferer, account for that uncommon delight which they took in their dramatic representations, and for their freedom from that satiety which might otherwise have been occasioned by the reiteration of a simple tale. After all, I think, if pedantry is to be imputed to the admirers of Grecian literature, it is when they prefer the dramatic compositions of Greece to those of England; and I must reluctantly confess, that the minute students of Greek quantity in the Greek tragedians, who assume great merit in their frivolous studies and discoveries, are both puerile and pedantic.

An English audience has lately shown itself not so averse from the ancient tragedy as was expected, by its favourable reception of Elfrida and Caractacus, written on the Grecian model: but, perhaps, this event is not so much to be attributed to the revival of the fine taste of an Attic audience, as to the insatiable avidity of something new. The English are as fond of the Kavov Ti, in literature, as the Athenians were in politics: but whether caprice or reason, whether taste or fashion, gave them a favourable reception on the English stage, it is certain that Elfrida and Caractacus are elegant dramas, formed on the ancient model, and may be read with great advantage by those who wish to entertain a just idea of the Greek tragedy without a knowledge of the language. Yet what are they to Hamlet and Macbeth? Knox's Essays.

$154. Cursory and unconnected Remarks on some of the Minor Greek Poets.

The intrinsic graces of the classic writers have charmed every mind which was susceptible of the beauties of spirit, taste, and elegance. Since the revival of learning, innumerable critics have employed themselves in displaying the beauties which they felt, or in removing the difficulties and obstructions which retarded their progress in the perusal of the ancients. At present, there is scarcely any room for criticism on them; and the most laborious commentator finds, with regret, his profoundest researches, and his acutest remarks, anticipated by the lucubrations of former critics; but as there is scarcely a greater difference between the features of the face, than between the faculties of the mind in different men,

and as objects must strike various feelings in various manners, the works of taste and genius may, on different reviews, furnish inexhaustible matter for critical observation. Upon this principle, authors of the present age venture to add to the labours of their predecessors, without fearing or incurring the imputation of vanity or impertinence.

The present remarks shall be confined to some of the Greek Minor Poets, without minutely attending to chronological, or any other order.

In the union of dignity with sweetness, of melody with strength, the Greek is better adapted to beautiful composition than any modern language. The Italian has all its softness, but wants its force. The French possesses elegance and expression, but is deficient in sound and dignity. The English is strong, nervous, flowery, fit for animated oratory and enthusiastic poetry, but abounds with Saxon or Gothic monosyllables, ill adapted to express the music of mellifluous cadence. To compare the Dutch and the German with the language of Athens, were to compare the jarring noise of grating iron with the soft warblings of the flute. The other languages of Europe are equally unfit for harmonious modulation, and indeed cannot properly be examined in this place, as the people who speak them have not yet distinguished themselves by any writings truly classical. The Greek Epigram naturally falls first under our present consideration. Of these little compositions, which owe their origin to Greece, none can be insensible of the beauty, whose taste is not vitiated by the less delicate wit of the modern Epigrammatist. Indeed, to relish the simple graces of the Greek Epigram, the taste must not be formed upon the model even of the celebrated Martial. Among the Latin poets, Catullus approaches nearest to the Greeks in this species of composition.

The Anthologiæ, still extant, are written by various authors, and there are scarcely sufficient epigrams of any one, to discriminate his manner from that of others. Suffice it to remark, in general, that their beauty does not often consist in a point, or witty conceit, but in a simplicity of thought, and a sweetness of lanof them are guage. I suspect that many no better than our common church-yard inscriptions, of which the authors have

often been the imitators of Sternhold and
Hopkins, that venerable order of minstrels
and parish clerks. But Greek gives a
charm to the poorest thoughts of the most
puerile epigram. In plain English, the
clerks and sextons of an English village
often surpass the poetry of the Anthologia,
in which Sternhold himself is often out-
sternholded.

The golden verses of Pythagoras, though
not remarkable for splendour of diction or
flowing versification, are yet highly beau-
tiful in the concise and forcible mode of
inculcating morality, and virtues almost
Christian. The earlier philosophers of
Greece conveyed their tenets in verse, not
so much because they aspired to the cha-
racter of poets, as because precepts de-
livered in metre were more easily retained
in the memory of their disciples. Pytha-
goras has comprised every necessary rule
for the conduct of life in this little
and he that commits it to memory will
not want a guide to direct his behaviour
under any event: but though the morality
of these is their more valuable beauty, yet
are they by no means destitute of poetical
merit.

poem,

That generosity of soul which ever accompanies true genius, has induced the poets and philosophers of all ages to stand forth in the cause of liberty. Alcæus, of whose merits from the monuments of antiquity we may form the most exalted idea, first raised himself to eminence by a poem entitled Stasiotica, in a violent invective against tyrants in general at Pittacus, at that time the tyrant of Athens. It has not escaped the general wreck, and we have only a few broken specimens of this celebrated writer's works preserved by the ancient grammarians. We must, therefore, be content to learn his character from the judicious Quinctilian, and the learned Dionysius of Halicarnassus: the former of whom asserts, that he was concise, sublime, accurate, and in many respects resembled Homer: the latter, that he had a grandeur, brevity, and sweetness equally blended throughout all his compositions.

Stesichorus, according to Quinctilian, was remarkable for strength of genius. He gave to lyric poetry all the solemnity of the Epopoa. Had he known how to restrain the impetuosity of his genius, it is said he would have rivalled Homer: but, unfortunately, the noble warmth of his temper urged him beyond the bounds

of just writing, and he seems to have failed of excellence by a redundancy of beauties.

The fragments of Menander are sufficiently excellent to induce every votary of learning to regret the loss of his works. Some indeed have thought, that time never gave a greater blow to polite literature, than in the destruction of the Comedies of Menander; but as Terence has preserved his spirit and his style, perhaps the want of the original is compensated by the exact copyings of that elegant author. Quictilian, from whose judgment there is scarcely an appeal, has represented Menander as alone sufficient to form our taste and style. The few remains, preserved by Stobæus, whether the beauty of the sentiments or the purity of the diction be regarded, must be pronounced uncommonly excellent. They are, however, too generally known to require illustration.

Simonides is characterised by Longinus as a poet remarkable for the pathetic. Of his writings very few have survived the injuries of time. The little poem on Danaë is, however, sufficient to justify the judgment of Longinus. Nothing can be more delicately tender, or more exquisitely pathetic. There is something inexpressibly pleasing to the mind, in the representation of a mother addressing a sleeping infant unconscious of its danger, with all the endearing blandishments of maternal fondness.

The other remarkable poem of this auther, which time has spared, is of a very different kind. It is a Satire on Women, and is well known by a prosaic translation of it inserted in the Essays of a celebrated modern writer.

Alcman of Laconia is another melancholy instance of the depredations which the hand of time has made on the most valuable works of antiquity. Of this author, once celebrated throughout Greece, quoted by the learned and repeated by the fair, scarcely the name is known in the present age. Athenæus, Hephæstion, the scholiast on Pindar, Eustathius, and Plutarch, have vindicated him from absolute oblivion, by preserving a few of his fragments. Love verses, which since his time have employed some of the greatest writers, and have been admired by the most sensible readers, say the critics, were of his invention. All who preceded him had invariably written in Hexameter.

He subjoined the elegiac verse, and may justly claim the honour of having introduced that species of poetry, which Ovid and the other Latin elegiac writers have since advanced to a most pleasing species of composition. I rather think nature invented them.

Archilochus wrote iambics and elegiacs; the former satirical; the latter, amorous. That he succeeded in his attempts, we have sufficient reason to conclude from the testimony of Horace. There is not enough of him remaining, to enable us to form a judgement of the impartiality of his decision, and we must be contented to acquiesce in his authority.

Lucian says, in one of his dialogues, that the poets have given Jupiter many of the most pompous epithets, merely for the sake of a sonorous word to fill up a verse. The hymns of Orpheus abound with these expletives; and the reader is often disgusted with sounding verse almost destitute of sense. If, however, they were composed for music, they may pass uncensured by some: for it seems to have been generally and most absurdly agreed, and it is observable at this day, that very little attention is to be paid to the words of Operas, Odes, and Songs, which are written merely for music. The poems of Orpheus, if those which are extant are like all his productions, would certainly move no stones. What has been said of the hymns of this poet, may be extended to many other Greek compositions of the same species. General censure, will, however, seldom be just; and it must be confessed, that there are some among them, particularly those of Callimachus, truly sublime and beautiful.

There was a species' of poetry among the Athenians, which, in some measure, resembled many of our English ballads. At the approach of a war, or after a victory or defeat, the poets and statesmen usually dispersed among the people some short composition, which tended to animate them with courage, or to inspire them with joy. Solon, the wise legislator of Athens, was too well acquainted with the power of poetry over the human heart, to neglect this efficacious method of enforcing his laws, and propagating his institutions among the lower ranks of the Athenians. There are still extant some of his pieces, which bear internal marks of having been purposely written to give the people a passion for liberty, to inspire them with a

love of virtue, and to teach them obedience to the laws. They are, indeed, written in the elegiac measure, but have nothing of the soft amorous strain which distinguishes the Ovidian elegy. They are manly, moral, and severe. By these, it is a well-known fact, the Athenians were animated to resume a war which they had dropt in despair; and, in consequence of the ardour which these inspired, they obtained a complete victory over their enemies. There are several in the English language equally good as poems, and, as it is said, productive of similar effects.

Tyrtæus wrote in a similar style, but entirely confined himself to martial subjects. So strongly is military valour, and the love of liberty, enforced in his little compositions, that it would by no means be absurd to attribute the victories of the Grecians over the Persians, as much to a Tyrtæus, as to a Miltiades or Themistocles. The effects of such political ballads have been frequently seen among the English in time of war. Every one has heard of Lilla bullero.-Many a poor fellow has been tempted to quit the plough and the loom for the sword, on hearing a song in praise of Hawke or Wolfe roared by his obstreperous companions. These verses are too deficient in point of elegance to admit of quotations, and the frequent opportunities of hearing them from the mouths of the vulgar render repetition in this place unnecessary. The bards of Grub-street are commonly the authors of our martial ballads; but at Athens they were written by poets, statesmen, and philosophers. We may judge of the influence of their productions, by the powerful effect of our rude and even nonsensical rhymes. The more nonsensical the more popular.

Few ancient authors have been less read than Lycophron. His obscurity not only retards but disgusts the reader; yet, perhaps, his want of perspicuity, though highly disagreeable to the student, is an excellence in a work consisting of predictions. Prophecies and oracles have ever been purposely obscure, and almost unintelligible. The mind that attends to these uninspired predictions of paganism, voluntarily renounces reason, and believes the more as it understands the less; but, whether Lycophron is to be praised or censured for obscurity, certain it is, that on this account he will never become a favourite author. Notwithstanding the

labours of the great Potter, he is still difficult, and will probably continue to repose in dust and darkness, amidst the dull collections of antiquated museums. If he were sacrificed to the genius of dulness, none need bewail the loss of Lycophron.

The poems of Bacchylides, however he is neglected by the moderns, were highly honoured by an ancient, who was esteemed a complete judge of literary merit. Hiero hesitated not to pronounce them superior to the odes of Pindar, which have been generally celebrated as the utmost efforts of human genius. The opinion of Hiero may, however, be questioned, with an appearance of justice, when it is considered that his character, as a critic, was established by his courtiers, who, to gain his favour, might not scruple to violate the truth.

The gay, the sprightly, the voluptuons Anacreon is known to every reader. His subjects and his manner of treating them have captivated all who are susceptible either of pleasure or of poetry. There is, indeed, an exquisite tenderness, delicacy, and taste in the sentiments; but I have always thought he derived no small share of his beauty from the choice of expressions, and the peculiar harmony of his verses. It has been objected to him by rigid moralists, that his writings tend to promote drunkenness and debauchery. But this objection might in some degree be extended to a great part of the finest writers in the lyric and epigrammatic line, ancient and modern. A man of sense and judgment will admire the beauties of a composition, without suffering its sentiments to influence his principles or his conduct. He will look upon the more licentious sallies of Anacreontic writers as little jeux d'esprit, designed to please in the hour of convivial festivity, but not to regulate his thoughts and actions in the serious concerns of life. Whatever may be the moral tendency of the writings, it is certain that as a poet he is unri valled in that species of composition which he adopted. Many have been the imitations of him, but few have succeeded. The joys of love and wine have indeed been described by his followers; but their touches are more like the daubings of an unskilful painter, than the exquisite traits of a masterly hand. Cowley, whose genius certainly partook more of the Anacreontic than of the Pindaric, has been

« AnteriorContinuar »