Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

[ocr errors]

6

some prose has melody and even measure; nor in the sublimity, beauty, or novelty of the sentiments, because, as he asserts, sublime sentiments are sometimes better expressed in prose. Of this he gives an example from one of Shakspeare's historical plays : "When Warwick is left wounded on the field after the loss of the battle, and his friend says to him, Oh! could you but fly!' what can be more sublime than his answer, Why then I would not fly!' No measure of verse could add dignity to this sentiment." Without disputing his position, I answer that the words are verse already. I know not how they stand in the original; but placing the interjection "Oh!" as the closing syllable of a line, and laying the natural emphasis on the verb negative, and not merely on the sign of negation, we have a perfect heroic verse.

Could you but fly!

"Oh!

Why then I would not fly!"

The Doctor continues:" In what, then, consists the essential difference between poetry and prose? Next to the measure of the language, the principal distinction appears to be this: that poetry admits of but few words expressive of very abstracted ideas; whereas prose abounds with them. And as our ideas derived from visible objects are more distinct than those derived from the objects of our other senses, the words expressive of these ideas belonging to vision make up the principal part of poetic language; that is, the poet writes principally to the eye, the

prose-writer uses more abstracted terms.

Mr. Pope

has written a bad verse in the Windsor Forest:'—

'And Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd.'

The word renown'd' does not present a visible object to the mind, and is thence prosaic. But change the line thus:

And Kennet swift, where silver graylings play,

and it becomes poetry; because the scenery is then brought before the eye. This may be done in prose; so it is more agreeable to read in Mr. Gibbon's History, Germany was at that time overshadowed with extensive forests,' than that Germany was at that time full of extensive forests. But when this mode of expression occurs too frequently, the prose approaches to poetry; and in grave works, where we expect to be instructed rather than amused, it becomes tedious and impertinent."

[ocr errors]

Thus far Dr. Darwin. I reply:-this is arguing completely in a circle. "Why then I would not fly is undoubtedly verse by the measure, and poetry by the sublimity of the sentiment; while, without the variation of a syllable, and simply reading it according to the prosaic accents, it is prose.

"Oh! could you but fly! — Why then I would not fly!"

It follows, that thoughts of this character are common alike to prose and verse, and may be expressed in either. If Dr. Darwin's criticism excludes the phrase "for silver eels renown'd," from poetry, it proves too much, for then the poet must not give the

eels at all that lie in the mud. He might, indeed, represent a fishwife stripping the skin from the writhing creature, but he could not even allude to their luxurious sloth in the slimy ooze, where they cannot be watched. This may be called quibbling; but it must be admitted, that the epithet "silver" gives an image to the eye, which sufficiently vindicates the poetry of the line against the prosaic participle" renown'd;" while the latter conveys an idea which no object of vision whatever could imply. Is the poet, then, to be precluded from celebrating the peculiar pre-eminence of the river Kennet for its peculiar fish, because the word that designates its superiority is an abstract term? "Germany was, at that time, overshadowed with extensive forests!" The Doctor acknowledges that the poetic verb here used animates the prose; why then may not abstract terms (though in themselves prosaic) occasionally be employed to temper the ardour of verse, as snow in hot climates, sprinkled over the wine-cup, makes the draught more delicious? The whole The whole range of language and of thought must be conceded to writers of both kinds; and it depends upon their own taste, at their own peril, to mingle, discreetly or otherwise, with the staple of their diction, terms which are conventionally understood to belong to poetry and prose, in precisely inverse proportions.

Dr. Darwin has splendidly exemplified the effects of his own theory, which certainly includes much truth, but not the whole truth. Endued with a fancy peculiarly formed for picture-poetry, he has limited verse almost within the compass of designing

and modelling with visible colours and palpable sub-
stances. Even in this poetic painting, he seldom
goes beyond the brilliant minuteness of the Dutch
school of artists, while his groups are the extreme
reverse of theirs, being rigidly classical. His pro-
ductions are undistinguished by either sentiment or
pathos. He presents nothing but pageants to the
eye, and leaves next to nothing to the imagination;
every point and object being made out in noonday
clearness, where the sun is nearly vertical, and the
shadow most contracted. He never touches the heart,
nor awakens social, tender, or playful emotions. His
whole "Botanic Garden" might be sculptured in
friezes, painted in enamel, or manufactured in Wedg-
wood ware.
"The Loves of the Plants" consist of a
series of metamorphoses, all of the same kind,—plants
personified, having the passions of animals, or rather
such passions as animals might be supposed to have,
if, instead of warm blood, cool vegetable juices cir-
culated through their veins; so that, though every
lady-flower has from one to twenty beaux, all
flighted and favoured in turn, the wooings and the
weddings are so scrupulously Linnæan, that no
human affection is ever concerned in the matter.
What velvet painting can be more exquisite than
the following lines, in which the various insects are
touched to the very life?—

66

Stay thy soft murmuring waters, gentle rill;

Hush, whispering winds; ye rustling leaves, be still;
Rest, silver butterflies, your quivering wings;
Alight, ye beetles, from your airy rings;

H

[ocr errors]

Ye painted moths, your gold-eyed plumage furl,
Bow your wide horns, your spiral trunks uncurl ;
Glitter, ye glow-worms, on your mossy beds;
Descend, ye spiders, on your lengthen'd threads;
Slide here, ye horned snails, with varnish'd shells;
Ye bee-nymphs, listen in your waxen cells."

In such descriptions Darwin excels, and his theory is triumphant; but to prove it of universal application, it must be put to a higher test. In the third canto of the " Botanic Garden," Part II., there is a fine scene-a lady, from the "wood-crowned height” of Minden, overlooking the battle in which her husband is engaged. As the conflict thickens, she watches his banner shifting from hill to hill, and when the enemy is at length beaten from every post,

"Near and more near the intrepid beauty press'd, Saw through the driving smoke his dancing crest; Saw on his helm, her virgin hands inwove,

[ocr errors]

Bright stars of gold, and mystic knots of love;
Heard the exulting shout, They run, they run !'
'Great God!' she cried,' he 's safe, the battle's won!'
A ball now hisses through the airy tides,

[ocr errors]

(Some fury wing'd it, and some demon guides,)
Parts her fine locks her graceful head that deck,
Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck;
The red stream issuing from her azure veins,
Dyes her white veil, her ivory bosom stains!"

Every syllable here is addressed to the eye; there is not a word for the heart; the poet himself might have been the bullet that shot the lady, so insensible is he of the horror of the deed. Or he might have been a surgeon, deposing before a coroner's inquest

« AnteriorContinuar »