Dim as the borrowed beams of moon and stars

To lonely, weary, wandering travellers,

Is reason to the soul: and as, on high,

Those rolling fires discover but the sky,

Not light us here; so reason's glimmering ray}

Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, }

But guide us upward to a better day. }

And as those nightly tapers disappear,

When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere;

So pale grows reason at religion's sight,

So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light.

Some few, whose lamp shone brighter, have been led

From cause to cause, to nature's sacred head,

And found that one First Principle must be:

But what, or who, that universal He;

Whether some soul encompassing this ball,

Unmade, unmoved; yet making, moving all;

Or various atoms' interfering dance

Leaped into form, the noble work of chance;

Or this great All was from eternity,-- }

Not even the Stagyrite himself could see,}

And Epicurus guessed as well as he. }

As blindly groped they for a future state,

As rashly judged of providence and fate;

But least of all could their endeavours find

What most concerned the good of human kind;

For happiness was never to be found,

But vanished from them like enchanted ground.[29]

One thought content the good to be enjoyed;

This every little accident destroyed:

The wiser madmen did for virtue toil,

A thorny, or, at best, a barren soil:

In pleasure some their glutton souls would steep; }

But found their line too short, the well too deep,}

And leaky vessels which no bliss could keep. }

Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles roll,

Without a centre where to fix the soul:

In this wild maze their vain endeavours end:--

How can the less the greater comprehend?

Or finite reason reach infinity?

For what could fathom God were more than he.

The Deist thinks he stands on firmer ground;

Cries [Greek: eureka]! the mighty secret's found:

God is that spring of good, supreme and best,

We made to serve, and in that service blest;

If so, some rules of worship must be given,

Distributed alike to all by heaven;

Else God were partial, and to some denied

The means his justice should for all provide.

This general worship is to praise and pray;

One part to borrow blessings, one to pay;

And when frail nature slides into offence,

The sacrifice for crimes is penitence.

Yet since the effects of providence, we find,

Are variously dispensed to human kind;

That vice triumphs, and virtue suffers here,

A brand that sovereign justice cannot bear;

Our reason prompts us to a future state,

The last appeal from fortune and from fate,

Where God's all righteous ways will be declared;

The bad meet punishment, the good reward.

Thus man by his own strength to heaven would soar,

And would not be obliged to God for more.

Vain wretched creature, how art thou misled,

To think thy wit these god-like notions bred!

These truths are not the product of thy mind,

But dropt from heaven, and of a nobler kind.

Revealed religion first informed thy sight,

And reason saw not till faith sprung the light.

Hence all thy natural worship takes the source;

'Tis revelation what thou think'st discourse.

Else how com'st thou to see these truths so clear,

Which so obscure to heathens did appear?

Not Plato these, nor Aristotle found,

Nor he whose wisdom oracles renowned.

Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime,

Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb?

Canst thou by reason more of godhead know

Than Plutarch, Seneca, or Cicero?

Those giant wits, in happier ages born,

When arms and arts did Greece and Rome adorn,

Knew no such system; no such piles could raise

Of natural worship, built on prayer and praise

To one sole God;

Nor did remorse to expiate sin prescribe,

But slew their fellow-creatures for a bribe:

The guiltless victim groaned for their offence,

And cruelty and blood was penitence.

If sheep and oxen could atone for men,

Ah! at how cheap a rate the rich might sin!

And great oppressors might heaven's wrath beguile,

By offering his own creatures for a spoil!

Darest thou, poor worm, offend Infinity?

And must the terms of peace be given by thee?

Then thou art justice in the last appeal;

Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel;

And, like a king remote and weak, must take

What satisfaction thou art pleased to make.

But if there be a Power too just and strong,

To wink at crimes, and bear unpunished wrong;

Look humbly upward, see his will disclose

The forfeit first, and then the fine impose;

A mulct thy poverty could never pay,

Had not Eternal Wisdom found the way,

And with celestial wealth supplied thy store;

His justice makes the fine, his mercy quits the score.

See God descending in thy human frame;

The offended suffering in the offender's name;

All thy misdeeds to him imputed see,

And all his righteousness devolved on thee.

For, granting we have sinned, and that the offence

Of man is made against Omnipotence,

Some price that bears proportion must be paid.

And infinite with infinite be weighed.

See then the Deist lost: remorse for vice

Not paid, or paid inadequate in price:

What farther means can reason now direct,

Or what relief from human wit expect?

That shews us sick; and sadly are we sure

Still to be sick, till heaven reveal the cure:

If then heaven's will must needs be understood,

Which must, if we want cure, and heaven be good,

Let all records of will revealed be shown;

With scripture all in equal balance thrown,

And our one sacred Book will be that one.

Proof needs not here; for, whether we compare

That impious, idle, superstitious ware

Of rites, lustrations, offerings, which before,

In various ages, various countries bore,

With christian faith and virtues, we shall find

None answering the great ends of human kind,

But this one rule of life; that shews us best

How God may be appeased, and mortals blest.

Whether from length of time its worth we draw,

The word is scarce more ancient than the law:

Heaven's early care prescribed for every age;

First, in the soul, and after, in the page.

Or, whether more abstractedly we look,

Or on the writers, or the written book,

Whence, but from heaven, could men unskilled in arts,

In several ages born, in several parts,

Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why

Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie?

Unasked their pains, ungrateful their advice,

Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price.

If on the book itself we cast our view,

Concurrent heathens prove the story true:

The doctrine, miracles; which must convince,

For heaven in them appeals to human sense;

And, though they prove not, they confirm the cause,

When what is taught agrees with nature's laws.

Then for the style, majestic and divine,

It speaks no less than God in every line;

Commanding words, whose force is still the same

As the first fiat that produced our frame.

All faiths, beside, or did by arms ascend,

Or sense indulged has made mankind their friend;

This only doctrine does our lusts oppose,

Unfed by nature's soil, in which it grows;

Cross to our interests, curbing sense, and sin;

Oppressed without, and undermined within,

It thrives through pain; it's own tormentors tires,

And with a stubborn patience still aspires.

To what can reason such effects assign,

Transcending nature, but to laws divine?

Which in that sacred volume are contained,

Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordained.

But stay: the Deist here will urge anew,

No supernatural worship can be true;

Because a general law is that alone

Which must to all, and every where, be known;

A style so large as not this book can claim,

Nor aught that bears revealed religion's name.

'Tis said, the sound of a Messiah's birth

Is gone through all the habitable earth;

But still that text must be confined alone

To what was then inhabited, and known:

And what provision could from thence accrue

To Indian souls, and worlds discovered new?

In other parts it helps, that, ages past,

The scriptures there were known, and were embraced,

Till sin spread once again the shades of night:

What's that to these who never saw the light?

Of all objections this indeed is chief,

To startle reason, stagger frail belief:

We grant, 'tis true, that heaven from human sense

Has hid the secrets paths of providence;

But boundless wisdom, boundless mercy, may

Find even for those bewildered souls a way.

If from his nature foes may pity claim,

Much more may strangers, who ne'er heard his name;

And, though no name be for salvation known,

But that of his eternal sons[30] alone;

Who knows how far transcending goodness can

Extend the merits of that son to man?

Who knows what reasons may his mercy lead,

Or ignorance invincible may plead?

Not only charity bids hope the best,

But more the great apostle has exprest:

That, if the Gentiles, whom no law inspired,

By nature did what was by law required;

They, who the written rule had never known,

Were to themselves both rule and law alone;

To nature's plain indictment they shall plead,

And by their conscience be condemned or freed.

Most righteous doom! because a rule revealed

Is none to those from whom it was concealed.

Then those, who followed reason's dictates right,

Lived up, and lifted high their natural light,

With Socrates may see their Maker's face,

While thousand rubric-martyrs want a place.

Nor does it baulk my charity, to find

The Egyptian bishop of another mind;

For, though his creed eternal truth contains,

'Tis hard for man to doom to endless pains

All, who believed not all his zeal required;

Unless he first could prove he was inspired.

Then let us either think he meant to say,

This faith, where published, was the only way;

Or else conclude, that, Arius to confute,

The good old man, too eager in dispute,

Flew high; and, as his christian fury rose,

Damned all for heretics who durst oppose.

Thus far my charity this path has tried;

A much unskilful, but well-meaning guide:

Yet what they are, even these crude thoughts were bred

By reading that which better thou hast read;

Thy matchless author's work, which thou, my friend,

By well translating better dost commend;[31]

Those youthful hours which, of thy equals, most

In toys have squandered, or in vice have lost,

Those hours hast thou to nobler use employed,

And the severe delights of truth enjoyed.

Witness this weighty book, in which appears

The crabbed toil of many thoughtful years,

Spent by thy author, in the sifting care

Of rabbins' old sophisticated ware

From gold divine; which he who well can sort

May afterwards make algebra a sport;

A treasure which, if country-curates buy,

They Junius and Tremellius may defy;[32]

Save pains in various readings and translations,

And without Hebrew make most learned quotations;

A work so full with various learning fraught,

So nicely pondered, yet so strongly wrought,

As nature's height and art's last hand required;

As much as man could compass, uninspired;

Where we may see what errors have been made

Both in the copiers' and translators' trade;

How Jewish, Popish, interests have prevailed,

And where infallibility has failed.

For some, who have his secret meaning guessed,

Have found our author not too much a priest;

For fashion-sake he seems to have recourse

To pope, and councils, and traditions' force;

But he that old traditions' could subdue,

Could not but find the weakness of the new:

If scripture, though derived from heavenly birth,

Has been but carelessly preserved on earth;

If God's own people, who of God before

Knew what we know, and had been promised more,

In fuller terms, of heaven's assisting care,

And who did neither time nor study spare

To keep this book untainted, unperplext,

Let in gross errors to corrupt the text,

Omitted paragraphs, embroiled the sense,

With vain traditions stopt the gaping fence,

Which every common hand pulled up with ease,--

What safety from such brushwood-helps as these?

If written words from time are not secure,

How can we think have oral sounds endured?

Which thus transmitted, if one mouth has failed,

Immortal lies on ages are entailed;

And that some such have been, is proved too plain,

If we consider interest, church, and gain.

O but, says one, tradition set side,

Where can we hope for an unerring guide?

For, since the original scripture has been lost,

All copies disagreeing, maimed the most,

Or Christian faith can have no certain ground,

Or truth in church-tradition must be found.

Such an omniscient church we wish indeed;

'Twere worth both Testaments, cast in the Creed:

But if this mother be a guide so sure,

As can all doubts resolve, all truth secure,

Then her infallibility as well

Where copies are corrupt or lame can tell;

Restore lost canon with as little pains,

As truly explicate what still remains;

Which yet no council dare pretend to do, }

Unless, like Esdras, they could write it new;}

Strange confidence still to interpret true, }

Yet not be sure that all they have explained,

Is in the blest original contained.

More safe, and much more modest 'tis, to say

God would not leave mankind without a way;

And that the scriptures, though not every where

Free from corruption, or entire, or clear,

Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, entire,

In all things which our needful faith require.

If others in the same glass better see,

'Tis for themselves they look, but not for me;

For my salvation must its doom receive,

Not from what others, but what I believe.

Must all tradition then be set aside?

This to affirm were ignorance or pride.

Are there not many points, some needful sure

To saving faith, that scripture leaves obscure?

Which every sect will wrest a several way,

For what one sect interprets, all sects may;

We hold, and say we prove from scripture plain,}

That Christ is God; the bold Socinian }

From the same scripture urges he's but man.[33] }

Now what appeal can end the important suit?

Both parts talk loudly, but the rule is mute.

Shall I speak plain, and, in a nation free,

Assume an honest layman's liberty?

I think, according to my little skill,

To my own mother-church submitting still,

That many have been saved, and many may,

Who never heard this question brought in play.

The unlettered Christian, who believes in gross,

Plods on to heaven, and ne'er is at a loss;

For the strait gate would be made straiter yet,

Were none admitted there but men of wit.

The few by nature formed, with learning fraught,

Born to instruct, as others to be taught,

Must study well the sacred page; and see

Which doctrine, this or that, does best agree

With the whole tenor of the work divine,

And plainliest points to heaven's revealed design;

Which exposition flows from genuine sense,

And which is forced by wit and eloquence.

Not that tradition's parts are useless here,

When general, old, disinterested, and clear;

That ancient fathers thus expound the page,

Gives truth the reverend majesty of age;

Confirms its force by bideing every test;

For best authorities, next rules, are best;

And still the nearer to the spring we go,

More limpid, more unsoiled, the waters flow.

Thus, first, traditions were a proof alone;

Could we be certain, such they were, so known;

But since some flaws in long descent may be,

They make not truth, but probability.

Even Arius and Pelagius durst provoke

To what the centuries preceding spoke:[34]

Such difference is there in an oft-told tale;

But truth by its own sinews will prevail.

Tradition written, therefore, more commends

Authority, than what from voice descends;

And this, as perfect as its kind can be,

Rolls down to us the sacred history;

Which from the universal church received,

Is tried, and, after, for itself believed.

The partial Papists would infer from hence,

Their church, in last resort, should judge the sense.

But first they would assume, with wonderous art,

Themselves to be the whole, who are but part

Of that vast frame, the Church; yet grant they were

The handers down, can they from thence infer

A right to interpret? or, would they alone,

Who brought the present, claim it for their own?

The book's a common largess to mankind,

Not more for them than every man designed;

The welcome news is in the letter found;

The carrier's not commissioned to expound.

It speaks itself, and what it does contain,

In all things needful to be known, is plain.

In times o'ergrown with rust and ignorance,

A gainful trade their clergy did advance;

When want of learning kept the laymen low,

And none but priests were authorized to know;

When what small knowledge was, in them did dwell,

And he a god, who could but read and spell,--

Then mother Church did mightily prevail:

She parcelled out the Bible by retail;

But still expounded what she sold or gave,

To keep it in her power to damn and save.

Scripture was scarce, and, as the market went,

Poor laymen took salvation on content,

As needy men take money, good or bad.

God's word they had not, but the priest's they had;

Yet whate'er false conveyances they made,

The lawyer still was certain to be paid.

In those dark times they learned their knack so well,

That by long use they grew infallible.

At last, a knowing age began to enquire

If they the book, or that did them inspire;

And, making narrower search, they found, though late,

That what they thought the priest's, was their estate;

Taught by the will produced, the written word,

How long they had been cheated on record.

Then every man, who saw the title fair,

Claimed a child's part, and put in for a share;

Consulted soberly his private good,

And saved himself as cheap as e'er he could.

'Tis true, my friend,--and far be flattery hence,--

This good had full as bad a consequence;

The book thus put in every vulgar hand,

Which each presumed he best could understand,

The common rule was made the common prey,

And at the mercy of the rabble lay.

The tender page with horny fists was galled,

And he was gifted most, that loudest bawled;

The spirit gave the doctoral degree, }

And every member of a company }

Was of his trade and of the Bible free. }

Plain truths enough for needful use they found;

But men would still be itching to expound;

Each was ambitious of the obscurest place,

No measure ta'en from knowledge, all from grace.

Study and pains were now no more their care;

Texts were explained by fasting and by prayer:

This was the fruit the private spirit brought,

Occasioned by great zeal and little thought.

While crowds unlearned, with rude devotion warm,

About the sacred viands buz and swarm;

The fly-blown text creates a crawling brood,

And turns to maggots what was meant for food.[35]

A thousand daily sects rise up and die;

A thousand more the perished race supply;

So all we make of heaven's discovered will,

Is not to have it, or to use it ill.

The danger's much the same; on several shelves

If others wreck us, or we wreck ourselves.

What then remains, but, waving each extreme,

The tides of ignorance and pride to stem;

Neither so rich a treasure to forego,

Nor proudly seek beyond our power to know?

Faith is not built on disquisitions vain;

The things we must believe are few and plain:

But since men will believe more than they need,

And every man will make himself a creed,

In doubtful questions 'tis the safest way

To learn what unsuspected antients say;

For 'tis not likely we should higher soar

In search of heaven, than all the church before;

Nor can we be deceived, unless we see

The scripture and the fathers disagree.

If, after all, they stand suspected still,

(For no man's faith depends upon his will)

'Tis some relief, that points, not clearly known,

Without much hazard may be let alone;

And, after hearing what our church can say,

If still our reason runs another way,

That private reason 'tis more just to curb,

Than by disputes the public peace disturb:

For points obscure are of small use to learn;

But common quiet is mankind's concern.

Thus have I made my own opinions clear,

Yet neither praise expect, nor censure fear;

And this unpolished rugged verse I chose,

As fittest for discourse, and nearest prose;

For while from sacred truth I do not swerve,

Tom Sternhold's, or Tom Shadwell's rhymes will serve.[36]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 29: The author applies the same simile to the use of rhyme in

tragedy;

Passion's too fierce to be in fetters bound,

And nature flies him like enchanted ground.

_Prologue to Aureng-Zebe._

]

[Footnote 30: All the editions read _Sons_, which seems to make a

double genitive, unless we construe the line to mean, "the name of his

Eternal Son's salvation." I own I should have been glad to have found

an authority for reading _Son_.]

[Footnote 31: Simon's Critical History of the Old Testament, translated

by the young gentleman to whom the poem is addressed.--See Preface.]

[Footnote 32: Calvinistic divines, who made translations of the

Scripture, with commentaries, on which Pere Simon makes learned

criticisms.]

[Footnote 33: The Socinians, or followers of Lelius Socinius, denied

the doctrine of the Trinity and of Redemption. The modern Unitarians

have embraced some of the principles of this sect.]

[Footnote 34: The founders of two noted heresies, who, nevertheless, as

the poet observes, ventured to appeal to the traditions of the church

in support of their doctrines.]

[Footnote 35: Perhaps this idea is borrowed from "Hudibras:"

The learned write, an insect breeze

Is but a mongrel prince of bees,

That falls before a storm on cows,

And stings the founders of his house,

From whose corrupted flesh, that breed

Of vermin did at first proceed.

So, ere the storm of war broke out,

Religion spawned a various rout

Of petulant capricious sects,

The maggots of corrupted texts,

That first run all religion down,

And after every swarm its own.

_Hudibras_, Part III. canto 2.

]

[Footnote 36: The famous Tom Brown is pleased to droll on this

association of persons; being a part of the punishment which he

says the laureat inflicted on Shadwell for presuming to dispute

his theatrical infallibility. "But, gentlemen, when I had thus, in

the plenitude of my power, issued out the above-mentioned decretal

epistles, you cannot imagine what abundance of adversaries I created

myself: some were for appealing to a free unbiassed synod of impartial

authors; others were for suing out a _quo warranto_, to examine the

validity of my charter. Not to mention those of higher quality, I was

immediatly set upon by the fierce Elkanah, the Empress of Morocco's

agent, who at that time commanded a party of Moorish horse, in order

to raise the siege of Grenada; and a fat old gouty gentleman, commonly

called the King of Basan, who had almost devoured the stage with free

quarter for his men of wit and humourists. But I countermined all their

designs against my crown and person in a moment; for I presently got

the one to be dressed up in a sanbenit, under the unsanctified name

of Doeg; the other I coupled myself with his namesake Tom Sternhold.

Being thus degraded from their poetical functions, and become incapable

of crowning princes, raising ghosts, and offering any more incense

of flattery to the living and the dead, I delivered them over to the

secular arm, to be chastised by the furious dapper-wits of the Inns

of Court, and the young critics of the university. Furthermore, to

prevent all infection of their errors, I directed my monitory letters

to the Sieur Batterton, advising him to keep no correspondence, either

directly or indirectly, with those aforesaid apostates from sense and

reason; adding, that in case of neglect, I would certainly put the

theatre under an interdict, send a troop of dragoons from Drury-Lane

to demolish his garrison in Salisbury-court, and absolve all his

subjects, even to the sub-deacons and acolythes of the stage, his

trusty door-keepers and candle-lighters, from their oaths of fealty and

allegiance." _Reasons for Mr Bayes' changing his Religion._]

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS:

A

FUNERAL PINDARIC POEM,

SACRED TO THE

HAPPY MEMORY OF

KING CHARLES II.

_Fortunati ambo si quid mea carmina possunt,

Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet ævo!_

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.

The death of Charles II. was sudden and unexpected. After he had

apparently completely subdued the popular party, and was preparing, as

has been confidently alleged, a similar conquest over the high-flying

followers of the Duke of York, in the midst of his present triumph and

future projects, he was, on the morning of the 2d February, 1684-5,

seized with a sudden fit, which resembled an apoplexy. He was bled by

one King, a chemist, who happened to be in waiting, and experienced

a temporary relief. From the 2d till the 6th, he continued in a

languishing state, the Duke of York being in constant attendance on his

death-bed. On the forenoon of the 6th, Charles died, to the general

grief of his subjects, by whom he was personally beloved, and who had

reason to fear, that his worst public measures would be followed out

with more rigour by his successor.

A numerous host of rhymers stepped forward with their condolences

upon this event.[37] Among these, we find few eminent names besides

that of Dryden. Otway, indeed, has left a poem on the subject, called

"Windsor Castle;" and he began a pastoral, which, fortunately for his

reputation, he left unfinished.[38] From the laureat a deeper tone of

lamentation was due. But whether the sense of discharging a task, a

sense so chilling always to poetical imagination, had fettered Dryden's

powers, or from whatever other reason, his funeral pindaric has not

been esteemed one of his happiest lyric effusions. It is devoid of

any appearance of deep feeling on the part of the author himself.

This is the more remarkable, as the manners of Charles were eminently

calculated to attract affection, and Dryden had been admitted to a

greater share of royal intercourse than is usually necessary to excite

the personal attachment of a subject to a condescending monarch. But

whether Dryden, as he is sometimes believed to have owned, was unapt

to feel or express the more tender passions, or whether he saw the

character of Charles so closely, as to discern the selfishness of his

hollow courtesy, it is certain that the poet seems wonderfully little

interested in the sorrowful theme. Even when he mentions his literary

intercourse with the deceased monarch, he does not suppress a murmur,

that he was niggard in rewarding the muses whom he loved; that

----little was their hire, and light their gain.

This absence of personal feeling on the part of the author, spreads

a coldness over the whole elegy; which we regret the less, as the

pensioned monarch ill deserved a deeper lamentation. It is chiefly

owing to this want of sympathy, connected with an over indulgence in

conceit, a fault which immediately flows from the other, being an

effort of ingenuity to supply the want of passion, that the "Threnodia

Augustalis" has been neglected. We have to lament some overstrained

metaphors and similes. The sun went back _ten_ degrees in the dial

of Ahaz; a miraculous sign that Hezekiah was to live; and this is

compared to the _five_ days during which the disease of Charles

gained ground, until it was obvious that he was to die. The prayers

of the people carrying heaven by storm, and almost forcing heaven to

revoke his decrees, is extravagant, not to say profane. Yet, with all

its faults of coldness and conceit, this poem seems rather to have

been under-rated. It appears to great advantage, when compared with

others on the same subject. Otway, who affects a warmer display of

passion, a particular in which Dryden is said to have acknowledged his

superiority, has fallen into the opposite fault, of describing the

death-bed rather of a tender husband or lover, attended by his wife or

mistress, than that of a king waited on by his successor.[39] Dryden's

picture of the duke's grief is much more appropriate and striking:

Horror in all his pomp was there,

Mute and magnificent, without a tear.

The joy of the people upon the fallacious prospect of the king's

recovery, is also a striking picture:

Men met each other with erected look;

The steps were higher that they took;

Friends to congratulate their friends made haste,

And long inveterate foes saluted as they past.

There are many other fine passages in the "Threnodia;" though the

general effect is less impressive than might have been expected. The

description in the thirteenth stanza, for example, of the effects on

poetry and literature produced by the Restoration, and that of the

return of liberty,

Without whose charms even peace would be

But a dull quiet slavery,

are both striking.--The character of Charles; his wit, parts,

and powers of conversation; his gentle manners, and firmness of

disposition, which, like a well-wrought blade, kept, even in yielding,

the native toughness of the steel,--are all themes of panegyric, which,

though perhaps exaggerated, are well-chosen, and exquisitely brought

out. It is indeed a peculiar attribute of Dryden's praise, that it is

always appropriate; while the gross adulation of his contemporaries

gave indiscriminately the same broad features to all their subjects,

and thereby very often converted their intended panegyric into satire,

not the less bitter because undesigned. Dryden, for instance, in this

whole poem has never once mentioned the queen; sensible that the gaiety

of Charles' life, and his frequent amours, rendered her conjugal grief,

which some of the elegiasts chose to describe in terms approaching to

blasphemy, an apocryphal, as well as a delicate theme.[40] He knew,

that praise, to do honour to the giver and receiver, must either have a

real foundation in desert, or at least what, by the skilful management

of the poet, may be easily represented as such.

Having discussed the melancholy part of his subject, the poet,

according to the approved custom in such cases, finds cause for

rejoicing in the succession of James, as he had mourned over the death

of his predecessor. From his firmness of character, and supposed

military talents, the poet prophesies a warlike and victorious reign:

a sad instance how seldom the poetic and prophetic character, so

often claimed, are united in the same individual! for James, as is

well known, far from conquering foreign kingdoms, did not draw the

sword even to defend his own. But very different events were expected,

and augured, by the shoal of versifiers, who now rushed forwards to

gratulate his accession.[41]

The pindaric measure, in which the "Threnodia Augustalis" is written,

contains nothing pleasing to modern ears. The rhymes are occasionally

so far disjoined, that, like a fashionable married couple, they

have nothing of union but the name. The inequalities of the verse

are also violent, and remind us of ascending a broken and unequal

stair-case. But the age had been accustomed to this rythm, which,

however improperly, was considered as a genuine imitation of the

style of Pindar. It must also be owned, that wherever, for a little

way, Dryden uses a more regular measure, he displays all his usual

command of harmony. The thirteenth stanza, for example, is as happily

distinguished by melody of rhyme, as we have already observed it is

eminent in beauty of poetry.

The Latin title of this poem, like that of the _Religio Laici_, savours

somewhat of affectation; and has been taxed by Johnson as not strictly

classical, a more unpardonable fault.[42]

My learned friend, Dr Adam, has favoured me with the following defence

of Dryden's phrase: "With respect to the title which that great poet

gives to his elegy on the death of Charles, making allowance for the

taste of the times and the licence of poets in framing names, I see no

just foundation for Johnson's criticism on the epithet _Augustalis_.

_Threnodia_ is a word purely Greek, used by no Latin author; and

_Augustalis_ denotes, 'in honour of Augustus;' thus, _ludi Augustales_,

games instituted in honour of Augustis, _Tac. An._ 1, 15 and 54; so

_sacerdotes_ vel _sodales Augustales_, ib. and 2, 83. Hist. 2, 95. Now

as _Augustus_ was a name given to the succeeding emperors, I see no

reason, why _Augustalis_ may not be used to signify, 'in honour of any

king.' Besides, the very word _Augustus_ denotes, 'venerable, august,

royal:' and therefore _Threnodia Augustalis_ may properly be put for,

'An Elegy in honour of an august Prince."

The full title declared the poem to be written "by John Dryden, servant

to his late majesty, and to the present king;" a style which our author

did not generally assume, but which the occasion rendered peculiarly

proper. The poem appears to have been popular, as it went through two

editions in the course of 1685.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 37: The following Nœnia, among others, occur in Mr Luttrell's

Collection:

"A Pindarick Ode, by Sir F. F. Knight of the Bath."

"A Pindarick Ode on the Death of our late Sovereign, with an ancient

Prophecy on his present Majesty, by Afra Behn."

"A Poem, humbly dedicated to the Great Pattern of Piety and Virtue,

Catherine, Queen Dowager, on the Death of her dear Lord and Husband,

King Charles II. By the Same. (4th April, 1685.)"

"The Vision, a Pindarick Ode, by Edmund Arwaker, M. A."

"The Second Part of Ditto, on the Coronation of James and Mary." This

author poured forth a similar effusion upon the death of Queen Mary.

"A Pindarick Ode on the Death of Charles II, by J. H."

"Ireland's Tears to the sacred Memory of our late Dread Sovereign, King

Charles II., 11th April, 1685."

"_Pietas universitatis Oxoniensis in obitum augustissimi et

desideratissimi Regis Caroli Secundi._"

Duke, and others, also invoked Melpomene on this mournful occasion:

but, perhaps, the most remarkable of all these lamentations is, "The

Quaker's Elegy on the Death of Charles, late King of England, written

by W. P. a sincere lover of Charles and James; (31st March, 1685.)"

"Tears wiped off, a Second Part, on the Coronation, (22d April.)" This

curious dirge begins thus:

What wondrous change in waking do I find,

For a strange something does my sense unbind;

Truth has possessed my darkened soul all o'er

With an unusual light, not known before;

And doth inform me, that some star is gone,

From whose kind influence we had life alone.

No sooner had this stranger seized my soul,

But Rachel knocked, to raise me from my bed,

And, with a voice of sorrow, did condole

The loss of Charles, whom she declared was dead;

Charles dost thou mean we King of England call,

That lived within the mansion of Whitehall?

Yes--'tis too true, &c.

]

[Footnote 38: "Windsor Castle, in a monument to our late, sovereign,

King Charles II.," contains some striking passages. But, for the

tenuity of the pastoral, even the taste of the age can hardly excuse

the author of "Venice Preserved." For example:

Ye tender lambs, stray not so fast away;

To weep and mourn, let us together stay;

O'er all the universe let it be spread,

That now the shepherd of the flock is dead;

The royal Pan, that shepherd of the sheep,

He, who to leave his flock did dying weep,

Is gone! Ah! gone, ne'er to return from death's eternal sleep.

]

[Footnote 39: We shall here insert the last meeting of the royal

brothers, as described in "Windsor Castle," which the reader may

contrast with the same theme in the "Threnodia:"

Here, painter, if thou can'st, thy art improve,

And show the wonders of fraternal love;

How mourning James by fading Charles did stand,

The dying grasping the surviving hand;

How round each others necks their arms they cast,

Moaned, with endearing murmurings, and embraced;

And of their parting pangs such marks did give,

'Twere hard to guess which yet could longest live.

Both their sad tongues quite lost the power to speak,

And their kind hearts seemed both prepared to break.

]

[Footnote 40: Perhaps the most extraordinary instance of flattery,

wrought up to impiety, occurs in Mrs Behn's address to the queen on the

death of her husband:

Methinks I see you like the queen of heaven,

To whom all patience and all grace was given;

When the great lord of life himself was laid

Upon her lap, all wounded, pale, and dead;

Transpierced with anguish, even to death transformed,

So she bewailed her god, so sighed, so mourned,

So his blest image in her heart remained,

So his blest memory o'er her soul still reigned;

She lived the sacred victim to deplore,

And never knew, or wished a pleasure more.

]

[Footnote 41: These are even more numerous than the Elegiasts on

Charles's death. In the Luttrell Collection there are the following

rare pieces.

"_Panegyris Jacobi serenissimi, &c. regi ipso die inaugurationis._"

"A Poem on Do. by R. Philips."

"On Do. by a Young Gentleman."

"A Panegyrick on Do. by the Author of the Plea for Succession."

"A New Song on Do."

"A Poem on Do. by John Philips."

"A Poem upon the Coronation, by J. Baber, Esq."

"A Pindarique to their Sacred Majesties on their Coronation."

"A Poem on Do. by R. Mansell, Gent."

"A Panegyrick on Do. by Peter Ker;" with whose rapturous invitation to

the ships to strand themselves for joy, we shall conclude the list:

Let subjects sing, bells ring, and cannons roar;

And every ship come dancing to the shore.

]

[Footnote 42: Dryden, perhaps, recollected the poem of Fitzpayne

Fisher on Cromwell's death, entitled, _Threnodia Triumphalis in obitum

serenissimi Nostri Principis Olivari, Angliæ Scotiæ Hiberniœ cum

dominationibus ubicunque jacentibus Nuperi protectoris, (Qui obiit.

Septemb. 3tio.) Ubi stupendæ passim victoriæ, et incredibiles domi

forasque successus, Heroico carmine, succinctim perstringuntur. Per

Fitzpaynæum Piscatorem. Londini, 1658._]

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.

I.

Thus long my grief has kept me dumb:

Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe,

Tears stand congealed, and cannot flow;

And the sad soul retires into her inmost room:

Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief;

But, unprovided for a sudden blow,

Like Niobe, we marble grow,

And petrify with grief.

Our British heaven was all serene,

No threatening cloud was nigh,

Not the least wrinkle to deform the sky;

We lived as unconcerned and happily

As the first age in nature's golden scene;

Supine amidst our flowing store,

We slept securely, and we dreamt of more;

When suddenly the thunder-clap was heard,

It took us, unprepared, and out of guard,

Already lost before we feared.

The amazing news of Charles at once were spread,

At once the general voice declared,

"Our gracious prince was dead."

No sickness known before, no slow disease,

To soften grief by just degrees;

But, like an hurricane on Indian seas,

The tempest rose;

An unexpected burst of woes,[43]

With scarce a breathing space betwixt,

This now becalmed, and perishing the next.

As if great Atlas from his height

Should sink beneath his heavenly weight,

And, with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall,

As once it shall,

Should gape immense, and, rushing down, o'erwhelm this nether ball;

So swift and so surprising was our fear:

Our Atlas fell indeed; but Hercules was near.[44]

II.

His pious brother, sure the best

Who ever bore that name,

Was newly risen from his rest,

And, with a fervent flame,

His usual morning vows had just addrest,

For his dear sovereign's health;

And hoped to have them heard,

In long increase of years,

In honour, fame, and wealth:

Guiltless of greatness, thus he always prayed,

Nor knew nor wished those vows he made,

On his own head should be repaid.

Soon as the ill-omen'd rumour reached his ear,

(Ill news is winged with fate, and flies apace,)

Who can describe the amazement of his face!

Horror in all his pomp was there,

Mute and magnificent, without a tear;

And then the hero first was seen to fear.

Half unarrayed he ran to his relief,

So hasty and so artless was his grief:

Approaching greatness met him with her charms

Of power and future state;

But looked so ghastly in a brother's fate,

He shook her from his arms.

Arrived within the mournful room, he saw

A wild distraction, void of awe,

And arbitrary grief unbounded by a law.

God's image, God's anointed, lay

Without motion, pulse, or breath,

A senseless lump of sacred clay,

An image now of death,

Amidst his sad attendants' groans and cries,

The lines of that adored forgiving face,

Distorted from their native grace;

An iron slumber sat on his majestic eyes.

The pious duke--Forbear, audacious muse!

No terms thy feeble art can use

Are able to adorn so vast a woe:

The grief of all the rest like subject-grief did show,

His, like a sovereign's, did transcend;

No wife, no brother, such a grief could know,

Nor any name but friend.

III.

O wondrous changes of a fatal scene,

Still varying to the last!

Heaven, though its hard decree was past,

Seemed pointing to a gracious turn again:

And death's uplifted arm arrested in its haste.

Heaven half repented of the doom,

And almost grieved it had foreseen,

What by foresight it willed eternally to come.

Mercy above did hourly plead

For her resemblance here below;

And mild forgiveness intercede

To stop the coming blow.

New miracles approached the etherial throne,

Such as his wonderous life had oft and lately known,

And urged that still they might be shown.

On earth his pious brother prayed and vowed,

Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate,

Himself defending what he could,

From all the glories of his future fate.

With him the innumerable crowd

Of armed prayers

Knocked at the gates of heaven, and knocked aloud;

The first well-meaning rude petitioners.[45]

All for his life assailed the throne,

All would have bribed the skies by offering up their own.

So great a throng, not heaven itself could bar;

'Twas almost borne by force, as in the giants' war.

The prayers, at least, for his reprieve were heard;

His death, like Hezekiah's, was deferred:

Against the sun the shadow went;

Five days, those five degrees, were lent,

To form our patience, and prepare the event.[46]

The second causes took the swift command,

The medicinal head, the ready hand,

All eager to perform their part;[47]

All but eternal doom was conquered by their art:

Once more the fleeting soul came back

To inspire the mortal frame;

And in the body took a doubtful stand,

Doubtful and hovering, like expiring flame,

That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o'er the brand.

IV.

The joyful short-lived news soon spread around,[48]

Took the same train, the same impetuous bound:

The drooping town in smiles again was drest,

Gladness in every face exprest,

Their eyes before their tongues confest.

Men met each other with erected look,

The steps were higher that they took;

Friends to congratulate their friends made haste,

And long inveterate foes saluted as they past.

Above the rest heroic James appeared,

Exalted more, because he more had feared.

His manly heart, whose noble pride

Was still above

Dissembled hate, or varnished love,

Its more than common transport could not hide;

But like an eagre[49] rode in triumph o'er the tide.

Thus, in alternate course,

The tyrant passions, hope and fear,

Did in extremes appear,

And flashed upon the soul with equal force.

Thus, at half ebb, a rolling sea

Returns, and wins upon the shore;

The watery herd, affrighted at the roar,

Rest on their fins awhile, and stay,

Then backward take their wondering way:

The prophet wonders more than they,

At prodigies but rarely seen before,

And cries,--a king must fall, or kingdoms change their sway.

Such were our counter-tides at land, and so

Presaging of the fatal blow,

In their prodigious ebb and flow.

The royal soul, that, like the labouring moon,

By charms of art was hurried down,

Forced with regret to leave her native sphere,

Came but a while on liking[50] here:

Soon weary of the painful strife,

And made but faint essays of life:

An evening light

Soon shut in night;

A strong distemper, and a weak relief,

Short intervals of joy, and long returns of grief.

V.

The sons of art all med'cines tried,

And every noble remedy applied;

With emulation each essayed

His utmost skill; nay, more, they prayed:

Never was losing game with better conduct played.

Death never won a stake with greater toil,

Nor e'er was fate so near a foil:

But, like a fortress on a rock,

The impregnable disease their vain attempts did mock;

They mined it near, they battered from afar

With all the cannon of the medicinal war;

No gentle means could be essayed,

'Twas beyond parley when the siege was laid.

The extremest ways they first ordain,

Prescribing such intolerable pain,

As none but Cæsar could sustain:

Undaunted Cæsar underwent

The malice of their art, nor bent

Beneath whate'er their pious rigour could invent.

In five such days he suffered more

Than any suffered in his reign before;

More, infinitely more, than he,

Against the worst of rebels could decree,

A traitor, or twice pardoned enemy.

Now art was tired without success,

No racks could make the stubborn malady confess.

The vain insurancers of life,

And he who most performed, and promised less,

Even Short[51] himself, forsook the unequal strife.

Death and despair was in their looks,

No longer they consult their memories or books;

Like helpless friends, who view from shore

The labouring ship, and hear the tempest roar;

So stood they with their arms across,

Not to assist, but to deplore

The inevitable loss.

VI.

Death was denounced; that frightful sound

Which even the best can hardly bear;

He took the summons void of fear,

And unconcernedly cast his eyes around,

As if to find and dare the grisly challenger.

What death could do he lately tried,

When in four days he more than died.

The same assurance all his words did grace;

The same majestic mildness held its place;

Nor lost the monarch in his dying face.

Intrepid, pious, merciful, and brave,

He looked as when he conquered and forgave.

VII.

As if some angel had been sent

To lengthen out his government,

And to foretel as many years again,

As he had numbered in his happy reign;

So cheerfully he took the doom

Of his departing breath,

Nor shrunk nor stept aside for death;

But, with unaltered pace, kept on,

Providing for events to come,

When he resigned the throne.

Still he maintained his kingly state,

And grew familiar with his fate.

Kind, good, and gracious, to the last,

On all he loved before his dying beams he cast:

Oh truly good, and truly great,

For glorious as he rose, benignly so he set!

All that on earth he held most dear,

He recommended to his care,

To whom both heaven

The right had given,

And his own love bequeathed supreme command:[52]

He took and prest that ever-loyal hand,

Which could, in peace, secure his reign;

Which could, in wars, his power maintain;

That hand on which no plighted vows were ever vain.

Well, for so great a trust, he chose

A prince, who never disobeyed;

Not when the most severe commands were laid;

Nor want, nor exile, with his duty weighed:[53]

A prince on whom, if heaven its eyes could close,

The welfare of the world it safely might repose.

VIII.

That king, who lived to God's own heart,

Yet less serenely died than he;

Charles left behind no harsh decree,

For schoolmen, with laborious art,

To save from cruelty:[54]

Those, for whom love could no excuses frame,

He graciously forgot to name.

Thus far my muse, though rudely, has designed

Some faint resemblance of his godlike mind;

But neither pen nor pencil can express

The parting brothers tenderness;

Though that's a term too mean and low;

The blest above a kinder word may know:

But what they did, and what they said,

The monarch who triumphant went,

The militant who staid,

Like painters, when their heightening arts are spent,

I cast into a shade.

That all-forgiving king,

The type of him above,

That inexhausted spring

Of clemency and love,

Himself to his next self accused,

And asked that pardon which he ne'er refused;

For faults not his, for guilt and crimes

Of godless men, and of rebellious times;

For an hard exile, kindly meant,

When his ungrateful country sent

Their best Camillus into banishment,

And forced their sovereign's act, they could not his consent.

Oh how much rather had that injured chief

Repeated all his sufferings past,

Than hear a pardon begged at last,

Which, given, could give the dying no relief!

He bent, he sunk beneath his grief;

His dauntless heart would fain have held

From weeping, but his eyes rebelled.

Perhaps the godlike hero, in his breast,

Disdained, or was ashamed to show,

So weak, so womanish a woe,

Which yet the brother and the friend so plenteously confest.

IX.

Amidst that silent shower, the royal mind

An easy passage found,

And left its sacred earth behind;

Nor murmuring groan expressed, nor labouring sound,

Nor any least tumultuous breath;

Calm was his life, and quiet was his death.

Soft as those gentle whispers were,

In which the Almighty did appear;

By the still voice the prophet knew him there.

That peace which made thy prosperous reign to shine,

That peace thou leav'st to thy imperial line,

That peace, Oh happy shade, be ever thine!

X.

For all those joys thy restoration brought,

For all the miracles it wrought,

For all the healing balm thy mercy poured

Into the nation's bleeding wound,[55]

And care, that after kept it sound,

For numerous blessings yearly showered,

And property with plenty crowned;

For freedom, still maintained alive,

Freedom, which in no other land will thrive,

Freedom, an English subject's sole prerogative,

Without whose charms, even peace would be

But a dull quiet slavery;--

For these, and more, accept our pious praise;

'Tis all the subsidy

The present age can raise,

The rest is charged on late posterity.

Posterity is charged the more,

Because the large abounding store

To them, and to their heirs, is still entailed by thee.

Succession of a long descent,

Which chastely in the channels ran,

And from our demi-gods began,

Equal almost to time in its extent,

Through hazards numberless and great,

Thou hast derived this mighty blessing down,

And fixed the fairest gem that decks the imperial crown:

Not faction, when it shook thy regal seat,

Not senates, insolently loud,

Those echoes of a thoughtless crowd,

Not foreign or domestic treachery,

Could warp thy soul to their unjust decree.

So much thy foes thy manly mind mistook,

Who judged it by the mildness of thy look;

Like a well-tempered sword, it bent at will,

But kept the native toughness of the steel.

XI.

Be true, O Clio, to thy hero's name;

But draw him strictly so,

That all who view the piece may know,

He needs no trappings of fictitious fame.

The load's too weighty; thou may'st chuse

Some parts of praise, and some refuse;

Write, that his annals may be thought more lavish than the muse.

In scanty truth thou hast confined

The virtues of a royal mind,

Forgiving, bounteous, humble, just, and kind:

His conversation, wit, and parts,

His knowledge in the noblest useful arts,

Were such, dead authors could not give;

But habitudes of those who live,

Who, lighting him, did greater lights receive:

He drained from all, and all they knew;

His apprehension quick, his judgment true,

That the most learned, with shame, confess

His knowledge more, his reading only less.

XII.

Amidst the peaceful triumphs of his reign,

What wonder, if the kindly beams he shed

Revived the drooping arts again,

If science raised her head,

And soft humanity, that from rebellion fled.

Our isle, indeed, too fruitful was before;

But all uncultivated lay

Out of the solar walk, and heaven's high way;[56]

With rank Geneva weeds run o'er,

And cockle, at the best, amidst the corn it bore:

The royal husbandman appeared,

And ploughed, and sowed, and tilled;

The thorns he rooted out, the rubbish cleared,

And blest the obedient field

When strait a double harvest rose,

Such as the swarthy Indian mows,

Or happier climates near the Line,

Or paradise manured, and drest by hands divine.

XIII.

As when the new-born phoenix takes his way,

His rich paternal regions to survey,

Of airy choristers a numerous train

Attend his wonderous progress o'er the plain;

So, rising from his father's urn,

So glorious did our Charles return;

The officious muses came along,

A gay harmonious quire, like angels ever young;

The muse, that mourns him now, his happy triumph sung.[57]

Even they could thrive in his auspicious reign;

And such a plenteous crop they bore

Of purest and well-winnowed grain,

As Britain never knew before.

Though little was their hire, and light their gain,

Yet somewhat to their share he threw;

Fed from his hand, they sung and flew,

Like birds of paradise, that lived on morning dew.

Oh never let their lays his name forget!

The pension of a prince's praise is great.

Live then, thou great encourager of arts,

Live ever in our thankful hearts;

Live blest above, almost invoked below;

Live and receive this pious vow,

Our patron once, our guardian angel now!

Thou Fabius of a sinking state,

Who didst by wise delays divert our fate,

When faction like a tempest rose,

In death's most hideous form,

Then art to rage thou didst oppose,

To weather out the storm;

Not quitting thy supreme command,

Thou heldst the rudder with a steady hand,

Till safely on the shore the bark did land;

The bark, that all our blessings brought,

Charged with thyself and James, a doubly-royal fraught.

XIV.

Oh frail estate of human things,

And slippery hopes below!

Now to our cost your emptiness we know;

For 'tis a lesson dearly bought,

Assurance here is never to be sought.

The best, and best beloved of kings,

And best deserving to be so,

When scarce he had escaped the fatal blow

Of faction and conspiracy,

Death did his promised hopes destroy;

He toiled, he gained, but lived not to enjoy.

What mists of Providence are these

Through which we cannot see!

So saints, by supernatural power set free,

Are left at last in martyrdom to die;

Such is the end of oft repeated miracles.--

Forgive me, heaven, that impious thought,

'Twas grief for Charles, to madness wrought,

That questioned thy supreme decree!

Thou didst his gracious reign prolong,

Even in thy saints and angels wrong,

His fellow-citizens of immortality:

For twelve long years of exile born,

Twice twelve we numbered since his blest return:

So strictly wer't thou just to pay,

Even to the driblet of a day.[58]

Yet still we murmur, and complain

The quails and manna should no longer rain:

Those miracles 'twas needless to renew;

The chosen flock has now the promised land in view.

XV.

A warlike prince ascends the regal state,

A prince long exercised by fate:

Long may he keep, though he obtains it late!

Heroes in heaven's peculiar mould are cast;

They, and their poets, are not formed in haste;

Man was the first in God's design, and man was made the last.

False heroes, made by flattery so,

Heaven can strike out, like sparkles, at a blow;

But ere a prince is to perfection brought,

He costs Omnipotence a second thought.

With toil and sweat,

With hardening cold, and forming heat,

The Cyclops did their strokes repeat,

Before the impenetrable shield was wrought.

It looks as if the Maker would not own

The noble work for his,

Before 'twas tried and found a master-piece.

XVI.

View then a monarch ripened for a throne.

Alcides thus his race began,

O'er infancy he swiftly ran;

The future God at first was more than man:

Dangers and toils, and Juno's hate,

Even o'er his cradle lay in wait,

And there he grappled first with fate;

In his young hands the hissing snakes he prest,

So early was the Deity confest;

Thus, by degrees, he rose to Jove's imperial seat;

Thus difficulties prove a soul legitimately great.

Like his, our hero's infancy was tried;

Betimes the furies did their snakes provide,

And to his infant arms oppose

His father's rebels, and his brother's foes;

The more opprest, the higher still he rose.

Those were the preludes of his fate,

That formed his manhood, to subdue

The hydra of the many-headed hissing crew.

XVII.

As after Numa's peaceful reign,

The martial Ancus[59] did the sceptre wield,

Furbished the rusty sword again,

Resumed the long-forgotten shield,

And led the Latins to the dusty field;

So James the drowsy genius wakes

Of Britain long entranced in charms,

Restiff and slumbering on its arms;

'Tis roused, and, with a new-strung nerve, the spear already shakes.

No neighing of the warrior steeds,

No drum, or louder trumpet, needs

To inspire the coward, warm the cold;

His voice, his sole appearance, makes them bold,

Gaul and Batavia dread the impending blow;

Too well the vigour of that arm they know;

They lick the dust, and crouch beneath their fatal foe.

Long may they fear this awful prince,

And not provoke his lingering sword;

Peace is their only sure defence,

Their best security his word.

In all the changes of his doubtful state,

His truth, like heaven's, was kept inviolate;

For him to promise is to make it fate.

His valour can triumph o'er land and main;

With broken oaths his fame he will not stain;

With conquest basely bought, and with inglorious gain.

XVIII.

For once, O heaven, unfold thy adamantine book;

And let his wondering senate see,

If not thy firm immutable decree,

At least the second page of strong contingency,

Such as consists with wills, originally free.

Let them with glad amazement look

On what their happiness may be;

Let them not still be obstinately blind,

Still to divert the good thou hast designed,

Or, with malignant penury,

To starve the royal virtues of his mind.

Faith is a Christian's and a subject's test;

Oh give them to believe, and they are surely blest.

They do; and with a distant view I see

The amended vows of English loyalty;

And all beyond that object, there appears

The long retinue of a prosperous reign,

A series of successful years,

In orderly array, a martial, manly train.[60]

Behold e'en the remoter shores,

A conquering navy proudly spread;

The British cannon formidably roars,

While, starting from his oozy bed,

The asserted Ocean rears his reverend head,

To view and recognize his ancient lord again;

And, with a willing hand, restores

The fasces of the main.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 43: Note 1.]

[Footnote 44: Alluding to the fable of Hercules supporting the heavenly

sphere when Atlas was fatigued.]

[Footnote 45: A very ill-timed sarcasm on those, who petitioned Charles

to call his parliament. See p. 311.]

[Footnote 46: 2 Kings, chap. xx.]

[Footnote 47: Note II.]

[Footnote 48: Note III.]

[Footnote 49: An _eagre_ is a tide swelling above another tide, which

I have myself observed in the river Trent.--DRYDEN. This species of

combat between the current and the tide is well known on the Severn;

and, so far back as the days of William of Malmesbury, was called the

_Higre_. Unhappy is the vessel, says that ancient historian, on whom

its force falls laterally. _De Gestis Pontificum_, Lib. IV.--Drayton

describes the same river,

----With whose tumultuous waves,

Shut up in narrower bounds, the Higre wildly raves,

And frights the straggling flocks the neighbouring shores to fly.

Afar as from the main it comes with hideous cry;

And on the angry front the curled foam doth bring,

The billows 'gainst the bank when fiercely it doth fling,

Hurls up the scaly ooze, and makes the scaly brood

Leap madding to the land affrighted from the flood;

O'erturns the toiling barch whose steersman does not launch,

And thrust the furrowing beak into her ravening paunch.

_Poly-Albion_, Song VII.

]

[Footnote 50: To engage upon _liking_, (an image rather too familiar

for the occasion,) is to take a temporary trial of a service, or

business, with licence to quit it at pleasure.]

[Footnote 51: Note IV.]

[Footnote 52: Note V.]

[Footnote 53: Alluding to the Duke's banishment to Flanders. See note

on "Absalom and Achitophel," Vol. IX. p. 384.]

[Footnote 54: The testament of king David, by which he bequeathed to

his son the charge of executing vengeance on those enemies whom he had

spared during his life, has been much canvassed by divines. I indulge

myself in a tribute to a most venerable character, when I state, that

the most ingenious discourses I ever heard from the pulpit, were upon

this and other parts of David's conduct, in a series of lectures by

the late Reverend Dr John Erskine, one of the ministers of the Old

Greyfriars church in Edinburgh.]

[Footnote 55: King Charles' first parliament, from passing the Act of

Indemnity, and taking other measures to drown all angry recollection of

the civil wars, was called the Healing Parliament.]

[Footnote 56: A similar line occurs in the _Annus Mirabilis_, St. 160:

Beyond the year, and out of heaven's high-way.

The expression is originally Virgil's:

_Extra anni, solisque vias_.

]

[Footnote 57: See the Astræa Redux. Note VI.]

[Footnote 58: Reckoning from the death of his father, Charles had

reigned thirty-six years and eight days; and, counting from his

restoration, twenty-four years, eight months, and nine days.]

[Footnote 59: Ancus Martius, who succeeded the peaceful Numa Pompilius

as king of Rome.]

[Footnote 60: Note VII.]

NOTES

ON

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.

Note I.

_An unexpected burst of woes._--P. 62.

Charles II. enjoyed excellent health, and was particularly careful

to preserve it by constant exercise. His danger, therefore, fell

like a thunder-bolt on his people, whose hearts were gained by his

easy manners and good humour, and who considered, that the worst

apprehensions they had ever entertained during his reign, arose from

the religion and disposition of his successor. The mingled passions of

affection and fear produced a wonderful sensation on the nation. The

people were so passionately concerned, that North says, and appeals to

all who recollected the time for the truth of his averment, that it was

rare to see a person walking the street with dry eyes. _Examen._ p. 647.

Note II.

_The second causes took the swift command,

The medicinal head, the ready hand,

All eager to perform their part._--P. 64.

If there is safety in the multitude of counsellors, Charles did not

find it in the multitude of physicians. Nine were in attendance, all

men of eminence; the presence of the least of whom, Le Sage would have

said, was fully adequate to account for the subsequent catastrophe.

They were Sir Thomas Millington, Sir Thomas Witherby, Sir Charles

Scarborough, Sir Edmund King, Doctors Berwick, Charlton, Lower, Short,

and Le Fevre. They signed a declaration, that the king had died of an

apoplexy.

Note III.

_The joyful short-lived news soon spread around._--P. 65.

An article was published in the Gazette, on the third day of the king's

illness, importing, "That his physicians now conceived him to be in

a state of safety, and that in a few days he would be freed from his

indisposition."[61] North tells us, however, on the authority of his

brother, the Lord Keeper, that the only hope which the physicians

afforded to the council, was an assurance, (joyfully communicated,)

that the king was ill of a violent fever. The council seeing little

consolation in these tidings, one of the medical gentlemen explained,

by saying, that they now knew what they had to do, which was to

administer the cortex. This was done while life lasted,[62] although

some of the physicians seem to have deemed the prescription improper;

in which case, Charles, after escaping the poniards and pistols of the

Jesuits, may be said to have fallen a victim to their bark.

Note IV.

_And he who most performed, and promised less,

Even Short himself, forsook the unequal strife._--P. 67.

Dr Thomas Short, an eminent physician, who came into the court practice

when Dr Richard Lower, who formerly enjoyed it, embraced the political

principles of the Whig party. Short, a Roman Catholic, and himself a

Tory, was particularly acceptable to the Tories. To this circumstance

he probably owes the compliment paid him by our author, and another

from Lord Mulgrave to the same purpose. Otway reckons, among his

selected friends,

Short, beyond what numbers can commend.[63]

Duke has also inscribed to him his translation of the eleventh Idyllium

of Theocritus; beginning,

O Short! no herb nor salve was ever found,

To ease a lover's heat, or heal his wound.

Dr Short, as one of the king's physicians, attended the death-bed of

Charles, and subscribed the attestation, that he died of an apoplexy.

Yet there has been ascribed to him an expression of dubious import,

which caused much disquisition at the time; namely, that "the king had

not fair play for his life." Burnet says plainly, that "Short suspected

poison, and talked more freely of it than any Protestant durst venture

to do at the time." He, adds, that "Short himself was taken suddenly

ill, upon taking a large draught of wormwood wine, in the house of

a Popish patient near the Tower; and while on his death-bed, he

told Lower, and Millington, and other physicians, that he believed

he himself was poisoned, for having spoken too freely of the king's

death."[64] Mulgrave states the same report in these words, which,

coming from a professed Tory, are entitled to the greater credit: "I

am obliged to observe, that the most knowing and most deserving of all

his physicians did not only believe him poisoned, but thought himself

so too, not long after, for having declared his opinion a little too

boldly."[65] North, in confutation of this report, has interpreted

Short's expression, as meaning nothing more than that the king's malady

was mistaken by his physicians, who, by their improper prescriptions,

deprived nature of fair play;[66] and he appeals to all the eminent

physicians who attended Dr Short in his last illness, whether he did

not fall a victim to his own bold method, in using the cortex. Upon

the whole, whatever opinion this individual physician may have adopted

through mistake, or affectation of singularity, and whatever credit

faction, or indeed popular prejudice in general, may have given to

such rumours at the time, there appears no solid reason to believe

that Charles died of poison. Both Burnet and Mulgrave say, that they

never heard a hint that his brother was accessary to such a crime; and

it is very unlikely that any zealous Catholic should have had either

opportunity, or inclination, to hasten the reign of a prince of that

religion, by the unsolicited service of poisoning his brother. The

other physicians, several of whom, Lower, for example, were Whigs, as

well as Protestants, gave no countenance to this rumour, which was

circulated by a Catholic. And, as the symptoms of the king's disorder

are decidedly apoplectic, the report may be added to those with which

history abounds, and which are raised and believed only because an

extraordinary end is thought most fit for the eminent and powerful.

Short, as we have incidentally noticed, survived his royal patient but

a few months. He was succeeded in his practice by Ratcliffe, the famous

Tory physician of Queen Anne's reign.

Note V.

_All that on earth he held most dear,

He recommended to his care,

To whom both heaven

The right had given,

And his own love bequeathed supreme command._--P. 69.

The historical accounts of the dying requests of Charles are

contradictory and obscure. It seems certain, that he earnestly

recommended his favourite mistress, the Duchess of Portsmouth, to the

protection of his successor. He had always, he said, loved her, and

he now loved her at the last. The Bishop of Bath presented to him his

natural son, the Duke of Richmond; whom he blessed, and recommended,

with his other children, to his successor's protection; adding, "Do

not let poor Nelly[67] starve." He seems to have said nothing of the

Duke of Monmouth, once so much beloved, and whom, shortly before, he

entertained thoughts of recalling from banishment, and replacing in

favour; perhaps he thought, any recommendation to James of a rival so

hated would be ineffectual. Burnet says, he spoke not a word of the

queen. Echard, on the contrary, affirms, that, at the exhortation of

the Bishop of Bath, Charles sent for the queen, and asked and received

her pardon for the injuries he had done her bed.[68] In Fountainhall's

Manuscript, the queen is said to have sent a message, requesting

his pardon if she had ever offended him: "Alas, poor lady!" replied

the dying monarch, "she never offended me; I have too often injured

her."[69] This account seems more probable than that of Echard; for

so public a circumstance, as a personal visit from the queen to her

husband's death-bed, could hardly have been disputed by contemporaries.

Note VI.

_The officious muses came along,

A gay harmonious quire, like angels ever young;

The muse, that mourns him now, his happy triumph sung._--P. 74.

In Dryden's Life, we had occasion to remark the effect of the

Restoration upon literature. It was not certainly its least important

benefit, that it opened our poet's own way to distinction; which is

thus celebrated by Baber:

----till blest years brought Cæsar home again,

Dryden to purpose never drew his pen.

He, happy favourite of the tuneful nine!

Came with an early offering to your shrine;

Embalmed in deathless verse the monarch's fame;

Verse, which shall keep it fresh in youthful prime,

When Rustal's sacred gift must yield to time.

Note VII.

_Faith is a Christian's and a subject's test._--P. 78.

James, as well as his poet, was not slack in intimating to his

subjects, that he expected them to possess a proper portion of this

saving virtue. And, that they might not want an opportunity of

exercising it, he was pleased, by his own royal proclamation, to

continue the payment of the duties of the custom-house, which had been

granted by parliament only during his brother's life.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 61: RALPH, Vol. I. p. 834.]

[Footnote 62: Life of Lord Keeper Guilford, p. 253.]

[Footnote 63: Epistle to Mr Duke.]

[Footnote 64: Burnet's History of his own Times. End of Book III.]

[Footnote 65: Character of Charles II., Sheffield Duke of Buckingham's

Works, Vol. II. p. 65.]

[Footnote 66: One Dr Stokeham is said to have alleged, that the king's

fit was epileptic, not apoplectic, and that bleeding was _ex diametro_

wrong.]

[Footnote 67: Nell Gwyn.]

[Footnote 68: Echard's History, p. 1046.]

[Footnote 69: Dalrymple's Memoirs, 8vo. vol. i. p. 66.]

THE

HIND AND THE PANTHER,

A POEM.

IN THREE PARTS.

----_Antiquam exquirite matrem_----

----_Et vera incessu patuit Dea_. VIRG.

THE

HIND AND THE PANTHER.

In the Life of Dryden, there is an attempt to trace the progress and

changes of those religious opinions, by which he was unfortunately

conducted into the errors of Popery. With all the zeal of a now

convert, he seems to have been impatient to invite others to follow his

example, by detailing, in poetry, the arguments which had appeared to

him unanswerable. "The Hind and the Panther" is the offspring of that

rage for proselytism, which is a peculiar attribute of his new mother

church. The author is anxious, in the preface, to represent this poem

as a task which he had voluntarily undertaken, without receiving even

the subject from any one. His assertion seems worthy of full credit;

for, although it was the most earnest desire of James II. to employ

every possible mode for the conversion of his subjects, there is room

to believe, that, if the poem had been written under his direction,

the tone adopted by Dryden towards the sectaries would have been much

more mild. It is a well-known point of history, that, in order to

procure as many friends as possible to the repeal of the test act and

penal laws against the Catholics, James extended indulgence to the

puritans and sectarian non-conformists, the ancient enemies of his

person, his family, and monarchical establishments in general. Dryden

obviously was not in this court secret; the purpose of which was to

unite those congregations, whom he has described under the parable

of bloody bears, boars, wolves, foxes, &c. in a common interest with

the Hind, against the exclusive privileges of the Panther and her

subjects. His work was written with the precisely opposite intention of

recommending an union between the Catholics and the church of England;

at least, of persuading the latter to throw down the barriers, by which

the former were kept out of state employments. Such an union had at

one time been deemed practicable; and, in 1685, pamphlets had been

published, seriously exhorting the church of England to a league with

the Catholics, in order to root out the sectaries as common enemies

to both. The steady adherence of the church of England to Protestant

principles, rendered all hopes of such an union abortive; and, while

Dryden was composing his poem upon this deserted plan, James was taking

different steps to accomplish the main purpose both of the poet and

monarch.

The power of the crown to dispense, at pleasure, with the established

laws of the kingdom, had been often asserted, and sometimes exercised,

by former English monarchs. A king was entitled, the favourers of

prerogative argued, to pardon the breach of a statute, when committed;

why not, therefore, to suspend its effect by a dispensation _a priori_,

or by a general suspension of the law? which was only doing in general,

what he was confessedly empowered to do in particular cases. But a

doctrine so pernicious to liberty was never allowed to take root in the

constitution; and the confounding the prerogative of extending mercy to

individual criminals, with that of annulling the laws under which they

had been condemned, was a fallacy easily detected and refuted. Charles

II. twice attempted to assert his supposed privilege of suspending

the penal laws, by granting a general toleration; and he had, in both

cases, been obliged to retract, by the remonstrances of Parliament.[70]

But his successor, who conceived that his power was situated on a more

firm basis, and who was naturally obstinate in his resolutions, was

not swayed by this recollection. He took every opportunity to exercise

the power of dispensing with the laws, requiring Catholics to take the

test agreeable to act of Parliament. He asserted his right to do so in

his speech to the Parliament, on 9th November, 1685; he despised the

remonstrances of both Houses, upon so flagrant and open a violation of

the law; and he endeavoured, by a packed bench, and a feigned action

at law, to extort a judicial ratification of his dispensing power. At

length, not contented with granting dispensations to individuals, the

king resolved at once to suspend the operation of all penal statutes,

which required conformity with the church of England, as well as of the

test act.

On the 4th of April, 1687, came forth the memorable Declaration of

Indulgence, in favour of all non-conformists of whatever persuasion;

by which they were not only protected in the full exercise of their

various forms of religion, but might, without conformity, be admitted

to all offices in the state. With what consequences this act of

absolute power was attended, the history of the Revolution makes

us fully acquainted; for it is surely unnecessary to add, that the

indulgence occasioned the petition and trial of the bishops, the most

important incident in that momentous period.

About a fortnight after the publishing of this declaration of

indulgence, our author's poem made its appearance; being licensed

on the 11th April, 1687, and published a few days after. If it was

undertaken without the knowledge of the court, it was calculated,

on its appearance, to secure the royal countenance and approbation.

Accordingly, as soon as it was published in England, a second edition

was thrown off at a printing office in Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh, then

maintained for the express purpose of disseminating such treatises as

were best calculated to serve the Catholic cause.[71] If the Protestant

dissenters ever cast their eyes upon profane poetry, "The Hind and the

Panther" must have appeared to them a perilous commentary on the king's

declaration; since it shows clearly, that the Catholic interest alone

was what the Catholic king and poet had at heart, and that, however

the former might now find himself obliged to court their favour,

to strengthen his party against the established church, the deep

remembrance of ancient feuds and injuries was still cherished, and the

desire of vengeance on the fanatics neither sated nor subdued.

In composing this poem, it may be naturally presumed, that Dryden

exerted his full powers. He was to justify, in the eyes of the world,

a step which is always suspicious; and, by placing before the public

the arguments by which he had been induced to change his religion,

he was at once to exculpate himself, and induce others to follow his

example. He chose, for the mode of conveying this instruction, that

parabolical form of writing, which took its rise perhaps in the East,

or rather which, in a greater or less degree, is common to all nations.

An old author observes, that there is "no species of four-footed

beasts, of birds, of fish, of insects, reptiles, or any other living

things, whose nature is not found in man. How exactly agreeable to the

fox are some men's tempers; whilst others are profest bears in human

shape. Here you shall meet a crocodile, who seeks, with feigned tears,

to entrap you to your ruin; there a serpent creeps, and winds himself

into your affections, till, on a sudden, when warmed with favours, he

will bite and sting you to death. Tygers, lions, leopards, panthers,

wolves, and all the monstrous generations of Africa, may be seen

masquerading in the forms of men; and 'tis not hard for an observing

mind to see their natural complexions through the borrowed vizard."[72]

Dryden conceived the idea, of extending to religious communities the

supposed resemblance between man and the lower animals. Under the

name of a "milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged," he described

the unity, simplicity, and innocence of the church, to which he had

become a convert; and under that of a Panther, fierce and inexorable

towards those of a different persuasion, he bodied forth the church

of England, obstinate in defending its pale from encroachment, by the

penal statutes and the test act.[73] There wanted not critics to tell

him, that he had mistaken the character of either communion.[74] The

inferior sects are described under the emblem of various animals,

fierce and disgusting in proportion to their more remote affinity

to the church of Rome. And in a dialogue between the two principal

characters, the leading arguments of the controversy between the

churches, at least what the poet chose to consider as such, are

formally discussed.

But Dryden's plan is far from coming within the limits of a fable or

parable, strictly so called; for it is strongly objected, that the

poet has been unable to avoid confounding the real churches themselves

with the Hind and the Panther, under which they are represented. "The

hind," as Johnson observes, "at one time is afraid to drink at the

common brook, because she may be worried; but, walking home with the

panther, talks by the way of the Nicene fathers, and at last declares

herself to be the Catholic church." And the same critic complains,

"that the king is now Cæsar, and now the lion, and that the name Pan is

given to the Supreme Being." "The Hind and Panther transversed, or the

City and Country Mouse," which was written in ridicule of this poem,

turns chiefly upon the incongruity of the emblems adopted by Dryden,

and the inconsistencies into which his plan had led him.[75] This

ridicule, and the criticism on which it is founded, seems, however, to

be carried a little too far. If a fable, or parable, is to be entirely

and exclusively limited to a detail which may suit the common actions

and properties of the animals, or things introduced in it, we strike

out from the class some which have always been held the most beautiful

examples of that style of fiction. It is surely as easy to conceive a

Hind and Panther discussing points of religion, as that the trees of

the forest should assemble together to chuse a king, invite different

trees to accept of that dignity, and, finally, make choice of a

bramble. Yet no one ever hesitates to pronounce Jotham's Parable of

the Trees one of the finest which ever was written. Or what shall we

say of one of the most common among Æsop's apologues, which informs us

in the outset, that the lion, the ox, the sheep, and the ass, went a

hunting together, on condition of dividing equally whatever should be

caught? Yet this and many other fables, in which the animals introduced

act altogether contrary to their nature, are permitted to rank without

censure in the class which they assume. Nay, it may be questioned

whether the most proper fables are not those in which the animals are

introduced as acting upon the principles of mankind. For instance,

if an author be compared to a daw, it is no fable, but a simile; but

if a tale be told of a daw who dressed himself in borrowed feathers,

a thing naturally impossible, the simile becomes a proper fable.

Perhaps, therefore, it is sufficient for the fabulist, if he can point

out certain original and leading features of resemblance betwixt his

emblems, and that which they are intended to represent, and he may be

permitted to take considerable latitude in their farther approximation.

It may be farther urged in Dryden's behalf, that the older poets whom

he professed to imitate, Spenser, for example, in "Mother Hubbart's

Tale," which he has actually quoted, and Chaucer, in that of the "Nun's

Priest's tale" have stepped beyond the simplicity of the ancient

fable, and introduced a species of mixed composition, between that and

downright satire. The names and characters of beasts are only assumed

in "Mother Hubbart's Tale," that the satirist might, under that slight

cloak, say with safety what he durst not otherwise have ventured upon;

and in the tale of Chaucer, the learned dialogue about dreams is only

put into the mouths of a cock and hen, to render the ridicule of such

disquisitions more poignant. Had Spenser been asked, why he described

the court of the lion as exactly similar to that of a human prince, and

introduced the fox as composing madrigals for the courtiers? he would

have bidden the querist,

----Yield his sense was all too blunt and base,

That n'ote without a hound fine footing trace.

And if the question had been put to the bard of Woodstock, why, he

made his cock an astrologer, and his hen a physician, he would have

answered, that his satire might become more ludicrous, by putting

these grave speeches into the mouths of such animals. Dryden seems to

have proposed as his model this looser kind of parable; giving his

personages, indeed, the names of the Hind and Panther, but reserving to

himself the privilege of making the supposed animals use the language

and arguments of the communities they were intended to represent. I

must own, however, that this licence appears less pardonable in the

First Part, where he professes to use the majestic turn of heroic

poetry, than in those which are dedicated to argument and satire.

Dryden has, in this very poem, given us two examples of the more

pure and correct species of fable. These, which he terms in the

preface Episodes, are the tale of the Swallows seduced to defer their

emigration, and that of the Pigeons, who chose a Buzzard for their

king.[78] It is remarkable, that, as the former is by much the most

complete story, so, although put in the mouth of a representative of

the heretical church, it proved eventually to contain a truth sorrowful

to our author, and those of the Roman Catholic persuasion: For, while

the Buzzard's elevation (Bishop Burnet by name) was not attended with

any peculiar evil consequences to the church of England, the short

gleam of Popish prosperity was soon overcast, and the priests and their

proselytes plunged in reality into all the distress of the swallows in

the Panther's fable.

In conformity to our author's plan, announced in the preface, the

fable is divided into Three Parts. The First is dedicated to the

general description and character of the religious sects, particularly

the churches of Rome and of England. And here Dryden has used the

more elevated strain of heroic poetry. In the Second, the general

arguments of the controversy between the two churches are agitated,

for which purpose a less magnificent style of language is adopted.

In the Third and last Part, from discussing the disputed points of

theology, the Hind and Panther descend to consider the particulars in

which their temporal interests were judged at this period to interfere

with each other. And here Dryden has lowered the tone of his verse to

that of common conversation. We must admit, with Johnson, that these

distinctions of style are not always accurately adhered to. The First

Part has familiar lines; as, for instance, the four with which it

concludes:

Considering her a civil well-bred beast,

And more a gentlewoman than the rest,

After some common talk, what rumours ran,

The lady of the spotted muff began.

Some passages are not only mean in expression, but border on

profaneness; as,

The smith divine, as with a careless beat,

Struck out the mute creation at a heat;

But when at last arrived to human race,

The Godhead took a deep considering space.

On the other hand, the Third Part has passages in a higher tone of

poetry; particularly the whole character of James in the fable of

the Pigeons and the Buzzard: but it is enough to fulfil the author's

promise in the preface, that the parts do each in general preserve a

peculiar character and style, though occasionally sliding into that of

the others.

It is a main defect of the plan just detailed, that it necessarily

limited the interest of the poem to that crisis of politics when it was

published. A work, which the author announces as calculated to attract

the favour of friends, and to animate the malevolence of enemies, is

now read with cold indifference. He launched forth into a tide of

controversy, which, however furious at the time, has long subsided,

leaving his poem a disregarded wreck, stranded upon the shores which

the surges once occupied.

Setting aside this original defect, the First and Last Parts of the

poem, in particular, abound with passages of excellent poetry. In the

former, it is worthy attention, with what ease and command of his

language and subject Dryden passes from his sublime description of the

immortal Hind, to brand and stigmatise the sectaries by whom she was

hated and persecuted; a rare union of dignity preserved in satire,

and of satire engrafted upon heroic poetry. The reader cannot, at

the same time, fail to observe the felicity with which the poet has

assigned prototypes to the dissenting churches, agreeing in character

with that which he meant to fix upon their several congregations.

The Bear, unlicked to forms, is the emblem of the Independents, who

disclaimed them;[79] the Wolf, which hunts in herds, to the classes and

synods of the Presbyterian church; the Hare, to the peaceful Quakers;

the wild Boar, to the fierce and savage Anabaptists, who ravaged

Germany, the native country of that animal. With similar felicity, the

"bird, who warned St Peter of his fall," is, from that circumstance,

and his nocturnal vigils, afterwards assigned as the representative

of the Catholic clergy. Above all, the attention is arrested by the

pointed description of those dark and sullen enthusiasts, who, scarcely

agreeing among themselves upon any peculiar points of doctrine, rested

their claim to superior sanctity upon abominating and contemning those

usual forms of reverence, by which men, in all countries since the

beginning of the world, have agreed to distinguish public worship from

ordinary or temporal employments. The whole of this First Part of the

poem abounds with excellent poetry, rising above the tone of ordinary

satire, and yet possessing all its poignancy. The difference, to

those against whom it is directed, is like that of being blasted by a

thunder-bolt, instead of being branded with a red-hot iron.

The First Part of "The Hind and Panther," although chiefly dedicated to

general characters, contains some reasoning on the grand controversy,

similar to that which occupies the Second. The author displays, with

the utmost art and energy of argumentative poetry, the reasons by

which he was himself guided in adopting the Roman Catholic faith. He

is led into this discussion, by mentioning the heretical doctrine of

the Unitarians; and insists, that the Protestant churches, which have

consented to postpone human reason to faith, by acquiescing in the

orthodox doctrine of the Trinity, are not entitled to appeal to the

authority which they have waived, for arguments against the mystery

of the real presence in the eucharist. This was a favourite mode

of reasoning of the Catholics at the time, as may be seen from the

numerous treatises which they sent forth upon the controversy. It is

undoubtedly very fit to impose on the vulgar, but completely overshoots

the mark at which it aims. For, if our yielding humble belief to one

abstruse doctrine of divinity be sufficient to debar the exercise of

our reason respecting another, it is obvious, that, by the same reason,

the appeal to our understanding must be altogether laid aside in

matters of doubtful orthodoxy. The Protestant divines, therefore, took

a distinction; and, while they admitted they were obliged to surrender

their human judgment in matters of divine revelation which were above

their reason, they asserted the power of appealing to its guidance in

those things of a finite nature which depend on the evidence of sense,

and the consequent privileges of rejecting any doctrine, which, being

within the sphere of human comprehension, is nevertheless repugnant

to the understanding: therefore, while they received the doctrine

of the Trinity as an infinite mystery, far above their reason, they

contended against that of transubstantiation as capable of being tried

by human faculties, and as contradicted by an appeal to them. In a

subsequent passage, the author taxes the church of England with an

attempt to reconcile contradictions, by admitting the real presence in

the eucharist, and yet denying actual transubstantiation. Dryden boldly

appeals to the positive words of scripture, and sums his doctrine thus:

The literal sense is hard to flesh and blood,

But nonsense never can be understood.

Granting, however, the obscurity or mystery of the one doctrine, it is

a hard choice to be obliged to adopt, in its room, that which asserts

an acknowledged impossibility.

In the Second Part, another point of the controversy is agitated;

the infallibility, namely, which is claimed by the Roman church. The

author appears here to have hampered himself in the toils of his own

argument in a former poem. He had asserted in the "Religio Laici,"

that the Scriptures contained all things necessary for salvation;

while he yet admitted, that those, whose bent inclined them to the

study of polemical divinity, were to be guided by the expositions of

the fathers, and the earlier, especially the written, traditions of

the Church. There is, as has been noticed in the remarks on "Religio

Laici," a certain vacillation in our author's arguments concerning

tradition, while yet a Protestant, which prepares us for his finally

reposing his doubts in the bosom of that church, which pretends to

be the sole depositary of the earlier doctrines of Christianity, and

claims a right to ascertain all doubts in point of faith, by the same

mode, and with the same unerring certainty, as the original church in

the days of the apostles and fathers. These doubts, with which Dryden

seems to have been deeply impressed while within the pale of the Church

of England, he now objects to her as inconsistencies, and accuses

her of having recourse to tradition, or discarding it, as suited the

argument which, for the time, she had in agitation. It is unnecessary

here to trace the various grounds on which reformed churches prove,

that the chain of apostolical tradition has been broken and shivered;

and that the church, claiming the proud title of Infallible, has

repeatedly sanctioned heresy and error. Neither is it necessary to

shew, how the Church of England stops short in her reception of

traditions, adopting only those of the primitive church. Something on

these points may be found in the notes. I may remark, that Dryden is

of the Gallican or _low_ Church of Rome, if I may so speak, and rests

the infallibility which he claims for her in the Pope and Council of

the Church, and not in the Vicar of Christ alone. In point of literary

interest, this Second Part is certainly beneath the other two. It

furnishes, however, an excellent specimen of poetical ratiocination

upon a most unpromising subject.