There was yet no literary public to appeal to, to save the neglected
work which the great SELDEN had deemed worthy of his studies: but there
was, as the poet indignantly designates them, "a cattle, _odi profanum
vulgus et arceo_, of which I account them, be they never so great." And
"the cattle" conceived that there was nothing in this island worthy
studying. We had not yet learned to esteem ourselves at a time when six
editions of Camden's "Britannia," in the original Latin, were diffusing
the greatness of England throughout Europe.
But though this poet devoted much of his life to this great antiquarian
and topographic poem, he has essayed his powers in almost every species
of poetry; fertility of subject, and fluency of execution, are his
characteristics. He has written historical narratives too historical;
heroic epistles hardly Ovidian; elegies on several occasions, or rather,
domestic epistles, of a Horatian cast; pastorals, in which there is a
freshness of imagery, breathing with the life of nature; and songs, and
satire, and comedy. In comedy he had not been unsuccessful, but in
satire he was considered more indignant than caustic. There is one
species of poetry, rare among us, in which he has been eminently
successful; his "Nymphidia, or Court of Faerie," is a model of the
grotesque, those arabesques of poetry, those lusory effusions on
chimerical objects. There are grave critics who would deny the poet the
liberty allowed to the painter. The "Nymphidia" seems to have been ill
understood by some modern critics. The poet has been censured for
"neither imparting nor feeling that half-believing seriousness which
enchants us in the wild and magical touches of Shakespeare;" but the
poet designed an exquisitely ludicrous fiction. Drayton has, however,
relieved the grotesque scenes, by rising into the higher strains of
poetry, such as Gray might not have disdained.
It was the misfortune of Drayton not to have been a popular poet, which
we may infer from his altercations with his booksellers, and from their
frequent practice of prefixing new title pages, with fresher dates, to
the first editions of his poems. That he was also in perpetual quarrel
with his muse, appears by his frequent alteration of his poems. He often
felt that curse of an infelicitous poet, that his diligence was more
active than his creative power. Drayton was a poet of volume, but his
genius was peculiar; from an unhappy facility in composition, in
reaching excellence he too often declined into mediocrity. A modern
reader may be struck by the purity and strength of his diction; his
strong descriptive manner lays hold of the fancy; but he is always a
poet of reason, and never of passion. He cannot be considered as a poet
of mediocrity, who has written so much above that level; nor a poet who
can rank among the highest class, who has often flattened his spirit by
its redundance.
There was another cause, besides his quarrel with his muse, which threw
a shade over the life of Drayton. He had been forward to greet James the
First, on his accession to the throne of England, with a congratulatory
ode; but for some cause, which has not been revealed, he tells us, "he
suffered shipwreck by his forward pen." The king appears to have
conceived a personal dislike to the bard, a circumstance not usual with
James towards either poets or flatterers. It seems to arise from some
state-matter, for Drayton tells us,