Dr. Johnson, in his "Life of Swift," after citing with approval Delany's
character of him, as he describes him to Lord Orrery, proceeds to say:
"In the poetical works there is not much upon which the critic can
exercise his powers. They are often humorous, almost always light, and
have the qualities which recommend such compositions, easiness and
gaiety. They are, for the most part, what their author intended. The
diction is correct, the numbers are smooth, and the rhymes exact. There
seldom occurs a hard laboured expression or a redundant epithet; all his
verses exemplify his own definition of a good style--they consist of
'proper words in proper places.'"
Of his earliest poems it is needless to say more than that if nothing
better had been written by him than those Pindaric Pieces, after the
manner of Cowley--then so much in vogue--the remark of Dryden, "Cousin
Swift, you will never be a Poet," would have been fully justified. But
conventional praise and compliments were foreign to his nature, for his
strongest characteristic was his intense sincerity. He says of himself
that about that time he had writ and burnt and writ again upon all manner
of subjects more than perhaps any man in England; and it is certainly
remarkable that in so doing his true genius was not sooner developed, for
it was not till he became chaplain in Lord Berkeley's household that his
satirical humour was first displayed--at least in verse--in "Mrs. Frances
Harris' Petition."--His great prose satires, "The Tale of a Tub," and
"Gulliver's Travels," though planned, were reserved to a later time.--In
other forms of poetry he soon afterwards greatly excelled, and the title
of poet cannot be refused to the author of "Baucis and Philemon"; the
verses on "The Death of Dr. Swift"; the "Rhapsody on Poetry"; "Cadenus
and Vanessa"; "The Legion Club"; and most of the poems addressed to
Stella, all of which pieces exhibit harmony, invention, and imagination.
Swift has been unduly censured for the coarseness of his language upon
Certain topics; but very little of this appears in his earlier poems, and
what there is, was in accordance with the taste of the period, which
never hesitated to call a spade a spade, due in part to the reaction from
the Puritanism of the preceding age, and in part to the outspeaking
frankness which disdained hypocrisy. It is shown in Dryden, Pope, Prior,
of the last of whom Johnson said that no lady objected to have his poems
in her library; still more in the dramatists of that time, whom Charles
Lamb has so humorously defended, and in the plays of Mrs. Aphra Behn,
who, as Pope says, "fairly puts all characters to bed." But whatever
coarseness there may be in some of Swift's poems, such as "The Lady's
Dressing Room," and a few other pieces, there is nothing licentious,
nothing which excites to lewdness; on the contrary, such pieces create
simply a feeling of repulsion. No one, after reading the "Beautiful young
Nymph going to bed," or "Strephon and Chloe," would desire any personal
acquaintance with the ladies, but there is a moral in these pieces, and
the latter poem concludes with excellent matrimonial advice. The
coarseness of some of his later writings must be ascribed to his
misanthropical hatred of the "animal called man," as expressed in his
famous letter to Pope of September 1725, aggravated as it was by his
exile from the friends he loved to a land he hated, and by the reception
he met with there, about which he speaks very freely in his notes to the
"Verses on his own Death."
On the morning of Swift's installation as Dean, the following scurrilous
lines by Smedley, Dean of Clogher, were affixed to the doors of St.
Patrick's Cathedral:
To-day this Temple gets a Dean
Of parts and fame uncommon,
Us'd both to pray and to prophane,
To serve both God and mammon.
When Wharton reign'd a Whig he was;
When Pembroke--that's dispute, Sir;
In Oxford's time, what Oxford pleased,
Non-con, or Jack, or Neuter.
This place he got by wit and rhime,
And many ways most odd,
And might a Bishop be in time,
Did he believe in God.
Look down, St. Patrick, look, we pray,
On thine own church and steeple;
Convert thy Dean on this great day,
Or else God help the people.
And now, whene'er his Deanship dies,
Upon his stone be graven,
A man of God here buried lies,
Who never thought of heaven.
It was by these lines that Smedley earned for himself a niche in "The
Dunciad." For Swift's retaliation, see the poems relating to Smedley at
the end of the first volume, and in volume ii, at p. 124, note.
This bitterness of spirit reached its height in "Gulliver's Travels,"
surely the severest of all satires upon humanity, and writ, as he tells
us, not to divert, but to vex the world; and ultimately, in the fierce
attack upon the Irish Parliament in the poem entitled "The Legion Club,"
dictated by his hatred of tyranny and oppression, and his consequent
passion for exhibiting human nature in its most degraded aspect.
But, notwithstanding his misanthropical feelings towards mankind in
general, and his "scorn of fools by fools mistook for pride," there never
existed a warmer or sincerer friend to those whom he loved--witness the
regard in which he was held by Oxford, Bolingbroke, Pope, Gay, Arbuthnot,
and Congreve, and his readiness to assist those who needed his help,
without thought of party or politics. Although, in some of his poems,
Swift rather severely exposed the follies and frailties of the fair sex,
as in "The Furniture of a Woman's Mind," and "The Journal of a Modern
Lady," he loved the companionship of beautiful and accomplished women,
amongst whom he could count some of his dearest and truest friends; but
He loved to be bitter at
A lady illiterate;
and therefore delighted in giving them literary instruction, most notably
in the cases of Stella and Vanessa, whose relations with him arose
entirely from the tuition in letters which they received from him. Again,
when on a visit at Sir Arthur Acheson's, he insisted upon making Lady
Acheson read such books as he thought fit to advise, and in the doggerel
verses entitled "My Lady's Lamentation," she is supposed to resent his
"very imperious" manner of instruction:
No book for delight
Must come in my sight;
But instead of new plays,
Dull Bacon's Essays,
And pore every day on
That nasty Pantheon.
As a contrast to his imperiousness, there is an affectionate simplicity
in the fancy names he used to bestow upon his female friends. Sir William
Temple's wife, Dorothea, became Dorinda; Esther Johnson, Stella; Hester
Vanhomrigh, Vanessa; Lady Winchelsea, Ardelia; while to Lady Acheson he
gave the nicknames of Skinnybonia, Snipe, and Lean. But all was taken by
them in good part; for his rather dictatorial ways were softened by the
fascinating geniality and humour which he knew so well how to employ when
he used to "deafen them with puns and rhyme."
Into the vexed question of the relations between Swift and Stella I do
not purpose to enter further than to record my conviction that she was
never more to him than "the dearest friend that ever man had." The
suggestion of a concealed marriage is so inconsistent with their whole
conduct to each other from first to last, that if there had been such a
marriage, instead of Swift having been, as he was, a man of _intense
sincerity_, he must be held to have been a most consummate hypocrite.
In my opinion, Churton Collins settled this question in his essays on
Swift, first published in the "Quarterly Review," 1881 and 1882. Swift's
relation with Vanessa is the saddest episode in his life. The story is
amply told in his poem, "Cadenus and Vanessa," and in the letters which
passed between them: how the pupil became infatuated with her tutor; how
the tutor endeavoured to dispel her passion, but in vain, by reason; and
how, at last, she died from love for the man who was unable to give love
in return. That Swift ought, as soon as Hester disclosed her passion for
him, at once to have broken off the intimacy, must be conceded; but how
many men possessed of his kindness of heart would have had the courage to
have acted otherwise than he did? Swift seems, in fact, to have been
constitutionally incapable of the _passion_ of love, for he says,
himself, that he had never met the woman he wished to marry. His annual
tributes to Stella on her birthdays express the strongest regard and
esteem, but he "ne'er admitted love a guest," and he had been so long
used to this Platonic affection, that he had come to regard women as
friends, but never as lovers. Stella, on her part, had the same feeling,
for she never expressed the least discontent at her position, or ever
regarded Swift otherwise than as her tutor, her counsellor, her friend.
In her verses to him on his birthday, 1721, she says:
Long be the day that gave you birth
Sacred to friendship, wit, and mirth;
Late dying may you cast a shred
Of your rich mantle o'er my head;
To bear with dignity my sorrow
One day alone, then die tomorrow.
Stella naturally expected to survive Swift, but it was not to be. She
died in the evening of the 28th January 1727-8; and on the same night he
began the affecting piece, "On the Death of Mrs. Johnson." (See "Prose
Works," vol. xi.)
With the death of Stella, Swift's real happiness ended, and he became
more and more possessed by the melancholy which too often accompanies the
broadest humour, and which, in his case, was constitutional. It was, no
doubt, to relieve it, that he resorted to the composition of the doggerel
verses, epigrams, riddles, and trifles exchanged betwixt himself and
Sheridan, which induced Orrery's remark that "Swift composing Riddles is
Titian painting draught-boards;" on which Delany observes that "a Riddle
may be as fine painting as any other in the world. It requires as strong
an imagination, as fine colouring, and as exact a proportion and keeping
as any other historical painting"; and he instances "Pethox the Great,"
and should also have alluded to the more learned example--"Louisa to
Strephon."
On Orrery's seventh Letter, Delany says that if some of the "coin is
base," it is the fine impression and polish which adds value to it, and
cites the saying of another nobleman, that "there is indeed some stuff
in it, but it is Swift's stuff." It has been said that Swift has never
taken a thought from any writer ancient or modern. This is not literally
true, but the instances are not many, and in my notes I have pointed out
the lines snatched from Milton, Denham, Butler--the last evidently a
great favourite.
It seems necessary to state shortly the causes of Swift not having
obtained higher preferment. Besides that Queen Anne would never be
reconciled to the author of the "Tale of a Tub"--the true purport of
which was so ill-understood by her--he made an irreconcilable enemy of
her friend, the Duchess of Somerset, by his lampoon entitled "The Windsor
Prophecy." But Swift seldom allowed prudence to restrain his wit and
humour, and admits of himself that he "had too much satire in his vein";
and that "a genius in the reverend gown must ever keep its owner down";
and says further:
Humour and mirth had place in all he writ;
He reconciled divinity and wit.
But that was what his enemies could not do.
Whatever the excellences and defects of the poems, Swift has erected, not
only by his works, but by his benevolence and his charities, a
_monumentum aere perennius,_ and his writings in prose and verse
will continue to afford instruction and delight when the malevolence of
Jeffrey, the misrepresentations of Macaulay, and the sneers and false
statements of Thackeray shall have been forgotten.
#POEMS OF JONATHAN SWIFT#
ODE TO DOCTOR WILLIAM SANCROFT[1]
LATE LORD BISHOP OF CANTERBURY
WRITTEN IN MAY, 1689,
AT THE DESIRE OF THE LATE LORD BISHOP OF ELY
I
Truth is eternal, and the Son of Heaven,
Bright effluence of th'immortal ray,
Chief cherub, and chief lamp, of that high sacred Seven,
Which guard the throne by night, and are its light by day;
First of God's darling attributes,
Thou daily seest him face to face,
Nor does thy essence fix'd depend on giddy circumstance
Of time or place,
Two foolish guides in every sublunary dance;
How shall we find Thee then in dark disputes?
How shall we search Thee in a battle gain'd,
Or a weak argument by force maintain'd?
In dagger contests, and th'artillery of words,
(For swords are madmen's tongues, and tongues are madmen's swords,)
Contrived to tire all patience out,
And not to satisfy the doubt?