608.---WHETHER GOOD VERSE or NATURE is THE FRUIT,
OR RAIS'D BY ART, HAS LONG BEEN IN DISPUTE.]
In writing precepts for poetry to _young persons_, this question could
not be forgotten. Horace therefore, to prevent the Pisos from falling
into a fatal error, by too much confidence in their Genius, asserts
most decidedly, that Nature and Art must both conspire to form a Poet.
DACIER.
The Duke of Buckingham has taken up this subject very happily.
_Number and Rhyme,_ and that harmonious found,
Which never _does_ the ear with harshness wound,
Are necessary, yet but vulgar arts;
For all in vain these superficial parts
Contribute to the structure of the whole,
Without a GENIUS too; for that's the Soul!
A spirit, which inspires the work throughout,
As that of Nature moves the world about.
As all is dullness, where the Fancy's bad,
So without Judgement, Fancy is but mad:
And Judgement has a boundless influence,
Not only in the choice of words, or sense,
But on the world, on manners, and on men;
Fancy is but the feather of the pen:
Reason is that substantial useful part,
Which gains the head, while t'other wins the heart.
Essay on Poetry.
626.---As the fly hawker, &t. Various Commentator concur in marking the
personal application of this passage.
Faithful friends are necessary, to apprise a Poet of his errors: but
such friends are rare, and difficult to be distinguished by rich and
powerful Poets, like the Pisos. DACIER.
Pisonem admonet, ut minime hoc genus divitum poetarum imitetur,
neminemque vel jam pranfum, aut donatum, ad fuorum carminum emendationem
admittat neque enim poterit ille non vehementer laudare, etiamsi
vituperanda videantur. DE NORES.
In what sense Roscommon, the Translator of this Epistle, understood this
passage, the following lines from another of his works will testify.
I pity from my foul unhappy men,
Compell'd by want to prostitute their pen:
Who must, like lawyers, either starve or plead,
And follow, right or wrong, where guineas lead:
But you, POMPILIAN, wealthy, pamper'd Heirs,
Who to your country owe your swords and cares,
Let no vain hope your easy mind seduce!
For rich ill poets are without excuse.
"Tis very dang'rous, tamp'ring with a Muse;
The profit's small, and you have much to lose:
For tho' true wit adorns your birth, or place,
Degenerate lines degrade th' attainted race."
Essay on Translated Verse.