famous for its Druids; but sometimes, as in this place, it is given to
the Isle of Man. Both these isles still retain much of the genius of
superstition, and are now the only places where there is the least
chance of finding a fairy.
ODE TO A LADY,
ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL ROSS, IN THE ACTION OF FONTENOY.
The iambic kind of numbers in which this ode is conceived seems as well
calculated for tender and plaintive subjects, as for those where
strength or rapidity is required.--This, perhaps, is owing to the
repetition of the strain in the same stanza; for sorrow rejects variety,
and affects a uniformity of complaint. It is needless to observe, that
this ode is replete with harmony, spirit, and pathos; and there surely
appears no reason why the seventh and eighth stanzas should be omitted
in that copy printed in Dodsley's Collection of Poems.
ODE TO EVENING.
The blank ode has for some time solicited admission into the English
poetry; but its efforts, hitherto, seem to have been in vain, at least
its reception has been no more than partial. It remains a question,
then, whether there is not something in the nature of blank verse less
adapted to the lyric than to the heroic measure, since, though it has
been generally received in the latter, it is yet unadopted in the
former. In order to discover this, we are to consider the different
modes of these different species of poetry. That of the heroic is
uniform; that of the lyric is various; and in these circumstances of
uniformity and variety probably lies the cause why blank verse has been
successful in the one, and unacceptable in the other. While it presented
itself only in one form, it was familiarized to the ear by custom; but
where it was obliged to assume the different shapes of the lyric muse,
it seemed still a stranger of uncouth figure, was received rather with
curiosity than pleasure, and entertained without that ease or
satisfaction which acquaintance and familiarity produce.--Moreover, the
heroic blank verse obtained a sanction of infinite importance to its
general reception, when it was adopted by one of the greatest poets the
world ever produced, and was made the vehicle of the noblest poem that
ever was written. When this poem at length extorted that applause which
ignorance and prejudice had united to withhold, the versification soon
found its imitators, and became more generally successful than even in
those countries from whence it was imported. But lyric blank verse had
met with no such advantages; for Mr. Collins, whose genius and judgment
in harmony might have given it so powerful an effect, has left us but
one specimen of it in the Ode to Evening.
In the choice of his measure he seems to have had in his eye Horace's
Ode to Pyrrha; for this ode bears the nearest resemblance to that mixed
kind of the asclepiad and pherecratic verse; and that resemblance in
some degree reconciles us to the want of rhyme, while it reminds us of
those great masters of antiquity, whose works had no need of this
whimsical jingle of sounds.
From the following passage one might be induced to think that the poet
had it in view to render his subject and his versification suitable to
each other on this occasion, and that, when he addressed himself to the
sober power of Evening, he had thought proper to lay aside the foppery
of rhyme:
"Now teach me, maid composed,
To breathe some soften'd strain,
Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale,
May not unseemly with its stillness suit,
As, musing slow, I hail
Thy genial loved return!"
But whatever were the numbers or the versification of this ode,
the imagery and enthusiasm it contains could not fail of rendering
it delightful. No other of Mr. Collins's odes is more generally
characteristic of his genius. In one place we discover his passion
for visionary beings:
"For when thy folding-star arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and Elves
Who slept in buds the day,
And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge,
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,
The pensive Pleasures sweet,
Prepare thy shadowy car."
In another we behold his strong bias to melancholy:
"Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene,
Or find some ruin 'midst its dreary dells,
Whose walls more awful nod
By thy religious gleams."
Then appears his taste for what is wildly grand and magnificent in
nature; when, prevented by storms from enjoying his evening walk, he
wishes for a situation,
"That from the mountain's side
Views wilds and swelling floods;"
And through the whole, his invariable attachment to the expression of
painting:
"----and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil."
It might be a sufficient encomium on this beautiful ode to observe, that
it has been particularly admired by a lady to whom nature has given the
most perfect principles of taste. She has not even complained of the
want of rhyme in it; a circumstance by no means unfavourable to the
cause of lyric blank verse; for surely, if a fair reader can endure an
ode without bells and chimes, the masculine genius may dispense with
them.
THE MANNERS.
AN ODE.
From the subject and sentiments of this ode, it seems not improbable
that the author wrote it about the time when he left the university;
when, weary with the pursuit of academical studies, he no longer
confined himself to the search of theoretical knowledge, but commenced
the scholar of humanity, to study nature in her works, and man in
society.
The following farewell to Science exhibits a very just as well as
striking picture: for however exalted in theory the Platonic doctrines
may appear, it is certain that Platonism and Pyrrhonism are nearly
allied:
"Farewell the porch, whose roof is seen,
Arch'd with the enlivening olive's green:
Where Science, prank'd in tissued vest,
By Reason, Pride, and Fancy drest,
Comes like a bride, so trim array'd,
To wed with Doubt in Plato's shade!"
When the mind goes in pursuit of visionary systems, it is not far
from the regions of doubt; and the greater its capacity to think
abstractedly, to reason and refine, the more it will be exposed to,
and bewildered in, uncertainty.--From an enthusiastic warmth of
temper, indeed, we may for a while be encouraged to persist in some
favourite doctrine, or to adhere to some adopted system; but when that
enthusiasm, which is founded on the vivacity of the passions,
gradually cools and dies away with them, the opinions it supported
drop from us, and we are thrown upon the inhospitable shore of
doubt.--A striking proof of the necessity of some moral rule of wisdom
and virtue, and some system of happiness established by unerring
knowledge, and unlimited power.
In the poet's address to Humour in this ode there is one image of
singular beauty and propriety. The ornaments in the hair of Wit are of
such a nature, and disposed in such a manner, as to be perfectly
symbolical and characteristic:
"Me too amidst thy band admit,
There where the young-eyed healthful Wit,
(Whose jewels in his crisped hair
Are placed each other's beams to share,
Whom no delights from thee divide)
In laughter loosed, attends thy side."
Nothing could be more expressive of wit, which consists in a happy
collision of comparative and relative images, than this reciprocal
reflection of light from the disposition of the jewels.
"O Humour, thou whose name is known
To Britain's favour'd isle alone."
The author could only mean to apply this to the time when he wrote,
since other nations had produced works of great humour, as he himself
acknowledges afterwards.
"By old Miletus," &c.
"By all you taught the Tuscan maids," &c.
The Milesian and Tuscan romances were by no means distinguished for
humour; but as they were the models of that species of writing in which
humour was afterwards employed, they are, probably for that reason only,
mentioned here.
THE PASSIONS.
AN ODE FOR MUSIC.
If the music which was composed for this ode had equal merit with the
ode itself, it must have been the most excellent performance of the kind
in which poetry and music have, in modern times, united. Other pieces of
the same nature have derived their greatest reputation from the
perfection of the music that accompanied them, having in themselves
little more merit than that of an ordinary ballad: but in this we have
the whole soul and power of poetry--expression that, even without the
aid of music, strikes to the heart; and imagery of power enough to
transport the attention, without the forceful alliance of corresponding
sounds! what, then, must have been the effect of these united!
It is very observable, that though the measure is the same, in which the
musical efforts of Fear, Anger, and Despair are described, yet, by the
variation of the cadence, the character and operation of each is
strongly expressed: thus particularly of Despair:
"With woful measures wan Despair--
Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled,
A solemn, strange, and mingled air,
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild."
He must be a very unskilful composer who could not catch the power of
imitative harmony from these lines!
The picture of Hope that follows this is beautiful almost beyond
imitation. By the united powers of imagery and harmony, that delightful
being is exhibited with all the charms and graces that pleasure and
fancy have appropriated to her:
Relegat, qui semel percurrit;
Qui nunquam legit, legat.
"But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure!
Still it whisper'd promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!
Still would her touch the strain prolong,
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on Echo still through all the song;
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair."
In what an exalted light does the above stanza place this great master
of poetical imagery and harmony! what varied sweetness of numbers! what
delicacy of judgment and expression! how characteristically does Hope
prolong her strain, repeat her soothing closes, call upon her associate
Echo for the same purposes, and display every pleasing grace peculiar to
her!
"And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair."
Legat, qui nunquam legit;
Qui semel percurrit, relegat.
The descriptions of Joy, Jealousy, and Revenge are excellent, though not
equally so. Those of Melancholy and Cheerfulness are superior to every
thing of the kind; and, upon the whole, there may be very little hazard
in asserting, that this is the finest ode in the English language.
AN EPISTLE
TO SIR THOMAS HANMER, ON HIS EDITION OF SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS.
This poem was written by our author at the university, about the time
when Sir Thomas Hanmer's pompous edition of Shakespeare was printed at
Oxford. If it has not so much merit as the rest of his poems, it has
still more than the subject deserves. The versification is easy and
genteel, and the allusions always poetical. The character of the poet
Fletcher in particular is very justly drawn in this epistle.
DIRGE IN CYMBELINE.
ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMSON.
Mr. Collins had skill to complain. Of that mournful melody, and those
tender images, which are the distinguishing excellencies of such pieces
as bewail departed friendship, or beauty, he was an almost unequaled
master. He knew perfectly to exhibit such circumstances, peculiar to the
objects, as awaken the influences of pity; and while, from his own great
sensibility, he felt what he wrote, he naturally addressed himself to
the feelings of others.
To read such lines as the following, all-beautiful and tender as they
are, without corresponding emotions of pity, is surely impossible:
"The tender thought on thee shall dwell;
Each lonely scene shall thee restore,
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Beloved till life can charm no more,
And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead."
The Ode on the Death of Thomson seems to have been written in an
excursion to Richmond by water. The rural scenery has a proper effect in
an ode to the memory of a poet, much of whose merit lay in descriptions
of the same kind; and the appellations of "Druid," and "meek Nature's
child," are happily characteristic. For the better understanding of this
ode, it is necessary to remember, that Mr. Thomson lies buried in the
church of Richmond.
THE END.
* * * * *
Transcriber Notes
Archaic and variable spelling is preserved.
Author's punctuation style is preserved. Quotes in the poetry are
sometimes repeated on every line, as in the original.
Poetry line numbers regularized.
Footnote 4's location is approximated.
Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_.
Greek transliterations are surrounded by ~tildes~.