poetry; her voice music, and the excellent colouring and formation of
her features, painting; but still, like yours, drawn by the inimitable
pencil of nature, life itself; a pattern for the greatest master, but
copying after none; I will not say angels are not cast in the same
mould.' And again in another place, 'Pardon, O lovely deity, the
presumption of this address, and favour my weak endeavours. If my
confession of your divine power is any where too faint, believe it not
to proceed from a want of due respect, but of a capacity more than
human. Whoever thinks of you can no longer be himself; and if he could,
ought to be something above man to celebrate the accomplishment of a
goddess. To you I owe my creation as a lover, and in the beams of your
beauty only I live, move, and exist. If there should be a suspension of
your charms, I should fall to nothing. But it seems to be out of your
power to deprive us of their kind influence; wherever you shine they
fill all our hearts, and you are charming out of necessity, as the
author of nature is good.' We have quoted enough to shew the enthusiasm,
or rather phrenzy, of this address, which is written in such a manner as
if it were intended for a burlesque on the False Sublime, as the
speeches of James I. are upon pedantry.
Mr. Croxall, who was intended for holy orders, and, probably, when he
published the Circassian, had really entered into them, was cautious
lest he should be known to be the author of this piece, since many
divines have esteemed the Song of Solomon, from which it is taken, as an
inspired poem, emblematic of the Messiah and the Church. Our author was
of another opinion, and with him almost all sensible men join, in
believing that it is no more than a beautiful poem, composed by that
Eastern monarch, upon some favourite lady in his Seraglio. He artfully
introduces it with a preface, in which he informs us, that it was the
composition of a young gentleman, his pupil, lately deceased, executed
by him, while he was influenced by that violent passion with which Mrs.
Mordaunt inspired him. He then endeavours to ascertain who this Eastern
beauty was, who had charms to enflame the heart of the royal poet. He is
of opinion it could not be Pharaoh's daughter, as has been commonly
conjectured, because the bride in the Canticles is characterised as a
private person, a shepherdess, one that kept a vineyard, and was ill
used by her mother's children, all which will agree very well with
somebody else, but cannot, without great straining, be drawn to fit the
Egyptian Princess. He then proceeds, 'seeing we have so good reason to
conclude that it was not Pharaoh's daughter, we will next endeavour to
shew who she was: and here we are destitute of all manner of light, but
what is afforded us by that little Arabian manuscript, mentioned in the
Philosophical Transactions of Amsterdam, 1558, said to be found in a
marble chest among the ruins of Palmyra, and presented to the university
of Leyden by Dr. Hermanus Hoffman. The contents of which are something
in the nature of Memoirs of the Court of Solomon; giving a sufficient
account of the chief offices and posts in his houshold; of the several
funds of the royal revenue; of the distinct apartments of his palace
there; of the different Seraglios, being fifty two in number in that one
city. Then there is an account given of the Sultanas; their manner of
treatment and living; their birth and country, with some touches of
their personal endowments, how long they continued in favour, and what
the result was of the King's fondness for each of them. Among these,
there is particular mention made of a slave of more exceeding beauty
than had ever been known before; at whose appearance the charms of all
the rest vanished like stars before the morning sun; that the King
cleaved to her with the strongest affection, and was not seen out of the
Seraglio, where she was kept, for about a month. That she was taken
captive, together with her mother, out of a vineyard, on the Coast of
Circassia, by a Corsair of Hiram King of Tyre, and brought to Jerusalem.
It is said, she was placed in the ninth Seraglio, to the east of
Palmyra, which, in the Hebrew tongue, is called Tadmor; which, without
farther particulars, are sufficient to convince us that this was the
charming person, sung with so much rapture by the Royal poet, and in the
recital of whose amour he seems so transported. For she speaks of
herself as one that kept a vineyard, and her mother's introducing her in
one of the gardens of pleasure (as it seems she did at her first
presenting her to the King) is here distinctly mentioned. The manuscript
further takes notice, that she was called Saphira, from the heavenly
blue of her eyes.'
Notwithstanding the caution with which Mr. Croxall published the Fair
Circassian, yet it was some years after known to be his. The success it
met with, which was not indeed above its desert, was perhaps too much
for vanity (of which authors are seldom entirely divested) to resist,
and he might be betrayed into a confession, from that powerful
principle, of what otherwise would have remained concealed.
Some years after it was published, Mr. Cragg, one of the ministers of
the city of Edinburgh, gave the world a small volume of spiritual poems,
in one of which he takes occasion to complain of the prostitution of
genius, and that few poets have ever turned their thoughts towards
religious subjects; and mentions the author of the Circassian with great
indignation, for having prostituted his Muse to the purposes of
lewdness, in converting the Song of Solomon (a work, as he thought it,
of sacred inspiration) into an amorous dialogue between a King and his
mistress. His words are,
Curss'd be he that the Circassian wrote,
Perish his fame, contempt be all his lot,
Who basely durst in execrable strains,
Turn holy mysteries into impious scenes.
The revd. gentleman met with some remonstrances from his friends, for
indulging so splenetic a temper, when he was writing in the cause of
religion, as to wish any man accursed. Of this censure he was not
insensible; in the next edition of his poems, he softened the sarcasm,
by declaring, in a note, that he had no enmity to the author's person,
and that when he wished him accursed, be meant not the man, but the
author, which are two very distinct considerations; for an author may be
accursed, that is, damned to fame, while the man may be in as fair a way
to happiness as any body; but, continues he, I should not have expected
such prophanation from a clergyman.
The Circassian, however, is a beautiful poem, the numbers are generally
smooth, and there is a tender delicacy in the dialogue, though greatly
inferior to the noble original.
Mr. Croxall had not long quitted the university, e'er he was instituted
to the living of Hampton in Middlesex; and afterwards to the united
parishes of St. Mary Somerset, and St. Mary Mounthaw, in the city of
London, both which he held 'till his death. He was also chancellor,
prebend, and canon residentiary and portionist of the church of
Hereford. Towards the latter end of the reign of Queen Anne he published
two original Cantos, in imitation of Spenser's Fairy Queen, which were
meant as a satire on the earl of Oxford's administration. In the year
1715 he addressed a poem to the duke of Argyle, upon his obtaining a
Victory over the Rebels, and the same year published The Vision, a poem,
addressed to the earl of Halifax. He was concerned, with many others, in
the translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, of which the following were
performed by him:
The Story of Nisus and Scylla, from the sixth Book.
The Labyrinth, and Dædalus and Icarus, from the eighth Book.
Part of the Fable of Cyparissus from the tenth Book.
Most part of the eleventh Book, and The Funeral of Memnon, from the
thirteenth Book.
He likewise performed an entire Translation of Æsop's Fables.
Subjoined to the Fair Circassian are several Poems addressed to Sylvia;
Naked Truth, from the second Book of Ovid's Fastorum; Heathen
Priestcraft, from the first Book of Ovid's Fastorum; A Midsummer's Wish;
and an Ode on Florinda, seen while she was Bathing. He is also author of
a curious work, in one Volume Octavo, entitled Scripture Politics: being
a view of the original constitution, and subsequent revolutions in the
government of that people, out of whom the Saviour of the World was to
arise: As it is contained in the Bible.
In consequence of his strong attachment to the Whig interest, he was
made archdeacon of Salop 1732, and chaplain in ordinary to his present
Majesty.
As late as the year 1750, Dr. Croxall published a poem called The Royal
Manual, in the preface to which he endeavours to shew, that it was
composed by Mr. Andrew Marvel, and found amongst his MSS. but the
proprietor declares, that it was written by Dr. Croxall himself. This
was the last of his performances, for he died the year following, in a
pretty advanced age. His abilities, as a poet, we cannot better display,
than by the specimen we are about to quote.
On FLORINDA, Seen while she was Bathing.
Twas summer, and the clear resplendent moon
Shedding far o'er the plains her full-orb'd light,
Among the lesser stars distinctly shone,
Despoiling of its gloom the scanty night,
When, walking forth, a lonely path I took
Nigh the fair border of a purling brook.
Sweet and refreshing was the midnight air,
Whose gentle motions hush'd the silent grove;
Silent, unless when prick'd with wakeful care
Philomel warbled out her tale of love:
While blooming flowers, which in the meadows grew,
O'er all the place their blended odours threw.
Just by, the limpid river's crystal wave,
Its eddies gilt with Phoebe's silver ray,
Still as it flow'd a glittering lustre gave
With glancing gleams that emulate the day;
Yet oh! not half so bright as those that rise
Where young Florinda bends her smiling eyes.
Whatever pleasing views my senses meet,
Her intermingled charms improve the theme;
The warbling birds, the flow'rs that breath so sweet,
And the soft surface of the dimpled stream,
Resembling in the nymph some lovely part,
With pleasures more exalted seize my heart.
Rapt in these thoughts I negligently rov'd,
Imagin'd transports all my soul employ,
When the delightful voice of her I lov'd
Sent thro' the Shades a sound of real joy.
Confus'd it came, with giggling laughter mixt,
And echo from the banks reply'd betwixt.
Inspir'd with hope, upborn with light desire,
To the dear place my ready footsteps tend.
Quick, as when kindling trails of active fire
Up to their native firmament ascend:
There shrouded in the briers unseen I stood,
And thro' the leaves survey'd the neighb'ring flood.
Florinda, with two sister nymphs, undrest,
Within the channel of the cooly tide,
By bathing sought to sooth her virgin breast,
Nor could the night her dazzling beauties hide;
Her features, glowing with eternal bloom,
Darted, like Hesper, thro' the dusky gloom.
Her hair bound backward in a spiral wreath
Her upper beauties to my sight betray'd;
The happy stream concealing those beneath,
Around her waste with circling waters play'd;
Who, while the fair one on his bosom sported,
Her dainty limbs with liquid kisses courted.
A thousand Cupids with their infant arms
Swam padling in the current here and there;
Some, with smiles innocent, remarked the charms
Of the regardless undesigning fair;
Some, with their little Eben bows full-bended,
And levell'd shafts, the naked girl defended.
Her eyes, her lips, her breasts exactly round,
Of lilly hue, unnumber'd arrows sent;
Which to my heart an easy passage found,
Thrill'd in my bones, and thro' my marrow went:
Some bubbling upward thro' the water came,
Prepar'd by fancy to augment my flame.
Ah love! how ill I bore thy pleasing pain?
For while the tempting scene so near I view'd,
A fierce impatience throb'd in every vein,
Discretion fled and reason lay subdu'd;
My blood beat high, and with its trembling made
A strange commotion in the rustling shade.
Fear seiz'd the tim'rous Naiads, all aghast
Their boding spirits at the omen sink,
Their eyes they wildly on each other cast,
And meditate to gain the farther brink;
When in I plung'd, resolving to asswage
In the cool gulph love's importuning rage.
Ah, stay Florinda (so I meant to speak)
Let not from love the loveliest object fly!
But ere I spoke, a loud combining squeak
From shrilling voices pierc'd the distant sky:
When straight, as each was their peculiar care,
Th' immortal pow'rs to bring relief prepare.
A golden cloud descended from above,
Like that which whilom hung on Ida's brow,
Where Juno, Pallas, and the queen of love,
As then to Paris, were conspicuous now.
Each goddess seiz'd her fav'rite charge, and threw
Around her limbs a robe of azure hue.
But Venus, who with pity saw my flame
Kindled by her own Amorer so bright,
Approv'd in private what she seem'd to blame,
And bless'd me with a vision of delight:
Careless she dropt Florinda's veil aside,
That nothing might her choicest beauties hide.
I saw Elysium and the milky way
Fair-opening to the shades beneath her breast;
In Venus' lap the struggling wanton lay,
And, while she strove to hide, reveal'd the rest.
A mole, embrown'd with no unseemly grace,
Grew near, embellishing the sacred place.
So pleas'd I view'd, as one fatigu'd with heat,
Who near at hand beholds a shady bower,
Joyful, in hope-amidst the kind retreat
To shun the day-star in his noon-tide hour;
Or as when parch'd with droughty thirst he spies
A mossy grot whence purest waters rise.
So I Florinda--but beheld in vain:
Like Tantalus, who in the realms below
Sees blushing fruits, which to increase his pain,
When he attempts to eat, his taste forego.
O Venus! give me more, or let me drink
Of Lethe's fountain, and forget to think.
* * * * *
The Revd. Mr. CHRISTOPHER PITT,
The celebrated translator of Virgil, was born in the year 1699. He
received his early education in the college near Winchester; and in 1719
was removed from thence to new college in Oxford. When he had studied
there four years, he was preferred to the living of Pimperne in
Dorsetshire, by his friend and relation, Mr. George Pitt; which he held
during the remaining part of his life. While he was at the university,
he possessed the affection and esteem of all who knew him; and was
particularly distinguished by that great poet Dr. Young, who so much
admired the early displays of his genius, that with an engaging
familiarity he used to call him his son.
Amongst the first of Mr. Pitt's performances which saw the light, were a
panegyric on lord Stanhope, and a poem on the Plague of Marseilles: But
he had two large Folio's of MS. Poems, very fairly written out, while he
was a school-boy, which at the time of election were delivered to the
examiners. One of these volumes contained an entire translation of
Lucan; and the other consisted of Miscellaneous pieces. Mr. Pitt's Lucan
has never been published; perhaps from the consideration of its being
the production of his early life, or from a consciousness of its not
equalling the translation of that author by Rowe, who executed this talk
in the meridian of his genius. Several of his other pieces were
published afterwards, in his volume of Miscellaneous Poems.
The ingenious writer of the Student hath obliged the world by inferring
in that work several original pieces by Mr. Pitt; whose name is prefixed
to them.
Next to his beautiful Translation of Virgil, Mr. Pitt gained the
greatest reputation by rendering into English, Vida's Art of Poetry,
which he has executed with the strictest attention to the author's
sense, with the utmost elegance of versification, and without suffering
the noble spirit of the original to be lost in his translation.
This amiable poet died in the year 1748, without leaving one enemy
behind him. On his tombstone were engraved these words,
"He lived innocent, and died beloved."
Mr. Auditor Benson, who in a pamphlet of his writing, has treated
Dryden's translation of Virgil with great contempt, was yet charmed with
that by Mr. Pitt, and found in it some beauties, of which he was fond
even to a degree of enthusiasm. Alliteration is one of those beauties
Mr. Benson so much admired, and in praise of which he has a long
dissertation in his letters on translated verse. He once took an
opportunity, in conversation with Mr. Pitt, to magnify that beauty, and
to compliment him upon it. Mr. Pitt thought this article far less
considerable than Mr. Benson did; but says he, 'since you are so fond of
alliteration, the following couplet upon Cardinal Woolsey will not
displease you,
'Begot by butchers, but by bishops bred,
How high his honour holds his haughty head.
Benson was no doubt charmed to hear his favourite grace in poetry so
beautifully exemplified, which it certainly is, without any affectation
or stiffness. Waller thought this a beauty; and Dryden was very fond of
it. Some late writers, under the notion of imitating these two great
versifiers in this point, run into downright affectation, and are guilty
of the most improper and ridiculous expressions, provided there be but
an alliteration. It is very remarkable, that an affectation of this
beauty is ridiculed by Shakespear, in Love's Labour Lost, Act II. where
the Pedant Holofernes says,
I will something affect the letter, for it argues facility.--
The praiseful princess pierced, and prickt.--
Mr. Upton, in his letter concerning Spencer, observes, that alliteration
is ridiculed too in Chaucer, in a passage which every reader does not
understand.
The Ploughman's Tale is written, in some measure, in imitation of
Pierce's Ploughman's Visions; and runs chiefly upon some one letter, or
at least many stanza's have this affected iteration, as
A full sterne striefe is stirr'd now,--
For some be grete grown on grounde.
When the Parson therefore in his order comes to tell his tale, which
reflected on the clergy, he says,
--I am a southern man,
I cannot jest, rum, ram, riff, by letter,
And God wote, rime hold I but little better.
Ever since the publication of Mr. Pitt's version of the Aeneid, the
learned world has been divided concerning the just proportion of merit,
which ought to be ascribed to it. Some have made no scruple in defiance
of the authority of a name, to prefer it to Dryden's, both in exactness,
as to his author's sense, and even in the charms of poetry. This
perhaps, will be best discovered by producing a few shining passages of
the Aeneid, translated by these two great masters.
In biographical writing, the first and most essential principal is
candour, which no reverence for the memory of the dead, nor affection
for the virtues of the living should violate. The impartiality which we
have endeavoured to observe through this work, obliges us to declare,
that so far as our judgment may be trusted, the latter poet has done
most justice to Virgil; that he mines in Pitt with a lustre, which
Dryden wanted not power, but leisure to bestow; and a reader, from
Pitt's version, will both acquire a more intimate knowledge of Virgil's
meaning, and a more exalted idea of his abilities.--Let not this detract
from the high representations we have endeavoured in some other places
to make of Dryden. When he undertook Virgil, he was stooping with age,
oppressed with wants, and conflicting with infirmities. In this
situation, it was no wonder that much of his vigour was lost; and we
ought rather to admire the amazing force of genius, which was so little
depressed under all these calamities, than industriously to dwell on his
imperfections.
Mr. Spence in one of his chapters on Allegory, in his Polymetis, has
endeavoured to shew, how very little our poets have understood the
allegories of the antients, even in their translations of them; and has
instanced Mr. Dryden's translation of the Aeneid, as he thought him one
of our most celebrated poets. The mistakes are very numerous, and some
of them unaccountably gross. Upon this, says Mr. Warton, "I was desirous
to examine Mr. Pitt's translation of the same passages; and was
surprized to find near fifty instances which Mr. Spence has given of
Dryden's mistakes of that kind, when Mr. Pitt had not fallen into above
three or four." Mr. Warton then produces some instances, which we shall
not here transcribe, as it will be more entertaining to our readers to
have a few of the most shining passages compared, in which there is the
highest room for rising to a blaze of poetry.
There are few strokes in the whole Aeneid, which have been more admired
than Virgil's description of the Lake of Avernus, Book VI.
Spelunca alta fuit, vastoque immanis hiatu,
Scrupea, tuta lacu nigro, nemorumque tenebris;
Quam super haud ullæ poterant impune volantes.
Tendere iter pennis; talis sese halitus atris,
Faucibus effundens supera ad convexa ferebat:
Unde locum Graii dixerunt nomine Aornon.
Quatuor hic primum nigrantes terga juvencos
Constituit, frontique invergit vina sacerdos;
Et, summas carpens media inter cornua setas,
Ignibus imponit sacris libarmina prima,
Voce vocans Hecaten, cæloque ereboque potentem.
DRYDEN.
Deep was the cave; and downward as it went,
From the wide mouth, a rocky wide descent;
And here th'access a gloomy grove defends;
And there th'innavigable lake extends.
O'er whose unhappy waters, void of light,
No bird presumes to steer his airy flight;
Such deadly stenches from the depth arise,
And steaming sulphur that infects the skies.
From hence the Grecian bards their legends make,
And give the name Aornus to the lake.
Four fable bullocks in the yoke untaught,
For sacrifice, the pious hero brought.
The priestess pours the wine betwixt their horns:
Then cuts the curling hair, that first oblation burns,
Invoking Hecate hither to repair;
(A powerful name in hell and upper air.)
PITT.
Deep, deep, a cavern lies, devoid of light,
All rough with rocks, and horrible to sight;
Its dreadful mouth is fenc'd with sable floods,
And the brown horrors of surrounding woods.
From its black jaws such baleful vapours rise,
Blot the bright day, and blast the golden skies,
That not a bird can stretch her pinions there,
Thro' the thick poisons, and incumber'd air,
But struck by death, her flagging pinions cease;
And hence Aornus was it call'd by Greece.
Hither the priestess, four black heifers led,
Between their horns the hallow'd wine she shed;
From their high front the topmost hairs she drew,
And in the flames the first oblations threw.
Then calls on potent Hecate, renown'd
In Heav'n above, and Erebus profound.
The next instance we shall produce, in which, as in the former, Mr. Pitt
has greatly exceeded Dryden, is taken from Virgil's description of
Elysium, which says Dr. Trap is so charming, that it is almost Elysium
to read it.
His demum exactis, perfecto munere divæ,
Devenere locos lætos, & amoena vireta
Fortunatorum nemorum, sedesque beatas.
Largior hic campos æther & lumine vestit
Purpureo; solemque suum, sua sidera norunt.
Pars in gramineis exercent membra palæstris,
Contendunt ludo, & fulva luctanter arena:
Pars pedibus plaudunt choreas, & carmina dicunt.
Necnon Threicius longa cum veste sacerdos
Obloquitur numeris septem discrimina vocum:
Jamque eadem digitis, jam pectine pulsat eburno.
PITT.
These rites compleat, they reach the flow'ry plains,
The verdant groves, where endless pleasure reigns.
Here glowing Æther shoots a purple ray,
And o'er the region pours a double day.
From sky to sky th'unwearied splendour runs,
And nobler planets roll round brighter suns.
Some wrestle on the sands, and some in play
And games heroic pass the hours away.
Those raise the song divine, and these advance
In measur'd steps to form the solemn dance.
There Orpheus graceful in his long attire,
In seven divisions strikes the sounding lyre;
Across the chords the quivering quill he flings,
Or with his flying fingers sweeps the strings.
DRYDEN.
These holy rites perform'd, they took their way,
Where long extended plains of pleasure lay.
The verdant fields with those of heav'n may vie;
With Æther veiled, and a purple sky:
The blissful seats of happy souls below;
Stars of their own, and their own suns they know.
Their airy limbs in sports they exercise,
And on the green contend the wrestlers prize.
Some in heroic verse divinely sing,
Others in artful measures lead the ring.
The Thracian bard surrounded by the rest,
There stands conspicuous in his flowing vest.
His flying fingers, and harmonious quill,
Strike seven distinguish'd notes, and seven at once they fill.
In the celebrated description of the swiftness of Camilla in the VIIth
Aeneid, which Virgil has laboured with so much industry, Dryden is more
equal to Pitt than in the foregoing instances, tho' we think even in
this he falls short of him.
Illa vel intactæ segetis per summa volaret
Gramina, nec teneras curfu læsisset aristas:
Vel mare per medium, fluctu suspensa tumenti
Ferret iter; celeres nec tingeret æquore plantas.
DRYDEN.