Dr. Johnson has spoken admirably of Dryden's distinguishing qualities and faculties, but when he comes to assign him his rank among poets, he betrays not so much a partiality for Dryden, as an utter ignorance of the greatness, an insensibility to the sweetness, a blindness to the grace and beauty of Dryden's predecessors. Perhaps the lateritiam invenit refers only to the current literature, and particularly the couplet writings at the era of Dryden's début, but even then the assertion will be overstrained. Much more truly might it be said, auream invenit, lateritiam reliquit,—he found it gold, and left it pinchbeck; for though this could not be said of his own writings, it is satirically true of general literature influenced by his predominance. No constellation in any horoscope he ever cast had a more malign aspect. Had our poetry at the Restoration been what the French was in the age of Richelieu,— had we possessed no greater poets than Ronsard, Bellay, or Garnier, English literature would have been just as cold and passionless as French serious verse became under the tyranny of Louis XIV., while we should not have acquired the light counterpoise of French elegance and vivid superficiality. We should have been bad second-hand Frenchmen. But, heaven be praised, we had Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspeare, and Milton, to say nothing of Ben Jonson, Donne, Fletcher, Cowley, and a hundred others, who could not be shoved aside by any change of fashion or taste. Our national genius had attained that healthy, youthful manhood, which can bear shocks and indulgences fatal at an earlier, or much later period. At Dryden's death was there one living poet? Hardly one, for Pope was a mere boy. Addison and Congreve were decidedly no poets, whatever their merit as coryphæi, each after their kind, of two species of comedy. I know not whether Tickle had appeared. Prior was the best living writer of verse, and even his claims to the title of poet are very disputable. Dryden was a writer quite in Dr. Johnson's way. His harmony was within the compass of the Doctor's ear; his strong sense and vigorous wit were Johnsonic: his remarks gave Johnson new knowledge, or confirmed his own, and there is no call for aught he had not. HEROIC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL. "And now 'tis time; for their officious haste, Who would before have borne him to the sky, Like eager Romans, as all rites were past, Did let too soon the sacred eagle fly," &c. These stanzas must have been written very soon after Cromwell's death, and probably during the brief protectorate of Richard; else the lines "No civil broils have since his death arose," &c. would be too impudently mendacious even for Dryden. The lines certainly are not such as any driveller could have slavered, but they do not indicate genius; and the style in which they are composed is easier than it seems. Davenant appears to be the inventor of our so-called elegiac stanza, which I agree with Dryden in thinking capable of high majesty. Perhaps no English measure admits of so much real condensation. But still I cannot think it well adapted for narrative; and the licence lately revived, of inosculating the stanzas, should be used sparingly, and never without a full close, and perceptible pause. I never heard of a whale cast ashore just before Nol's death. Stanza xxxv. ASTREA REDUX. A POEM ON THE HAPPY RESTORATION AND RETURN OF HIS SACRED MAJESTY CHARLES II. 1660. "Now with a general peace the world was blest," &c. The times in which a young poet could change tune so completely in two years, must have had a dull moral sense; but we should not too hastily conclude that the men were worse than ourselves. In all compliments we ought to consider what the coin really goes for, not its image and superscription. Loyalty and gallantry are not, like patriotism, true love and religion, to be construed literally. Where there is no deception meant or made, there can be no dishonesty, whatever words or signs are used. Still such court language is mali exempli. It is an evil fashion, and I am heartily glad that it is no longer tolerated. There is in this piece a sad waste of memorable lines. It is a hoard of quotation, the better because the best thoughts are rather injured by the connexion in which they are set. Dryden prudently refrains from any direct reflections on Cromwell. TO HIS SACRED MAJESTY. A PANEGYRIC ON HIS CORONATION. The best that can be said of this panegyric is, that it is worthy of the occasion, and that it contains one admirable couplet "No promise can oblige a prince so much Still to be good, as long to have been such;" and a great many ingenious advances towards the abyss of unidead vacancy. The prophecy about "souls of kings unborn,"* was by no means so lucky in its fulfilment as it is curious in its theory of generation. A coronation was not then so very unmeaning a show as it is now. The language of symbols still retained some significance, and many yet attributed a real effect to ceremonials. Charles had not then forfeited the good opinion of the nation. Might not a happier marriage, and legitimate issue, have made him a better man? He had good sense, and good dispositions enough to have mended a worse heart. But Clarendon managed him badly, advised him ill, complied when he ought to have resisted, and was an intolerant high-churchman. He would hardly have stood so high among statesmen even in royalist estimation, had he not been the historian of royalism, and succeeded by ministers whom bigotry itself is ashamed to praise. * "A queen near whose chaste womb ordain'd by fate 66 TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR HYDE. "While flattering crowds officiously appear," &c. This is a wonderful concatenation of thoughts. Dryden borrows all his illustrations from books, sometimes from history, oftener from mythology, and often from the natural or metaphysical philosophy of the time;-hardly ever from visible nature. Not seldom his allusions to history are such as we must look long and narrowly to understand; as, for instance, in the 'Astræa Redux," Galba's adoption of Piso is by no means so well-known an event as to furnish a happy poetical example. Attention is suspended by the effort of memory. Shakspeare has some allusions of the same kind, as that to the Pontic Sea, in "Othello;" and to the owl being a baker's daughter, in "Hamlet;" but they are diversified with so many others so natural and graphic, that perhaps they are not very disagreeable. I like Dryden the better for following the bent of his own mind. Any sort of illustrations, however recherchés or pedantic, are better than stale common-place naturalities, which show no acquaintance with actual nature. How false proved the prediction that fortune could do no further injury to Clarendon,* whom I knew not ever to have been a poet.† * "You have already wearied Fortune so, "The Muses, who your early courtship boast," &c. |