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TIBULLUS.

A. U. C. 691-734.

To learn, pale Elegy, thy genuine strain, Let soft Tibullus move thee to complain:

A pen

There is certainly more bustle, and less interest, in the last half of the Æneid than the first; and perhaps the episode in the ninth book is the most beautiful part of any of the last six. Wherever there is room for pathos, he is inimitable. The death of the stag in the seventh book, Nisus and Euryalus in the ninth, Pallas and Lausus, and the lamentations over them, must touch every heart not utterly divested of sensibility. He has many sublime descriptions and passages in every book, and the constant majesty of his numbers has never been equalled.

5 The tender suavity of Tibullus, and his plaintive simplicity, cannot be too much admired; yet it has been said that his pattern was Parthenius, upon the authority, I think, of Macrobius. Of the writings of Parthenius little has been preserved. Too much indulgence has been given to the humour of preferring works which are lost to those which remain; and of regretting the want of those originals, upon which we are to suppose the excellent, though inferior, poems which we have in our hands, were formed. In this manner we must conceive Lucillius to have been superior to Horace, Varus to Virgil, and Parthenius to Tibullus. No better consequence can result from this fruitless repining after unknown and perished perfection, than to diminish the

satis

A pensive maid, whose bosom's deep distress
Her sober steps and heartfelt sighs confess;

With

satisfaction of our actual enjoyment, by the mixture of another sentiment not so pleasing. But in our own experience we may find the true consolation. There is little doubt, that had we now only a few lucky fragments of Chaucer and Donne, some of our criticks would prefer them to Dryden and Pope; for Dryden himself in order to recommend his beautiful tale of Palamon and Arcite, modernized from Chaucer, and infinitely improved, spends several pages of the preface to his Fables, to raise the rugged old English bard to a competition with Ovid; nay, in his dedicatory verses to the Duchess of Ormond, he boldly sets him above Homer and Virgil:

"He match'd their beauties, where they most excell,

"Of love sung better, and of arms as well."

So sings Dryden; but poetry without harmony is to my sense no better than a violin without strings, or a cracked trumpet.

The only ancient prodigy of England is Shakspeare. His numbers are often not less sweet, than his conceptions are sublime and original. Had only a few of his best scenes and dramas descended to us, well might the modern exclaim that the loss of the rest was irreparable. Yet even in this mighty genius something is to be forgiven, and something to be rejected. Where he possesses his true inspiration, he never was, nor ever will be, equalled. "Nature (as Pope says) speaks through him."

Neither are the praises lavished by contemporary writers on each other a sure standard at all times to ascertain their real value. Horace, the most discerning of criticks, though superior to envy, now and then

With eyes of blue, that languishingly swim, 2480 Unconscious of the tears that swell their brim.

Her

pays a courtly compliment to the productions of a Roman pen, when in the hand of a great statesman or magistrate, which their intrinsick merit probably would not have extorted from him. Lord Halifax, the Bufo of Great-Britain, has left his verses behind him to give the lie to his flatterers; to teach us to appreciate for ourselves, and not to depend upon the panegyrick even of an Addison, when the scribbler and the minister happen to be united in the same person.

In Tibullus the charms of elegy may be found in genuine perfection. He has been well imitated, and better translated, by the English Hammond. Lord Chesterfield in a short preface to the Love Elegies, seems aware that his friend may be considered only in the character of a translator; and says artfully enough, that "he chose Tibullus rather than Ovid as his model." It is somewhat extraordinary that Dr. Johnson in his account of this English poet, when he very justly condemns him for introducing Roman imagery and heathen mythology into verses supposed to be the effusions of amorous passion, does not seem to recollect that in all these passages and many more, Hammond is only the literal translator of Tibullus. Had this circumstance been fairly acknowledged by himself or his noble editor, he would have escaped the severity of Johnson's censure. To the best of my recollection there are scarcely one hundred original lines in Hammond's Love Elegies.

Since the foregoing remark was written, it has been suggested to me by a friend, that the same observation was made soon after the appearance of the biographical work above referred to: "Dr. Johnson, in

his

+

Her stole of violet tinge, with flowing grace,
Improves her mournful dignity of pace;

Cyprus,

his late admirable LIVES OF THE ENGLISH POETS, speaking of Mr.
Hammond, observes, that his elegies have neither pathos, nature,
or manners.' They certainly have neither of the latter; and whatever
of the former they contain is the passion of a Roman, not of an English-
man. It is surprising that the cause of this defect escaped this
most judicious critick. In short, these elegies are almost all,
if not translations, very close imitations, of Tibullus. In the whole
number there are but four original. Of this any one may be con-
vinced, who will take the trouble to compare these poems with those
of the Roman Knight. For the satisfaction of the classical reader,
I will subjoin a list of those elegies which Hammond has copied :

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i. el. v. 31-34.

By

+ Trwas necessary to insert this quotation as it appeared in the Magazine « Jby! but the I have the higher opinion of MMelones judgment to whom it belongs, by no means subscribe without limitation to the term admirable as applied to Dilolinsons Lives of the Pocts. The Work is indeed admirable in part, bur should be read with aution for it contains a great deal of prejudice. In general, it is more safe to concur with the Doctor in his prai than his censure, Who woud expect to find the Critical Instructor of his Countrymen men calling one of the sweeter Poems in our language, example out of Priors Henry and Emuna, a dull and tedious dialogue? This is but one Several not less erroneous. His attempts to depreciate the Lycidas of Milton, and the Lyric genius of Gray are unpardonable. His prejudices and love of singularity sometimes sink him to a level with the nameless hirelings of the Critical and Monthly Reviews, and his animadversions deserve to be a little regarded. He is rather the Dissecter The Biographer of some of his Authors, for the incision knife is every where visible. artifice or authority can persuade us to think highly of Walts and Blackmore, and of South or Prick In quchinatonces we inden fo

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Cyprus, sad emblem of disastrous love, (A weeping Cupid kiss'd it as he wove,)

2485

And flowers of dusky hue, entwin'd appear,

To form the wreath, that binds her auburn hair: O'er her white breast her folded arms are laid, And solitude she seeks, and noiseless shade.

If feign'd the passion, and the pang unfelt, 2490 What heart so hard his numbers could not melt? The sympathizing soul his notes involve ; Like snows they fall, and as they fall, dissolve. No turns, no points, for admiration call, But all is simple, plain, and natural; For love's true language, void of dress and art, Neglects the fancy, and secures the heart.

2495

"By the foregoing table the reader will observe, that of Hammond's elegies, the tenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth, alone appear to have been unborrowed. It is, however, but just to add, that this unfortunate and amiable poet, though he has no pretensions to the title of an original writer, must be acknowledged to have been a very harmonious and elegant versifier." Gentleman's Magazine, for 1781, Vol. 51. p. 369.

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