It sweeps with comets its eccentric flight, storms: 20 Now her fair fingers kiss the shepherd's reed, And now she shudders at some nameless deed: Now sadly wandering thro' the twilight grove, She tells the tale of unrequited love. turalists; it is the peculiar gift of Heaven, say the divines. How to improve it many books can teach us; how to obtain it, none; that nothing can be done without it, all agree: In nihil invita dices faciesve Minerva. Without invention a painter is but a copier, and a poet but a plagiary of others. Dryden's Parallel between Poetry and Painting. Now rous'd to rage she chills the soul with fear, 30 ....The memory notes transactions as they roll, * It is by judgment that we discern the propriety of the plan and the execution of a work; the conformity of stile and manner to its peculiar nature, the rectitude of sentiment, the probability of incident, the clearness of investigation and the uniformity of design....." Whatever (soov C The heart too cold to feel the generous glow, The heart that owns not Handel's angel-lay 50 Longinus) looks great both in poetry and prose, we must carefully examine whether it be not only appearance; we must divest it of all superficial pomp and garnish. If it cannot stand this trial, without doubt it is only swelled and puffed up, and it will be more for our honour to contemn than admire it. * Cowley, Dryden and Chatterton wrote several admired poems at a very early age. Milton wrote his paraphrases of the cxIv and cxv psalms, at fifteen years of age. Tasso wrote his heroic poem, entitled Rinaldo, before he had attained his eighteenth year. Metastatio wrote a tragedy, entitled Guestino, while in his sixteenth year. Pope when no more than twelve years of age, wrote his ode on Solitude, when sixteen he wrote his Pastorals, and when twenty he wrote his essay on Criticism. Collins while he s in his eighteenth year wrote his Eclogues. The Behold where bursts the golden orb of day! alarm, Then falls the vigour of Alcides' arm. The poet often gains a madman's name, When first he kindles with the muse's flame, orator Bossuet discovered in some measure while a school boy, his great powers. Of him the poet might have said: "Concourse and noise and toil he ever fled, Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray Of squabbling imps; but to the forest sped." ....It is related of Michael Angelo that he employed himself when a child, in drawing with a coal, rude outlines of figures. His parents who were noble, endeavoured to repress his darling propensity, not only by reprimands, but by stripes. The force of Genius however prevailed over the blushes and severity of his parents, and Angelo attained the highest eminence in painting, sculpture and architec ture. When wild and starting he appears in pain, The world cries out, "What ails our neighbour's lad? 'Tis pity of the boy, for he is mad;" He " often laughs aloud, and none know why," And looks so strange and wildly from his eye; Heedless he roves all pale with moody care, 71 What pleases others, he will never share. At morn and evening on yon giddy steep, 'Tis said he stands, and overhangs the deep. 'Tis said, he wanders at the dead of night, And like a ghost, avoids the glare of light; 'Tis said, he babbles to the Moon's full-beam, And sits, in silence, by the falling stream. Research can scarcely modify and range The various forms and times of mental change; Beneath fond Nature's care our bodies grow, 81 And bear the bounty which her hands bestow. But if to Nature and her free controul, Be unmolested left the human soul, In deepest ignorance she would ever dwell, Dungeon'd with Night within her gloomy cell. |