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Numb. 92. Saturday, September 22, 1753.

Ciu* tahullt amirnium cerftrissumtt btntsti. Hor..

Bold be the critick, zealous to his trust,
Like the firm judge inexorably just.



IN the papers of criticism which you have given to the publick, I have remarked a spirit of candour and love of truth, equally remote from bigotry and captioulncss; a just distribution of praise amongst the ancients and the moderns; a sober deserence to reputation long established, without a blind adoration of antiquity; and a willingness to favour later persormances, without a light or puerile fondness for novelty.

I shall, therefore, venture to lay before you, such observations as have risen to my mind in the consideration of Virgil's pastorals, without any inquiry how far my sentiments deviate from established rules or common opinions.

If we survey the ten pastorals in a general view, it will be found that Virgil can derive from them very little claim to the praise of an inventor. To search into the antiquity of this kind of poetry, is not my-present purpofe; that it has long subsisted in the east, the Sacred Writings sufficiently insorm

us j us; and we may conjecture, with great probability, that it was sometimes the devotion, and sometimes the entertainment of the first generations of mankind. Theocritus united elegance with simplicity; and taught his shepherds to fing with so much ease and harmony, that his countrymen despairing to excel, forbore to imitate him; and the Greeks, however vain or ambitious, left him in quiet possession of the garlands which the wood-nymphs had bestowed upon him.

Virgil, however, taking advantage of another language, ventured to copy or to rival the Sicilian bard: he has written with greater splendor of diction, and elevation of sentiment: but as the magnificence of his persormances was more, the simplicity was less; and, perhaps, where he excells Theocritus, he sometimes obtains his superiority by deviating from the pastoral character, and persorming what Theocritus never attempted.

Yet, though I would willingly pay to Theocritus the honour which is always due to an original author, I am far from intending to depreciate Virgil; of whom Horace justly declares, that the rural muses have appropriated to him their elegance and ftveetr ness, and who, as he copied Theocritus in his design, has resembled him likewise in his success; for, is we except Calpbumius, an obscure author of the lower ages, I know not that a single pastoral was written aster him by any poet, till the revival of literature.

But though his general merit has been univerfally acknowledged, I am far from thinking all the productions of his rural Thalia equally excellent: there

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is, indeed, in all his pastorals a strain of versification which it is vain to seek in any other poet; but is we except the first and the tenth, they seem liable either wholly or in part to considerable objections.

The second, though we should forget the great charge against it, which I am asraid can never be refuted, might, I think, have perished, without any diminution of the praise of its author; for I know not that it contains one afsecting sentiment or pleasing description, or one pasfage that strikes the imagination or awakens the passions.

The third contains a contest between two shepherds, begun with a quarrel of which some particulars might well be spared, carried on with sprightliness and elegance, and terminated at last in a reconciliation: but, surely, whether the invectives with which they attack each other be true or false, they are too much degraded from the dignity of pastoral innocence; and instead of rejoicing that they are both victorious, I should not have grieved could they have been both deseated.

The poem to Pollio is, indeed, of another kind: it is filled with images at once splendid and pleasing, and is elevated with grandeur of language worthy of the first of Reman poets; but I am not able to reconcile myself to the disproportion, between the performance and the occasion that produced it: that the golden age should return because Pollio had a son, appears so wild a fiction, that I am ready to suspect the poet of having written, for some other purpose, what he took this opportunity of producing lo the publick.


The fifth contains a celebration of Dapbrtis, which has stood to all succeeding ages as the model of pastoral elegies. To deny praise to a performance which so many thousands have laboured to imitate, would be to judge with too little deserence for the opinion of mankind: yet whoever fhall read it with impartiality, will find that most of the images are of the mythological kind, and, therefore, eaGly invented; and that there are sew sentiments of rational praise or natural lamentation.

In the Silenus he again rises to the dignity of philofophick sentiments and heroic poetry. The address to Varus is eminently beautisul: but since the compliment paid to Gallus fixes the tranfaction to his own time, the fiction of Silenus seems injudicious; nor has any sufficient reason yet been found, to justisy his choice of thofe fables that make the subject of the song.

The seventh exhibits another contest of the tuneful shepherds: and, surely, it is not without some reproach to his inventive power, that of ten pastorals Virgil has written two upon the fame plan. One of the shepherds now gains an acknowledged victory, but without any apparent superiority; and the reader, when he sees the prize adjudged, is not able to discover how it was deserved.

Of the eighth pastoral, so little is properly the work of Virgil, that he has no claim to other praise or blame than that of a translator.

Of the ninth, it is scarce possible to discover the design or tendency: it is faid, I know not upon what authority, to have been compofed from frag

F 4. menta ments of other poems; and except a sew lines in which the author touches upon his own misfortunes, there is nothing that seems appropriated to any time or place, or of which any other use can be discovered than to fill up the poem.

The first and the tenth pastorals, whatever be determined of the rest, arc sufficient to place their author above the reach of rivalry. The complaint of Callus difappointed in his love, is full of such sentiments as difappointed love naturally produces; his wishes are wild, his resentment is tender, and his purpofes are inconstant. In the genuine language of despair, he sooths himself a-while with the pity that shall be paid him aster his death:

Tamen cantabitis, Arcades, inquit,

Moniibus bac vtjlris: soli cant art perili

Arcades. O mihi turn quam nuUiler ojfa quissemit,

Yejlra /nets olim si sistula dscat a mores f

Yet, O Arcadian swains,

Ye best artificers of soothing strains!

Tune your soft reeds, and teach your rocks my woes,

So fhall my shade in sweeter rest repose,

O that your birth and business had been mine;

To seed the flock, and prune the spreading vine!


•Discontented with his present condition, and desirous to be any thing but what he is, he wishes himself one of the shepherds. He then catches the idea of rural tranquillity; but soon discovers how much happier he should be in these happy regions, with I.) aris at his side:

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