If some Drawcansir (1) you aspire to draw, If female furies in your scheme are plann'd, 'Tis hard to venture where our betters fail, Or lend fresh interest to a twice-told tale; Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer, Jura neget sibi nata, nihil non arroget armis. (1) [See the "Rehearsal." "Johnson. Pray, Mr. Bayes, who is that Drawcansir? 66 Bayes. Why, Sir, a great hero, that frights his mistress, snubs up kings, baffles armies, and does what he will, without regard to numbers, good sense, or justice."- E.] "Difficile est proprie communia dicere."— Mde. Dacier, Mde. de Sévigné, Boileau, and others, have left their dispute on the meaning of this passage in a tract considerably longer than the poem of Horace. It is printed at the close of the eleventh volume of Madame de Sévigné's Letters, edited by Grouvelle, Paris, 1806. Presuming that all who can construe may venture an opinion on such subjects, particularly as so many who can not have taken the same liberty, I should have held my " farthing candle" as awkwardly as another, had not my respect for the wits of Louis the Fourteenth's Augustan siècle induced me to subjoin these illustrious authorities. 1st, Boileau: "Il est difficile de traiter des sujets qui sont à la portée de tout le monde d'une manière qui vous les rende propres, ce qui s'appelle s'approprier un sujet par le tour qu'on y donne." 2dly, Batteux : "Mais And yet, perchance, 'tis wiser to prefer A hackney'd plot, than choose a new, and err; More justly, thought for thought than word for word; Quam si proferres ignota indictaque primus. Nec circa vilem patulumque moraberis orbem ; Interpres, nec desilies imitator in arctum Unde pedem proferre pudor vetet, aut operis lex. il est bien difficile de donner des traits propres et individuels aux êtres purement possibles." 3dly, Dacier: "Il est difficile de traiter convenablement ces caractères que tout le monde peut inventer." Mde. de Sévigné's opinion and translation, consisting of some thirty pages, I omit, particularly as M. Grouvelle observes, "La chose est bien remarquable, aucune de ces diverses interpretations ne parait être la véritable." But, by way of comfort, it seems, fifty years afterwards, "Le lumineux Dumarsais "made his appearance, to set Horace on his legs again, "dissiper tous les nuages, et concilier tous les dissentimens ;" and some fifty years hence, somebody, still more luminous, will doubtless start up and demolish Dumarsais and his system on this weighty affair, as if he were no better than Ptolemy and Tycho, or his comments of no more consequence than astronomical calculations on the present comet. I am happy to say, " la longueur de la dissertation " of M. D. prevents M. G. from saying any more on the matter, A better poet than Boileau, and at least as good a scholar as Sévigné, has said, "A little learning is a dangerous thing." And, by this comparison of comments, it may be perceived how a good deal may be rendered as perilous to the proprietors. — [Dr. Johnson gave the interpretation thus-" He means that it is difficult to appropriate to particular persons qualities which are common to all mankind, as Homer has done."—" It seems to result from the whole discussion," says Mr. Croker, "that, in the ordinary meaning of the words, the passage is obscure, and that, to make sense, we must either alter the words, or assign to them an unusual interpretation. All commentators are agreed, by the help of the context, what the general meaning must be; but no one seems able' verbum verbo reddere fidus interpres.'" (Boswell, vol. iii. p. 438.) — But, in our humble opinion, Boileau's translation is precisely that of this "fidus interpres."-E.] For you, young bard! whom luckless fate may lead To tremble on the nod of all who read, Ere your first score of cantos time unrolls, Nec sic incipies, ut scriptor Cyclicus olim : (1) About two years ago a young man, named Townsend, was announced by Mr. Cumberland* (in a review + since deceased) as being engaged in an epic poem to be entitled " Armageddon." The plan and specimen promise much; but I hope neither to offend Mr. Townsend, nor his friends, by recommending to his attention the lines of Horace to which these rhymes allude. If Mr. Townsend succeeds in his undertaking, as there is reason to hope, how much will the world be indebted to Mr. Cumberland for bringing him before the public! But, till that eventful day arrives, it may be doubted whether the premature display of his plan (sublime as the ideas confessedly are) has not,-by raising expectation too high, or diminish. ing curiosity, by developing his argument, rather incurred the hazard of injuring Mr. Townsend's future prospects. Mr. Cumberland (whose talents * [On the original MS. we find,-" This note was written" [at Athens] "before the author was apprized of Mr. Cumberland's death." The old literateur died in May 1811, and had the honour to be buried in Westminster Abbey, and to be eulogised, while the company stood round the grave, in the following manly style by the then dean, Dr. Vincent, his schoolfellow, and through life his friend." Good people! the person you see now deposited is Richard Cumberland, an author of no small merit: his writings were chiefly for the stage, but of strict moral tendency: they were not without faults, but they were not gross, abounding with oaths and libid. inous expressions, as, I am shocked to observe, is the case of many of the present day. He wrote as much as any one: few wrote better; and his works will be held in the highest estimation, as long as the English language will be understood. He considered the theatre a school for moral improvement, and his remains are truly worthy of mingling with the illustrious dead which surround us. Read his prose subjects on divinity! there you will find the true Christian spirit of the man who trusted in our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. May God forgive him his sins; and, at the resurrection of the just, receive him into everlasting glory!"-E.] † [The "London Review," set up in 1809, under Mr. Cumberland's editorial care, did not outlive many numbers. He spoke great things in the prospectus, about the distinguishing feature of the journal; viz. its having the writer's name affixed to the articles. This plan has succeeded pretty well both in France and Germany, but has failed utterly as often as it has been tried in this country. It is needless, however, to go into any speculation on the principle here; for the " London Review," whether sent into the world with or without names, must soon have died of the original disease of dulness. —E] "Awake a louder and a loftier strain,". And pray, what follows from his boiling brain? Whose epic mountains never fail in mice! "Fortunam Priami cantabo, et nobile bellum." I shall not depreciate by the humble tribute of my praise) and Mr. Townsend must not suppose me actuated by unworthy motives in this suggestion. I wish the author all the success he can wish himself, and shall be truly happy to see epic poetry weighed up from the bathos where it lies sunken with Southey, Cottle, Cowley (Mrs. or Abraham), Ogilvy, Wilkie, Pye, and all the" dull of past and present days." Even if he is not a Milton, he may be better than Blackmore; if not a Homer, an Antimachus. I should deem myself presumptuous, as a young man, in offering advice, were it not addressed to one still younger. Mr. Townsend has the greatest difficulties to encounter: but in conquering them he will find employment; in having conquered them, his reward. I know too well "the scribbler's scoff, the critic's contumely; " and I am afraid time will teach Mr. Townsend to know them better. Those who succeed, and those who do not, must bear this alike, and it is hard to say which have most of it. I trust that Mr. Townsend's share will be from envy; he will soon know mankind well enough not to attribute this expression to malice. - [This was penned at Athens. On his return to England Lord B. wrote to a friend: —“There is a sucking epic poet at Granta, a Mr. Townsend, protégé of the late Cumberland. Did you ever hear of him and his Armageddon?' I think his plan (the man I don't know) borders on the sublime; though, perhaps, the anticipation of the Last Day' is a little too daring: at least, it looks like telling the Almighty what he is to do; and might remind an ill-natured person of the line 'And fools rush in where angels fear to tread.' But I don't mean to cavil- only other folks will; and he may bring all the lambs of Jacob Behmen about his ears. However, I hope he will bring it to a conclusion, though Milton is in his way."- All Lord Byron's anticipations, with regard to this poem, were realised to the very letter. To gratify the curiosity which had been excited, Mr. Townsend, in 1815, was induced to publish eight out of the twelve books of which it was to consist. "In the benevolence of his heart, Mr. Cumberland," he says, "bestowed praise on me, certainly too abundantly and prematurely; but I hope that any deficiency on my part may be imputed to the true cause- my own inability to support a subject, under which the greatest mental powers must inevitably sink. My talents were neither equal to my own ambition, nor his zeal to serve me."— E.] Not so of yore awoke your mighty sire Quanto rectius hic, qui nil molitur inepte! Tu, quid ego et populus mecum desideret, audi. (1) [There is more of poetry in these verses upon Milton than in any other passage throughout the paraphrase. - MOORE.] |