"And who," added Franklin, "in the words of Smollett, mistake a faint glimmering that enters through a crack in their upper story, for the light of inspiration."" Yes, Sir William," continued Pope, now fairly back upon his favourite topic, "in my time, and indeed up to your's, rationality was looked for in poetry. We had laughed at absurdities until they had dropped away into the obscurity they deserved, and we had made rhyme one of the organs of instruction as well as of delight; ethics were versified with success, and morality, so conveyed, had a double claim upon our regard. This golden age continued till the master-bard of the present times brought in a host of small flies that buzzed round him and after him, only carried forward in his mighty course, and skilled but to make a noise, and taint whatever they lighted on." "You do not, I hope," remarked I, "include Percy Bysshe Shelley, in this swarm?" "I am very much inclined to do so," he replied. 66 "I believe I must agree with you, Mr. Pope," said Jones. "His works will be forgotten; but not till they have done mischief proportioned to his talent. How characteristic was the situation in which we saw him a short time ago in our planet!" I enquired what it was, and he replied, "He was stretched in a small canoe, in one of the deepest reaches of a river, which discharged itself into the sea near the Point of Dreams.* The nook was partially shut in by a small amphitheatre of rocks, from which depended plants of every hue and odour. His oars were lying idly by him, and a small sail flapped against the mast. As he lay, with a light cloak thrown around him, his head uncovered, and his delicate features exposed to the sun, he sung incessantly in a strain that sometimes swelled into sublimity, sometimes melted into the most amorous softness, by fits became almost a shriek of agony, and then died into plaintive melancholy. Thus, he continued long after we first observed him, with his eyes, as we thought, shut, or at least without regarding any thing around him. The day shone upon him, exposed as he was to its ardour, with a fierceness of which you can have no conceptionenveloped and obscured as you are in this dense and opake atmosphere. All this time the current had drifted him, without his perceiving it, out of the nook where he conceived his skiff to be reposing, and carried him so far down the stream, that after a time he began to approach the dangerous rapids which are met with before the stream disembogues itself into the sea. I was at length obliged to hurry along the shore, and to call at the extent of my voice to him, to make him aware of his danger. As soon as he heard me, he ceased his song-started up-looked wildly about, as if he had just awoke from sleep, and with every appearance of confusion and alarm commenced using his oars. With some difficulty he stemmed the stream, which in that place ran strong, and brought his frail bark after an hour's toil to the creek from whence he had so unintentionally departed." This point (Promotorium Somnii) and the Crisian sea (mare Crisium) mentioned above, may be found on any accurate map of the moon. Their latitude and longitude I forget. pervious mantle of oblivion over the blasphemies of the object of her affection, as she would have cast a shroud over his wave-mangled corpse, and concealed the miserable spectacle from the eye of vulgar curiosity; instead of this his absurdities, nay, impieties, are proudly held up by her to the sickening gaze of the world, as though they were so many claims on its esteem and admiration." 66 66 we You are too serious on the subject," said Pope, with a laugh; must allow a little for female weakness -what do you think, Dr. Franklin ?" "I protest, Mr. Pope," said the personage addressed, with a calm air, "I never was able to read him; he is so independent of rule, and, as I conceive, so utterly insensible to metrical harmony, that I have sat for hours with one hand holding his book, and the other upon the table, beating the syllables, without having been able to find out the scanning of his lines. Pindar puzzled me at first, but I overcame him. Shelley's measures I found insuperable; and as to reading him Ossianicé, that would have been too much." "And then the nefarious attempt," continued Jones, "in Prometheus Unbound,' to insinuate his blasting precepts under the guise of allegory, excites my indignation beyond what I can express. Can the Christian religion injure those who profess it? Certainly not, for it promises happiness as the reward of obedience. Can it injure those who do not profess it? No; for it preaches the divinest system of morality. Why then cannot an unfortunate sceptic, who turns his back upon the light, allow others to walk unmolested upon their journey? If he be right, they will be happy whether or no; if he be wrong, they owe their destruction to him. But, further 99 “Come, my most excellent Sir William," said Pope, interrupting him, "you shall see his style in a moment, and tell me whether you recognize him in a preface. You have read that to The Cenci,' and other prose compositions of his. Let me see where have I placed it?" and he fumbled in the long lappets of his waistcoat. Oh! here it is," said he, after some search, producing a crumpled back of a letter, which seemed to be scribbled over in the closest manner in all directions within and without. "I was, strange VOL. II. to say, engaged in imitating him only the other day, and I am fortunate enough to have the rough-draft now about me. I suppose myself to have written a poetical sketch, as I really have partially done, in his style, denominated Prometheus Bound, and thus runs the preface : Prometheus, having played tricks with the gods, and, amongst them, with Jove himself, is at last seized by the enraged divinity, and bound upon Mount Caucasus. The reader of the following dramatic poem is requested to bear this in mind, that no crime has been imputed to this extraordinary character, as the ground of this most severe punishment, but that of having refused to accept of Pandora in marriage, with the necessity of taking her box into the bargain. At such disobedient restiveness, we may easily suppose the ancient Autocrat to have been enraged in proportion to the trivial nature of the offence. On this view of the subject the moral of the piece is grounded. In these days, by excellence, the liberal spirit should walk abroad, whether habited in a lyric, epic, or dramatic costume, and the proud soarings of the truly philanthropic unbeliever should not be stayed by the dread that -Icarus-like-the self-fashioned wings may be molten in the ray of any divine presence. We see in the uncomplaining expostulations of the man, enough to prove his dignity and loftiness-in the petulant irritability of the god, what argues his incapacity to rule. I conceive that this argument might be, and I wish it were applied more universally.' Such being the adumbrations intended to be conveyed in the poem, I am confident that my readers will acquit me of the charge of either presumption or obscurity. Averse from the first constitutionally, I may be permitted to say, that my style clears me at once from the imputation of the latter, while my intimate acquaintance with nature, and the more ancient and neglected arcana of classicl iterature, has enabled me, with comparative ease, to bring forward personages with effect, which have been lost to composition for ages, or perhaps were never till now made use of.' 66 Here," said Pope, "he mentions some novel dramatis persona, amongst which he recounts, with considerable complacency, 'the introduction of those 2 N cacodemoniac spirits, which have been hitherto buried in liturgic obscurity; alluding thereby to a chorus (in the manner of the witches in Macbeth) of Plague, Pestilence, and Famine, in the third scene. He then continues : I have heard that a drama, bearing some similarity in its object and arrangement to this, has been written. But from any charge of plagiarism either in style or method, I proudly soar. Thanks to the power of the human intellect, the days of literary popery and bigotry are past, and the saffron dawn of that period has arrived, when the harmonious essences and synchronistic co-organizations of etheral inspiration can hold their wingtouching flights through creative space, unenvious and united! How noble, that two congenial spirits should have clothed their rapt ideas in the same mantle! How sweet the thrill of harmonic language vibrating through our unisonous souls! Farewell, sympathetic spirit, I leave thee with a sigh and a regret!' ་ A word now concerning myself. I have studiously avoided this topic till now, from the wish to deviate as widely as possible from the much-footed path of prefatory composition. In a simple and solitary bye-track have I courted modesty, and been successful. I scorn the public. We have never been on terms of amity, and I desire not its friendship. From hence, among other reasons, I argue great things of myself. I leave the work in the hands of the spirit of truth, and hurl the most contemptuous defiance at all besides, human and divine.'"* We all expressed ourselves highly amused at the imitation, and the little man was evidently flattered by our commendations; still I know not why it was, I could scarcely master the feeling of aversion with which he had at first inspired me; and I thought I could observe that my feelings were in part shared by the rest-that their laugh was forced, and that they were uncomfortable and fidgetty. The twilight had now long left us, and the moon-the home of my illus trious guests-shone into the apartment with a brilliancy that enabled Pope to read his manuscript by its light. I made a move, as though I would have lights brought in, and the windows closed, but Sir William Jones prevented me, and going over to look out upon the night, he proposed that we should take advantage of its brightness, and stroll down towards the beach. Dr. Franklin at once and cordially assented, but Pope cast a rueful look towards the window, shrugged his shoulders, and with a preliminary cough, excused himself from tempting an increase of catarrh by venturing out upon the wet grass, and in the chilly night air. I thought it but right to propose, in accordance with his wishes, that we should remain, and the other two expressed at once their willingness to continue one evening's conversation within doors, and at the same time their regret at having proposed any thing which did not meet with his approbation. But the splenetic old man was not to be so easily managed. He said repeatedly, that he could not think of interfering with his friends in the enjoyment of their inclinations—that he could take many future opportunities of conversing with me at his leisure-and that midnight wanderers should have from him every inducement that his absence could give them for enjoying their ramble to the utmost. In vain did Jones, Franklin, and I, unite in attempting to appease his wayward humour." He was not to be pacified; but sliding off his chair, he made a courteous salute to me-slightly bowed to the offenders, and pulling his velvet cap close about his ears, shuffled to the door, and disappeared from our view. We stood a moment in surprize, but at length Franklin reminded us that we had now at least no obstacle to our projected excursion, and recommended that we should at once proceed upon it. I said I feared a walk by night might fatigue him. "Sir," said he, even in miserable mortality I was 46 66 • Should my readers consider this overstrained in language or sentiment, I refer them for a precedent of the first to Shelley's Vision of the Sea,' and of the latter to a note to one of his poems, in which he very gravely sets about proving to the public that there is no such thing as time. used, to within a few years of its termination, to exercise myself more perhaps than you are in the habit of doing at present, and it is not likely that now, an altered and strengthened being, I should be unequal to the pleasant fatigue of a moonlight saunter. By the bye, my dear Sir William, that word reminds me of the lines you repeated to me the other day, and I should much wish our young friend to hear them. Will you oblige us?" I earnestly joined in the request, and after some hesitation, he repeated the following verses in a rich melodious tone, and with much expression "Come, and explore the happy clime, Where Peace, along the bounding plain Hold but to Virtue-be content,- I expressed my commendation in animated terms, but he seemed so uneasy during my eulogium, that I soon perceived silence to be the meed of praise that gave him most satisfaction. I went forward, accordingly, without saying another word, to the glass door, which I before described as opening out from the bowed extremity of the apartment upon the terrace garden, and having opened it, we all three descended the steps, and stood upon the grass outside. Not a word was spoken by any of us for several moments. The scene was such as must be enjoyed silently. My guests were fixed in speechless adoration, and I was mutely beholding them. Never shall I forget the seraphic expression which beamed from the countenances of those two great men, as they paused on their entrance into the temple of Nature, and cast their eyes upwards towards its glowing vault. Highhigh indeed above all that chains and pinions mortals down to earth, did those Spirits soar upon the wings of gratitude and love, and far beyond language was the hymn of thanksgiving then silently breathing from the hearts of those philosophers, as they stood together in the presence of the universe, looking towards heaven! Lovely indeed was nature that night. The lawn lay happy in the moon-beam, and imagination wove a fairy dance on its dewy slope. Dark flowed the tranquil water, and solemnly did the trees of the forest The reader's indignation will, I fear, be aroused at finding this poor imitation placed in Sir William Jones's mouth; but by the time that he arrives at the end of these "Hints," (if he ever does so,) he will allow-if he believe my narration-that I am no more accountable for it than Sir William himself. hold their eternal watch by its side. Heavy shadows hung on the hill, and a bright path of glory stretched along the sea to the distant shore that floated, trembling and nebulous, between reality and dream. The whole host of night poured their blue and beauteous rays around, like a thousand eyes of seraphs looking in ecstacy from their spheres. All was hushed, save when now and then a stealing air came up the valley, as if a spirit had skimmed the plain, and floated past with the odour of flowers upon its wing. As we stood and listened, the far-off note of a bird from the thickest of the wood was faintly audible; and more distant still, there came from the habitation of men the toll of a bell, like that of the curfew "Over some wide-watered shoar This ceased, and nature resumed her undisturbed reign. I know not how long I should have remained gazing upon the venerable countenance of the Liberator of the west, and the noble features of the Justinian of the east, raised together to the heavens, and glowing in celes tial light. Long indeed might I have enjoyed the spectacle before I should have ventured to break the spell by a word or even a motion; but at last Jones brought down his eyes, surcharged with tears, to earth, and burst out into the impassioned words of the Poet "O most adorable! most unadored! Now is Night's sable mantle labour'd o'er, What wisdom shines! what love! This midnight pomp, After some moments-" Let us proceed," he continued, moving slowly forward, "and indulge in a train of thoughts suitable to such a scene. Happy is it that even here nights such as these are given, as if to draw out and expand the soul into an irresistible consciousness of its own immortality! How favoured are those whose constitutions are apt to receive the impression in its mysterious efficacy! Such was he who could ask "Where elements to elements conform, Of which even now I share at times the immortal lot?" Never can I think on that fallen deity for I can figuratively call him nothing else but with pity and regret. Much did such expressions as these lead men to expect from him. Their expectations were not realized,-and had he lived a thousand years, they never would have been realized. His life was a fine moral lesson. Delicacy and beauty adorned the outset of his poetical career, interwoven however with false views and pride. The world fondly hoped that the former would increase and overcome the latter-that right reason would strengthen the delicacy and refinement of his youthful Should any one be curious to know any further particulars respecting this nocturnal songster, I refer him to that respectable publication, the Dublin Penny Journal, passim. +Young's Night Thoughts, Night 4. |