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should, in the first instance, make a sketch of his design. Reason then holds the crayon. But when he is desirous to animate his characters, to communicate to them the different and just expressions of the passions, then his imagination kindles, enthusiasm is in full operation, and urges him onward like a fiery courser in his career. But his course has been previously traced with coolness and judgment.

Enthusiasm is admissable into every species of poetry which admits of sentiment: we occasionally find it even in the eclogue; witness the following lines of Virgil (Eclogue x. v. 58.)

Jam mihi per rupes videor lucosque sonantes
Ire; libet Partho torquere cydonia cornu

Spicula; tanquam hæc sint nostri medicina furoris,
Aut deus ille malis hominum mitescere discat!

Nor cold shall hinder me, with horns and hounds
To thrid the thickets, or to leap the mounds.
And now, methinks, through steepy rocks I go,
1
And rush through sounding woods and bend the Parthian bow:
As if with sports my sufferings I could ease,

Or by my pains the god of Love appease.

The style of epistles and satires represses enthusiasm; we accordingly see little or nothing of it in the works of Boileau and Pope.

Our odes, it is said by some, are genuine lyrical enthusiasm; but, as they are not sung with us, they are in fact rather collections of verses, adorned with ingeni ous reflections, than odes.

Of all modern odes, that which abounds with the noblest enthusiasm, an enthusiasm that never abates, that never falls into the bombastic or the ridiculous, is Timotheus, or Alexander's Feast, by Dryden. It is still considered in England as an inimitable masterpiece, which Pope, when attempting the same stile and the same subject, could not even approach. This ode was sung, set to music; and if the musician had been worthy of the poet, it would have been the masterpiece of lyric poesy;

The most dangerous tendency of enthusiasm in this connection is that of urging on the poet to bombast, rant, and burlesque. A striking example of this oc

curs in an ode on the birth of a prince of the blood

royal:

Où suis-je ? quel nouveau miracle
Tient encore mes sens enchantés
Quel vast, quel pompeux spectacle
Frappe mes yeux epouvantés?
Un nouveau monde vient d'eclore
L'univers se refôrme encore
Dans les abymes du chaos;
Et, pour reparer ses ruines,

Je vois des demeures divines
Descendre du peuples de heros.

J. B. ROUSESAU.-Ode on the Birth of the Duke of Bretagne. Here we find the poet's senses enchanted and alarmed at the appearance of a prodigy-a vast and magnificent spectacle-a new birth, which is to reform the universe, and redeem it from a state of chaos, &c. all which means simply that a male child is born to the house of Bourbon. This is as bad as, "Je chante les vainqueurs, des vainqueurs de la terre."

We will avail ourselves of the present opportunity to observe, that there is a very small portion of enthusiasm in the Ode on the Taking of Namur.

ENVY.

We all know what the ancients said of this disgraceful passion, and what the moderns have repeated. Hesiod is the first classic author who has spoken of it. "The potter envies the potter, the artisan the artisan, the poor even the poor, the musician the musician, (or, if any one chuses to give a different meaning to the word avidos) the poet the poet."

Long before Hesiod, Job had remarked, “ Envy destroys the little-minded."

I believe Mandeville, the author of the Fable of the Bees, is the first who has endeavoured to prove that envy is a very good thing, a very useful passion. His first reason is, that envy was natural to man as hunger and thirst; that it may be observed in all children, as well as in horses and dogs. If you wish your children should hate one another, caress one more than the other; the prescription is infallible.

He asserts, that the first thing two young women do

when they meet together, is to discover matter for ridicule, and the second to flatter each other.

He thinks that without envy the arts would be only moderately cultivated, and that Raphael would never have been a great painter if he had not been jealous of Michael Angelo.

Mandeville, perhaps, mistook emulation for envy; perhaps also emulation is nothing but envy restricted within the bounds of decency.

Michael Angelo might say to Raphael, your envy has only induced you to study and execute still better than I do; you have not depreciated me, you have not caballed against me before the pope, you have not endeavoured to get me excommunicated for placing in my picture of the Last Judgment one-eyed and lame persons in paradise, and pampered cardinals with beautiful women perfectly naked in hell! No; your envy is a laudable feeling; you are brave as well as envious; let us be good friends.

But if the envious person is an unhappy being without talents, jealous of merit as the poor are of the rich; if under the pressure at once of indigence and baseness he writes" News from Parnassus,' "Letters from a celebrated Countess," or Literary Annals," the creature displays an envy which is in fact absolutely good for nothing, and for which even Mandeville could make no apology.

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Descartes said, "that envy forces up the yellow bile from the lower part of the liver, and the black bile that comes from the spleen, which diffuses itself from the heart by the arteries," &c. But as no species of bile is formed in the spleen, Descartes, when he spoke thus, deserved not to be envied for his physiology.

A person of the name of Poet or Poetius, a theological blackguard, who accused Descartes of atheism, was exceedingly affected by the black bile. But he knew still less than Descartes how his detestable bile circulated through his blood.

Madame Pernell is perfectly right :—

Les envieux mourront, mais non jamais l'envie.

The envious will die, but envy never.

Tartuffe, act v. scene 3.

That it is better to excite envy than pity, is a good proverb. Let us, then, make men envy us as much as we are able.

EPIC POETRY.

SINCE the word epos, among the Greeks, signified a discourse, an epic poem must have been a discourse: and it was in verse, because it was not the custom then to write in prose. This appears strange, but it is no less true. One Pherecides is supposed to have been the first Greek who made exclusive use of prose to compose one of those half-true half-false histories so common to antiquity.

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Orpheus, Linus, Thamyris, and Musæus, the predecessors of Homer, wrote in verse only. Hesiod, who was certainly contemporary with Homer, wrote his Theogony and his poem of "Works and Days" entirely in verse. The harmony of the Greek language so invited men to poetry, a maxim turned into verse was so easily engraved on the memory, that the laws, oracles, morals, and theology, were all composed in verse.

Of Hesiod.

He made use of fables, which had for a long time been received in Greece. It is clearly seen by the succinct manner in which he speaks of Prometheus and Epimetheus, that he supposes these notions already familiar to all the Greeks. He only mentions them to show that it is necessary to labour, and that an indolent repose, in which other mythologists have made the felicity of man to consist, is a violation of the orders of the Supreme Being.

Hesiod afterwards describes the four famous ages, of which he is the first who has spoken, at least among the ancient authors who remain to us. The first age is that which preceded Pandora,-the time in which men lived with the gods. The iron age, is that of the siege of Thebes and Troy. "I live in the fifth," says

* Half true! that is a great deal.-French Ed.

VOL. III.

K

he," and I would I had never been born." How many men, oppressed by envy, fanaticism, and tyranny, since Hesiod, have said the same!

It is in this poem of "Works and Days" that those proverbs are found which have been perpetuated: as— "the potter is jealous of the potter," and he adds, "the musician of the musician, and the poor even of the poor." We there find the original of our fable of the nightingale fallen into the claws of the vulture. The nightingale sings in vain to soften him; the vulture devours her. Hesiod does not conclude that a hungry belly has no ears, but that tyrants are not to be mollified by genius.

A hundred maxims worthy of Xenophon and Cato are to be found in this poem.

Men are ignorant of the advantage of society: they know not that the half is more valuable than the whole. Iniquity is pernicious only to the powerless. Equity alone causes cities to flourish.

One unjust man is often sufficient to ruin his country. The wretch who plots the destruction of his neighbour, often prepares the way to his own.

The road to crime is short and easy. That of virtue is long and difficult; but towards the end it is delightful.

God has placed labour as a sentinel over virtue.

Lastly, his precepts on agriculture were worthy to be imitated by Virgil. There are also very fine passages in his Theogony. Love, who disentangles chaos; Venus, born of the sea from the genital parts of a god nourished on earth, always followed by Love, and uniting heaven, earth, and sea, are admirable emblems.

Why then has Hesiod had less reputation than Homer? They seem to me of equal merit; but Homer has been preferred by the Greeks, because he sung their exploits and victories over the Asiatics, their eternal enemies. He celebrated all the families which in his time reigned in Achaia and Peloponessus; he wrote the most memorable war of the first people in Europe against the most flourishing nation which was then known in Asia. His poem was almost the only

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