horse, and a sphinx's riddle? It is difficult for an age like the present, which hungers and thirsts after novelty, to conceive that an audience could sit with patience during the recital of a story which all must have heard a thousand times; especially as it was unadorned with the meretricious artifices of players, with thunder and lightning, hail and rain, tolling bells, and tinsel garments..

But the sameness of the story in the Grecian poets became agreeable to the audience, through that veneration which every record of ancient history demands. That the story on which a dramatic poem is founded, should not be of modern date, has, I think, been laid down as a rule. Nor is it the precept of an arbitrary critic, but is justified by nature and reason. Imagination always exceeds reality. The vulgar could never prevail upon themselves to look on scenes, to the reality of which they have been eye-witnesses, with the same ardour as on those which they have received from their ancestors, and have painted with the strongest colours on their fancy. In obedience to this rule, the Greek poets took their subjects from ancient facts universally known, believed, and admired: and the audience entered the theatre, to behold a lively representation of the picture already formed in their own imagination.

A modern reader has not a preparatory disposition of mind necessary to receive all that pleasure from these compositions, which transported an ancient Greek. He does not glow with that patriotic ardour which he would feel on reading glorious deeds of a fellow-countryman, when Homer represents a hero breaking the Trojan phalanx and encountering a Hector. He does not consider an

ancient Theban or Athenian involved in the guilt of undesigned parricide or incest, nearly enough connected with him to excite his sympathy in a violent degree; but all these feelings in a Grecian audience, occasioned by a Grecian sufferer, account for that uncommon delight which they took in their dramatic representations, and for their freedom from that satiety which might otherwise have been occasioned by the reiteration of a simple tale.

An English audience has lately shewn itself not so averse from the ancient tragedy, as was expected, by its favourable reception of Elfrida and Caractacus, written on the Grecian model: but, perhaps, this event is not so much to be attributed to the revival of the refined taste of an Attic audience, as to the insatiable avidity of something new. The - English are as fond of the xavov, in literature, as the Athenians were in politics: but whether caprice For reason, whether taste or fashion, gave them a favourable reception on the English stage, it is certain that Elfrida and Caràctacus are elegant dramas, formed exactly on the ancient model, and may be read with great advantage by those who wish to entertain a just idea of the Greek tragedy without a knowledge of the language.

NO. CLXXV.

CURSORY REMARKS ON SOME OF THE
MINOR ENGLISH POETS.

WE are told, in the epistle to the Pisos, that poetical mediocrity is intolerable; yet we find that poets, of inferior merit as well as fame, are read with pleasure.

It is true, indeed, that the loudest melody of the

grove is poured forth by the lark, the blackbird, the thrush, and the nightingale: but it is no less true, that their pauses are often filled by the sweet warblings of the linnet and the red-breast. The lofty cedar that waves on the summit of the poetic mountain, seems to overshadow, and exclude, by its luxuriance, all other vegetation. He, however, who approaches it, will find many a violet and primrose springing at its root, He will often discover, amid a plentiful growth of weeds, a modest flower lifting its humble head, and becoming more beautiful by seeming to conceal the native sweetness of its odour, and the lustre of its hues.

The first dignities in the poetical commonwealth are pre-occupied by such writers as Spenser, Milton, Dryden, and Pope; but, at the same time, the numerous subaltern stations are frequently filled with honour.

Many poets of original beauty were in their own times so obscure as to be now totally unknown. Such are the authors of our most popular ballads, the general reception of which is a proof of their excellence, more convincing than the decisions of criticism. The learned poet has commonly owed much of his excellence to imitation; but the ballad. writer drew only from his own resources when he sung the wild wood-notes of nature. Their metre often possesses a kind of harmony quite different from classical versification; yet, at the same time, truly pleasing to the uncorrupted ear.

Of poets once known and admired, several are fallen into total disrepute. Drayton was honoured by a commentator who must have given fame to any writer. If Selden's taste was equal to his learn.

ing, Drayton is indeed most highly distinguished. The Polyolbion is, however, no more read; and the slow length of the tedious Alexandrine in which it is written, will prevent its revival, as it has hastened its oblivion.

The Gondibert of D'Avenant has been the subject of critical controversy from the time of its publication. Its plan was originally defended by the great Hobbes, and its execution has been greatly praised. Yet few have attended to it with any pleasure, and still fewer have had a degree of patience sufficient to bear them through the perusal of it. The truth is, the stanza which he adopted, is better suited to elegiac than to heroic poetry. A beautifully descriptive passage, interspersed in the course of two or three hundred lines, will not alleviate the tedium of the rest; as an occasional flash of lightning cannot illuminate the continued gloominess of an extensive prospect.

For the honour of English literature, most of the poetical productions which were admired in the reign of Charles, should now be consigned to everlasting oblivion. They display, indeed, a sportive licentiousness of fancy, but they are incorrect beyond the example of any age. Some of the best poets of the times, among whom were Mulgrave, Dorset, and Roscommon, though possessed of wit and taste, produced nothing worthy of immortality. The morals of the age were as licentious as the taste; and the love of pleasure introduced an indolence, which admitted not an application sufficient to give the last polish of correct elegance.

The study of the ancients, and of the French, has gradually refined the national taste to a degree of

fastidious delicacy; and writers who have possessed classical beauty have been read with admiration, though they have had nothing to recommend them to the notice of a Charles the Second or a Sedley.

The number of minor poets who displayed great merit, yet who seem to have derived it all from imitation, is too tedious to enumerate. Philips and his friend Smith were correct and classical in a degree superior to their contemporaries. Philips has performed the task of imitation, with an accuracy of resemblance scarcely equalled by any of his followers but Browne. The Phædra and Hippolitus of Smith has ever been esteemed a fine poem; and the beauty of the style, and harmony of the verse, induce us to regret that he lived to finish so few productions.

Within the space of half the last century, a desire to imitate the excellent models of our more celebrated bards, has crowded the middle ranks with a multitude too great to obtain, even for the deserving individual, any very distinguished fame. One poet has arisen after another, and supplanted him, as the wave succeeding swallows up the wave that went before. Most of them have exhibited an harmonious versification, and have selected a profusion of splendid expressions; but have in general been deficient in that noble fire, and those simple graces, which mark originality of genius. They are, however, read with pleasure, and sweetly fill up the intervals of avocation among the busy and commercial world, who are not acquainted with the Greeks and Romans, and with whom novelty often possesses the charm of beauty.

There is a force and solemnity in the poems of