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the vth book; and Apollo, in the xvth, leading on the Trojans, and flashing terror with his Ægis on the face of the Greeks, are similar instances of great sublimity added to the description of battles, by the appearances of those celestial beings. In the xxth book, where all the gods take part in the engagement, according as they severally favour either the Grecians or the Trojans, the poet's genius is signally displayed, and the description rises into the most awful magnificence. All nature is represented as in commotion. Jupiter thunders in the heavens; Neptune strikes the earth with his trident; the ships, the city, and the mountains shake; the earth trembles to its centre; Pluto starts from his throne, in dread lest the secrets of the infernal region should be laid open to the view of mortals. The passage is worthy of being inserted.

The works of Ossian (as I have elsewhere shown) abound with
Αὐτὰς ἐπεὶ μεθ' ὅμιλον Ολύμπιοι ἤλυθον ἀνδρῶν,
Ως το δ' Ερις κρατερή, λαοσσούς· αὖε δ' Αθήνη,
Αὖε δ' Αρη ἑτέρωθεν, ἐριμνῆ λαίλαπι ἶσος,
Ως τις αμφωτήρες μακαρες θεοὶ ὁτρύνοντες,
Σύμβαλον, ἐν δ ̓ αὐτοῖς ἔριδα ρήγνυντο βαρείαν.
Δεινὸν δ ̓ ἐβρόντησε πατης ανδρών τε θεών τε
Υψόθεν· αὐτὰς ἔνερθε Ποσειδάων ετίναξε
Γαίαν ἀπειρεσίην, ὁρίων τ' αἰπεινὰ καληνα.
Πάντος δ ̓ ἐσσείοντο πόδες πολυπιδακε ίδης,
Καὶ κορυφα), Τζώων τε πόλις, καὶ νῆς ̓Αχαιών.
Εδδωσεν δ' ὑπένερθεν αναξ ενέρων, Αϊδωνεύς,
Δείσας δ ̓ ἐκ θρονο ἄλτο, καί ἴαχε· μὴ οἱ ὕπερθε
Γαϊαν αναρρήξεις Ποσειδάων ενοσίχθων,
Οικία δε θνητοῖσι καὶ αθανάτοισι φανείη
Σμερδαλέ, ευρώεντα, τά τε συγέεσι θεοὶ περ
Τόσσος άρα κτύπος ὥρτο θεῶν ἔριδι ξυνιόντων.

Iliad, xx. 47. &c.

* But when the powers descending swell'd the fight,
Then tumult rose, fierce rage, and pale affright:
Now through the trembling shores Minerva calls,
And now she thunders from the Grecian walls.
Mars, hov'ring o'er his Troy, his terror shrouds
In gloomy tempests, and a night of clouds;
Now through each Trojan heart he fury pours,
With voice divine, from Ilion's topmost towers.-
Above, the sire of gods his thunder rolls,
And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles;
Beneath, stern Neptune shakes the solid ground,
The forests wave, the mountains nod around;
Through all her summits tremble Ida's woods,
And from their sources boil her hundred floods :
Troy's turrets totter on the rocking plain,
And the toss'd navies beat the heaving main.

Deep in the dismal region of the dead,

Th' infernal monarch rear'd his horrid head,

Leapt from his throne, lest Neptune's arm should lay
His dark dominions open to the day;

And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes,
Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful ev'n to gods.

Such wars th' immortals wage; such horrors rend

The world's vast concave, when the gods contend.

POPE.

examples of the sublime. The subjects of which that author treats, and the manner in which he writes, are particularly favourable to it. He possesses all the plain and venerable manner of the ancient times. He deals in no superfluous or gaudy ornaments; but throws forth his images with a rapid conciseness, which enables them to strike the mind with the greatest force. Among poets of more polished times we are to look for the graces of correct writing, for just proportion of parts, and skilfully conducted narration. In the midst of smiling scenery and pleasurable themes, the gay and the beautiful will ap pear, undoubtedly, to more advantage. But amidst the rude scenes of nature and of society, such as Össian describes; amidst rocks and torrents, and whirlwinds and battles, dwells the sublime; and naturally associates itself with that grave and solemn spirit which distinguishes the author of Fingal. "As autumn's dark storms "pour from two echoing hills, so toward each other approached the "heroes. As two dark streams from high rocks meet and mix, and "roar on the plain; loud, rough, and dark, in battle met Lochlin "and Inisfail: chief mixed his strokes with chief, and man with "man. Steel clanging sounded on steel. Helmets are cleft on "high blood bursts, and smoke around. As the troubled noise "of the ocean when roll the waves on high; as the last peal of the "thunder of heaven; such is the noise of battle. The groan of "the people spreads over the hills. It was like the thunder of night, "when the cloud bursts on Cona, and a thousand ghosts shriek at once on the hollow wind." Never were images of more awful sublimity employed to heighten the terror of battle.

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I have produced these instances, in order to demonstrate that conciseness and simplicity are essential to sublime writing. Simplicity I place in opposition to studied and profuse ornament: and conciseness, to superfluous expression. The reason why a defect, either in conciseness or simplicity, is hurtful in a peculiar manner to the sublime, I shall endeavour to explain. The emotion occasioned in the mind by some great or noble object, raises it considerably above its ordinary pitch. A sort of enthusiasm is produced, extremely agreeable while it lasts; but from which the mind is tending every moment to fall down into its ordinary situation. Now, when an author has brought us, or is attempting to bring us, into this state; if he multiplies words unnecessarily; if he decks the sublime object which he presents to us, round and round, with glittering ornaments; nay, if he throws in any one decoration that sinks in the least below the capital image, that moment he alters the key; he relaxes the tension of the mind; the strength of the feeling is emasculated, the beautiful may remain, but the sublime is gone. When Julius Cæsar said to the pilot who was afraid to put to sea with him in a storm, "Quid times? Cæsarem vehis;" we are struck with the daring magnanimity of one relying with such confidence on his cause and his fortune. These few words convey every thing necessary to give us the impression full. Lucan resolved to amplify and adorn the thought. Observe how every time he twists it round, it departs farther from the sublime, till it ends at last in tumid declamation.

Sperne minas, inquit, pelagi, ventoque furenti
Trade sinum: Italiam, si, cœlo auctore, recusas,
Me pete. Sola tibi causa hæc est justa timoris
Victorem non nôsse tuum; quem numina nunquam
Destituent; de quo male tunc Fortuna meretur
Cum post vota venit. Medias perrumpe procellas
Tutela secure meâ. Cœli iste fretique
Non puppis nostræ labor est.

Hanc Cæsare pressam
A fluctu defendet onus ; nam proderit undis
Ista ratis....Quid tanta strage paratur
Ignoras? quærit pelagi cœlique tumultu
Quid præstet fortuna mihi.*-

PHARS. V. 678.

On account of the great importance of simplicity and conciseness, I conceive rhyme, in English verse, to be, if not inconsistent with the sublime, at least very unfavourable to it. The constrained elegance of this kind of verse, and studied smoothness of the sounds, answering regularly to each other at the end of the line, though they be quite consistent with gentle emotions, yet weaken the native force of sublimity; besides, that the superfluous words which the poet is often obliged to introduce in order to fill up the rhyme, tend farther to enfeeble it. Homer's description of the nod of Jupiter, as shaking the heavens, has been admired, in all ages, as highly sublime. Literally translated, it runs thus: "He spoke, and bending "his sable brows, gave the awful nod; while he shook the celestial "locks of his immortal head, all Olympus was shaken." Mr. Pope translates it thus:

He spoke and awful bends his sable brows,
Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod,
The stamp of fate, and sanction of a God.

High heaven with trembling the dread signal took,
And all Olympus to its centre shook.

The image is spread out, and attempted to be beautified; but it is, in truth, weakened. The third line-" The stamp of fate, and "sanction of a God," is merely expletive, and introduced for no

* But Cæsar still superior to distress,

Fearless, and confident of sure success,
Thus to the pilot loud:-The seas despise,
And the vain threat'ning of the noisy skies;
Though gods deny thee yon Ausonian strand,
Yet go, I charge you, go, at my command.
Thy ignorance alone can cause thy fears,

Thou know'st not what a freight thy vessel bears;
Thou know'st not I am he to whom 'tis given,
Never to want the care of watchful heaven.
Obedient fortune waits my humble thrall,
And always ready, comes before I call.

Let winds and seas, loud wars at freedom wage,
And waste upon themselves their empty rage;
A stronger, mightier dæmon is thy friend,
Thou, and thy bark, on Cæsar's fate depend.
Thou stand'st amaz'd to view this dreadful scene,
And wonder'st what the gods and fortune mean ;
But artfully their bounties thus they raise,
And from my danger arrogate new praise;
Amidst the fears of death they bid me live,
And still enhance what they are sure to give.

ROWE.

other reason but to fill up the rhyme; for it interrupts the description, and clogs the image. For the same reason, out of mere compliance with the rhyme, Jupiter is represented as shaking his locks before he gives the nod ;-Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives "the nod," which is trifling, and without meaning: whereas, in the original, the hair of his head shaken, is the effect of his nod, and makes a happy picturesque circumstance in the description.*

The boldness, freedom, and variety of our blank verse, is infinitely more favourable than rhyme, to all kinds of sublime poetry. The fullest proof of this is afforded by Milton; an author whose genius led him eminently to the sublime. The whole first and second Take only,

books of Paradise Lost, are continued instances of it.

for an example, the following noted description of Satan, after his fall, appearing at the head of the infernal hosts:

-He, above the rest,

In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower; his form had not yet lost
All her original brightness, nor appear'd
Less than archangel ruin'd; and the excess
Of glory obscur'd: as when the sun new risen,
Looks through the horizontal misty air,
Shorn of his beams; or, from behind the moon,
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd so, yet shone
Above them all th' archangel.-

Here concur a variety of sources of the sublime: the principal object eminently great; a high superior nature, fallen indeed, but erecting itself against distress; the grandeur of the principal object heightened, by associating it with so noble an idea as that of the sun suffering an eclipse; this picture shaded with all those images of change and trouble, of darkness and terror, which coincide so finely with the sublime emotion; and the whole expressed in a style and versification, easy, natural, and simple, but magnificent.

I have spoken of simplicity and conciseness, as essential to sublime writing. In my general description of it, I mentioned strength, as another necessary requisite. The strength of description arises, in a great measure, from a simple conciseness; but, it supposes also something more; namely, a proper choice of circumstances in the description, so as to exhibit the object in its full and most striking point of view. For every object has several faces, so to speak, by which it may be presented to us, according to the circumstances with which we surround it; and it will appear eminently sublime, or not, in proportion as all these circumstances are happily chosen, and of a sublime kind. Here lies the great art of the writer; and, indeed, the great difficulty of sublime description. If the description be too general, and divested of circumstances, the object appears in a faint light; it makes a feeble impression, or no impression at all, on the reader. At the same time, if any trivial or improper circumstances are mingled, the whole is degraded.

"See Webb on the Beauties of Poetry.

A storm or tempest, for instance, is a sublime object in nature. But to render it sublime in description, it is not enough either to give us mere general expressions concerning the violence of the tempest, or to describe its common vulgar effects, in overthrowing trees and houses. It must be painted with such circumstances as fill the mind with great and awful ideas. This is very happily done by Virgil, in the following passage:

GEOR. I.

Ipse Pater, media nimborum in nocte, coruscâ Fulmina molitur dextrâ; quo maxima motu Terra tremit; fugêre feræ; et mortalia corda Per gentes humilis stravit pavor: Ille flagranti Aut Atho, aut Rhodopen, aut alta Ceraunia telo Dejicit. Every circumstance in this noble description is the production of an imagination heated and astonished with the grandeur of the object. If there be any defect, it is in the words immediately following those I have quoted: "Ingeminant Austri, et densissimus imber;" where the transition is made too hastily, I am afraid, from the preceding sublime images, to a thick shower, and the blowing of the south wind; and shows how difficult it frequently is to descend with grace, without seeming to fall.

The high importance of the rule which I have been now giving, concerning the proper choice of circumstances, when description is meant to be sublime, seems to me not to have been sufficiently attended to. It has, however, such a foundation in nature, as renders the least deflexion from it fatal. When a writer is aiming at the beautiful only, his descriptions may have improprieties in them, and yet be beautiful still. Some trivial, or misjudged circumstances, can be overlooked by the reader; they make only the difference of more or less: the gay, or pleasing emotion, which he has raised, subsists still. But the case is quite different with the sublime. There, one trifling circumstance, one mean idea, is sufficient to destroy the whole charm. This is owing to the nature of the emotion aimed at by sublime description, which admits of no mediocrity, and cannot subsist in a middle state; but must either highly transport us, or, if unsuccessful in the execution, leave us greatly disgusted and displeased. We attempt to rise along with the writer; the imagination is awakened, and put upon the stretch; but it requires to be supported; and if, in the midst of its efforts, you desert it unexpectedly, down it comes with a painful shock. When Milton, in his battle of the

* The father of the gods his glory shrouds,
Involv'd in tempests, and a night of clouds ;
And from the middle darkness flashing out,
By fits he deals his fiery bolts about.
Earth feels the motions of her angry God,
Her entrails tremble, and her mountains nod,
And flying beasts in forests seek abode.
Deep horror seizes every human breast ;
Their pride is humbled, and their fears confest :
While he, from high, his rolling thunder throws,
And fires the mountains with repeated blows;
The rocks are from their old foundations rent,
The winds redouble, and the rains augment.
G

DRYDEN.

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