On Thracia's hills the lord of war Has curb'd the fury of his car, And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command. Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king, The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye.* The reader will, doubtless, be pleased to see these striking images copied by another masterly hand: With slacken'd wings, While now the solemn concert breathes around, Sleeps the stern eagle; by the number'd notes Sovereign of birds. The furious God of war, That bear him vengeful o'er the embattled plains, It is to be observed, that both these imitators have omitted a natural circumstance, very expressive of the strong feeling of the eagle; but * Dodsley's Collection, vol. VI. p. 322. † Ibid. vol. VI. p. 13. HYMN to the Naiads, by Dr. Akenside. but very difficult to be translated with becoming elegance. Ο δε κνώσσων Υγρον νωτον αείρει, τεμις Ριπαισι κατασχομενος.* May I venture to add, that this ode of Mr. Gray ends a little unhappily? That is, with an antithesis unsuited to the dignity of such a composition: Bb 3 Beneath *Pindar, Pyth. I. Antistrophe i. v. 5. This image puts me in mind of a fine stroke in Apollonius Rhodius, who thus describes the effects of Medea's enchantments on the dragon who watch'd the golden fleece: αυταρ όγ ηδη Οι μη θελγομεν, δολιχην αναλύετ' ακαιθαν Γηγενε σπείρης, δε μύρια κύκλα. Lib IV. ver. 150. Few moderns have boldness enough to enter on circum. stances so MINUTELY NATURAL, and therefore highly expressive; they are afraid of being thought vulgar and flat. Apollonius has more merit than is usually allowed him, and deserves more consideration among the learned: the whole behaviour and passion of Medea is movingly described. He particularly abounds in such lively and delicate strokes as that quoted above, Beneath the Good how far, but far above the Great. It may be also questioned, whether his other ode might not have been better concluded without mentioning the manner in which the bard died. There would have been a beautiful abruptness in finishing with Be thine despair, and sceptred care: The mind would have been left in a pleasing and artful suspense, at not knowing what became of só favourite a character. Lyric poetry, especially, should not be minutely historical. When Juno had ended her speech in Horace with that spirited stanza, Ter si resurgat murus aheneus Capta, virum, puerosque ploret, what follows surely weakens the conclusion of this ode, and is comparatively flat : Non Non hæc jocosæ conveniunt lyræ: Quo Musa tendis ?* The inspiration, under which the poet seems to have laboured, suddenly ceases, and he descends into a cold and prosaic apology.† Bb 4 16. Here * Ode III. lib. iii. ver. 69. + On more closely and attentively considering the subject, I am inclined to alter my opinion concerning the conclusion of this fine Ode of Mr. Gray. The bard not only sustains the part of a prophet, but that of an actor likewise; and is himself most closely related to the subject. For what, in truth, is the subject of this poem: I mean, if we consider it in the view of critical exactness? It is not surely any, or all, of those historical portraits, which are painted in such animated colours through the piece; but simply, the destruction of the Bards of Wales; the rage and fury of the only one that was left alive; his menaces of revenge on the authors of such cruelty; and lastly, to crown all, his own dreadful fate. Imagine, then, that you see this wretched old man, starting up suddenly on the top of a rocky eminence, in full view of the English army; wild with despair, and animated with the thoughts of vengeance; with haggard eyes; his beard loose; and his hoary hair streaming like a meteor in a dark and troubled sky. At sight of the bloody chiefs, he instantly breaks out into abrupt and furious execrations; Ruin seize thee, ruthless king, &c. But 16. Here happy Horace tun'd the Ausonian lyre, To sweeter sounds, and temper'd Pindar's fire: He might have selected ornaments more manly and characteristical of Horace, than The But this sudden and most violent burst of anger soon gives place to a softer passion. He laments the untimely deaths of his friends and brethren, in words of the most plaintive tenderness, and most compassionate regret; till, by degrees, he is once more roused to thoughts of vengeance. He imagines that the ghosts of the murdered bards stand present at his call. He weaves, with horrid rites, the destiny of Edward; and denounces misery and affliction on all his race. Again his mind is calmed he directs his prospect still farther into futurity; and, after soothing his despair, by a survey of happier times, and more merciful princes, throws himself from the rock, with a kind of sullen satisfaction, into the flood below. This catastrophe must surely be allowed to be well adapted to the subject, the person, and the scene; in a word, to all the horrors with which the poem abounds; and is therefore not only a suitable, but even a necessary catastrophe: necessary to wind up, if I may so speak, the action of the piece. I said, the horrors of the poem; because the most striking graces in it are certainly of the terrible kind, and for that reason, affect the imagination of the reader more deeply, and more irresistibly. * Ver. 222. |