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dom in his polite and popular essays. It became a sort of watch-word among the criticks; and, on the sudden, nothing was heard, on all sides, but the clinquant of Tasso.

After all, these two respectable' writers might not intend the mischief they were doing. The observation was just, but was extended much fur-i ther than they meant, by their witless followers and admirers.

The effect was, as I said, that the Italian poetry was rejected in the gross, by virtue of this censure; though the authors of it had said no more than this,' That their best poet had . some false thoughts, and dealt, as they sup'posed, too much in incredible fiction.'

I leave the reader to make his own reflexions on this short history of the Italian poetry. It is not my design to make its apology in all respects. However, with regard to the first of these charges, I presume to say that, as just as it is in the sense in which I persuade myself it was intended, there are more instances of natural sentiment and of that divine simplicity we admire in the ancients, even Guarini's Pastor Fido, than in the best of the French poets. And, as to the last, I pretend to show, that it is no fault at all in the Italian poets. Chi non sa che cosa sia Italia?—If this question could ever be reasonably asked on any occasion, it must surely be when the wit and poetry of that people were under consideration. The enchanting sweetness of their tongue, the richness

VOL. IX.

of their invention, the fire and elevation of their genius, the splendour of their expression on great subjects, and the native simplicity of their sentiments on affecting ones; all these are such manifest advantages on the side of the Italian poets, as should seem to command our highest admiration of their great and capital works.

Yet a different language has been held by our finer criticks. And in particular you hear it commonly said of the tales of Faery, which they first and principally adorned; That they are unna⚫tural and absurd; that they surpass all bounds 'not of truth only, but of probability; and look 6 more like the dreams of children, than the 'manly inventions of poets.'

All this, and more, has been said; and if truly said, who would not lament

L'arte del poëtar troppo infelice?'

For they are not the cold fancies of plebeian poets, but the golden dreams of Ariosto, the celestial visions of Tasso, that are thus derided.

The only criticism, indeed, that is worth regarding, is the philosophical. But there is a sort which looks like philosophy, and is not. May not that be the case here? This criticism, whatever name it deserves, supposes that the poets, who are liars by profession, expect to have their lies believed. Surely they are not so un

reasonable. They think it enough, if they can but bring you to imagine the possibility of them.

And how small a matter will serve for this? A legend, a tale, a tradition, a rumour, a superstition; in short, any thing is enough to be the basis of their air-formed visions. Does any capable reader trouble himself about the truth, or even the credibility of their fancies? Alas, no; he is best pleased when he is made to conceive (he minds not by what magick) the existence of such things as his reason tells him did not, and were never likely to, exist,

But here, to prevent mistakes, an explanation will be necessary. We must distinguish between the popular belief, and that of the reader.

The

fictions of poetry do, in some degree at least, require the first; (they would, otherwise, deservedly pass for dreams indeed :) but when the poet has this advantage on his side, and his fancies have, or may be supposed to have, a countenance from the current superstitions of the age, in which he writes, he dispenses with the last, and gives his reader leave to be as sceptical and as incredulous, as he pleases.

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An eminent French critick diverts himself with imagining what a person, who comes fresh from reading Mr. Addison and Mr. Locke, would be apt to think of Tasso's Enchantment *.'

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Voltaire, Essai sur la Poesie Epique, Ch. vii. HURD.

The English reader will, perhaps, smile at seeing these two writers so coupled together: and, with the critick's leave, we will put Mr. Locke out of the question. But if he be desirous to know what a reader of Mr. Addison would pronounce in the case, I can undertake to give him satisfaction. Speaking of what Mr. Dryden calls, the Faery way of writing, Men of cold fancies and philosophical dispositions,' says he,

object to this kind of poetry, that it has not probability enough to affect the imagination. But many are prepossessed with such false opinions, as dispose them to believe these particular delusions; at least, we have all heard so many pleasing relations in favour of them, that we do not care for seeing through the falsehood, and willingly give ourselves up to so agreeable an imposture.' Spectator, Vol. vi. Apply, now, this sage judgment of Mr. Addison to Tasso's Enchantments, and you see that a falsehood convict is not to be pleaded against a supposed belief, or even the slightest hear-say. So little account does this wicked Poetry make of philosophical or historical truth: all she allows us to look for, is poetical truth; a very slender thing indeed, and which the poet's eye, when rolling its finest frenzy, can but just lay hold of. To speak in the philosophick language of Mr. Hobbes, It is something much beyond the actual bounds, and only within the conceived possibility, of nature.

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But the source of bad criticism, as universally of bad philosophy, is the abuse of terms. poet, they say, must follow Nature; and by Nature we are to suppose can only be meant the known and experienced course of affairs in this world. Whereas the poet has a world of his own, where experience has less to do, than consistent imagination.

He has, besides, a supernatural world to range in. He has Gods, and Faeries, and Witches, at his command: and,

O! who can tell

The hidden pow'r of herbes, and might of magick
SPENSER, F. Q. B. i. C. 2.

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spell?'

Thus, in the poet's world, all is marvellous and extraordinary: yet not unnatural in one sense, ́as it agrees to the conceptions that are readily entertained of these magical and wonder-working Na

tures.

This trite maxim of following Nature is further mistaken in applying it indiscriminately to all sorts of poetry.

In those species which have men and manners professedly for their theme, a strict conformity with human nature is reasonably demanded.

Non hic Centauros, non Gorgonas, Harpyasque
Invenies hominem pagina nostra sapit :'

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