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and diligence that he may at least be said to have deserved success.

The hexameter of the ancients may be considered as consisting of fifteen syllables, so melodiously disposed, that, as every one knows who has examined the poetical authors, very pleasing and sonorous lyric measures are formed from the fragments of the heroic. It is, indeed, scarce possible to break them in such a manner, but that invenias etiam disjecti membra poëtæ, some harmony will still remain, and the due proportions of sound will always be discovered. This measure, therefore, allowed great variety of pauses, and great liberties of connecting one verse with another, because, wherever the line was interrupted, either part singly was musical. But the ancients seem to have confined this privilege to hexameters; for, in their other measures, though longer than the English heroic, those who wrote after the refinements of versification, venture so seldom to change their pauses that every variation may be supposed rather a compliance with necessity than the choice of judgment.

Milton was constrained within the narrow limits of a measure not very harmonious in the utmost perfection; the single parts, therefore, into which it was to be sometimes broken by pauses, were in danger of losing the very form of verse. This bas, perhaps, notwithstanding all his care, sometimes happened.

As harmony is the end of poetical measures, no part of a verse ought to be so separated from the rest as not to remain still more harmonious than prose, or to show, by the disposition of the tones, that it is part of a verse. This rule in the old hexameter might be easily observed, but in English will very frequently be in danger of violation; for the order and regularity of accents cannot well be per

ceived in a succession of fewer than three syllables, which will confine the English poet to only five pauses; it being supposed that, when he connects one line with another, he should never make a full pause at less distance than that of three syllables from the beginning or end of a verse.

That this rule should be universally and indispensably established, perhaps cannot be granted; something may be allowed to variety, and something to the adaptation of the numbers to the subject; but it will be found generally necessary, and the ear will seldom fail to suffer by its neglect.

Thus when a single syllable is cut off from the rest, it must either be united to the line with which the sense connects it, or be sounded alone. If it be united to the other line, it corrupts its harmony; if disjoined it must stand alone, and with regard to music be superfluous; for there is no harmony in a single sound, because it has no proportion to another.

Hypocrites austerely talk,

Defaming as impure what God declares

Pure; and commands to some, leaves free to all.

When two syllables likewise are abscinded from the rest, they evidently want some associate sounds to make them harmonious.

-Eyes

-more wakeful than to drouze,

Charm'd with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reed

Of Hermes, or his opiate rod. Meanwhile

To resalute the world with sacred light
Leucothea wak'd.

He ended, and the sun gave signal high
To the bright minister that watch'd: he blew
His trumpet.

which taking in a complete compass of sound, such as is sufficient to constitute one of our lyric measures, makes a full and solemn close. Some passages which conclude at this stop I could never read without some strong emotions of delight or admiration.

Before the hills appear'd, or fountains flow'd,
Thou with eternal wisdom didst converse,
Wisdom thy sister; and with her didst play
In presence of the almighty Father, pleas'd
With thy celestial song.

Or other worlds they seem'd, or happy isles,
Like those Hesperian gardens famed of old,
Fortunate fields, and groves, and flowery vales,
Thrice happy isles! But who dwelt happy there,
He staid not to inquire.

He blew

His trumpet, heard in Oreb since, perhaps
When God descended; and, perhaps, once more
To sound at general doom.

If the poetry of Milton be examined, with regard to the pauses, and flow of his verses into each other, it will appear, that he has performed all that our language would admit; and the comparison of his numbers with those who have cultivated the same manner of writing will show that he excelled as much in the lower as the higher parts of his art, and that his skill in harmony was not less than his invention or his learning.

No. 91. TUESDAY, JAN. 29, 1751.

Dulcis inexpertis cultura potentis amici,
Expertus metuit.

HOR.

To court the great ones and to sooth their pride,
Seems a sweet task to those that never tried;
But those that have know well that danger's near.

CREECH.

THE Sciences having long seen their votaries labouring for the benefit of mankind, without reward, put up their petition to Jupiter for a more equitable distribution of riches and honours. Jupiter was moved at their complaints, and touched with the approaching miseries of men, whom the Sciences, wearied with perpetual ingratitude, were now threatening to forsake, and who would have been reduced by their departure to feed in dens upon the mast of trees, to hunt their prey in deserts, and to perish under the paws of animals stronger and fiercer than themselves.

A synod of the celestials was therefore convened, in which it was resolved, that Patronage should descend to the assistance of the Sciences. Patronage was the daughter of Astrea, by a mortal father, and had been educated in the school of Truth, by the Goddesses whom she was now appointed to protect. She had from her mother that dignity of aspect, which struck terror into false merit, and from her mistress that reserve, which made her only accessible to those whom the Sciences brought into her presence.

She came down, with the general acclamation of all the powers that favour learning. Hope danced before her, and Liberality stood at her side, ready

VOL. II.

K

to scatter by her direction the gifts which Fortune, who followed her, was commanded to supply. As she advanced towards Parnassus, the cloud which had long hung over it was immediately dispelled. The shades, before withered with drought, spread their original verdure, and the flowers that had languished with chilness brightened their colours, and invigorated their scents; the Muses tuned their harps and exerted their voices; and all the concert of nature welcomed her arrival.

On Parnassus she fixed her residence, in a palace raised by the Sciences, and adorned with whatever could delight the eye, elevate the imagination, or enlarge the understanding. Here she dispersed the gifts of Fortune with the impartiality of Justice, and the discernment of Truth. Her gate stood always open, and Hope sat at the portal, inviting to entrance all whom the Sciences numbered in their train. The court was therefore thronged with innumerable multitudes, of whom, though many returned disappointed, seldom any had confidence to complain; for Patronage was known to neglect few, but for want of the due claims to her regard.— Those, therefore, who had solicited her favour without success generally withdrew from public notice, and either diverted their attention to meaner employments, or endeavoured to supply their deficiences by closer application.

In time, however, the number of those who had miscarried in their pretensions grew so great that they became less ashamed of their repulses; and instead of hiding their disgrace in retirement, began to besiege the gates of the palace, and obstruct the entrance of such as they thought likely to be more caressed. The decisions of Patronage, who was but half a Goddess, had been sometimes erroneous; and though she always made haste to rectify her

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