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is to the author of " Bertrand." In Spenser love assumes too stately and formal a character, and never veils itself in the softer guise and yielding languishments of natural and unfeigned affection. The consequence is, that in the "Fairy Queen," there is a total abandonment of nature, and even a considerable portion of conceit in many of the love scenes. When Prince Arthur meets with Una, and requests to become acquainted with the cause of her affliction, the following dialogue takes place between them:

"O! but," quoth she, "great griefe will not be tould,

And can more easily be thought than

said."

"Right so," quoth he, "but he that never would,

Could never will to might gives greatest aid."

"But griefe," quoth she, "does greater grow displaid,

If then it find not helpe, and breeds despaire."

"Despaire breeds not," quoth he, "where faith is staid."

"No faith so fast," quoth she, but flesh does paire." "Flesh may empaire," quoth he, "but

reason can repaire."

Is this languge natural in a woman, when, the moment before, we are told,

"She thrise did sinke adowne in deadly

swound,"

at hearing of her lover's captivity. It matters little that her replies to Prince Arthur are true, if they be out of place. I have already ob served, that what is improper cannot be natural; and therefore truth and nature are found to be frequently at variance. A writer is not to consider, for a moment, whether what he expresses be true: his business is to ascertain whether it be a truth applicable to the time, place, and circumstance to which it is applied. Una would not seem, from this dialogue, to be at that instant overwhelmed with grief and affliction; for she appears evidently more desirous of displaying her knowledge than of describing her sorrows to a knight whose only object was to restore her lost peace of mind, by rescuing her lover from captivity. Her replies to the prince are, therefore,

a perfect tissue of conceit, and would never have proceeded from the reckless heart of a woe-worn, despairing lover. If, then, it be allowed that the highest province of poetry is to probe the inmost recesses of the heart, to watch all its secret movements and vibrations, and the still more secret and less perceptible causes from which they originate; to trace the varying aspect which different passions assume in different characters, under the diversified influences of times and situations, it must also be allowed that Pope is not only superior to Spenser, but that the distance between them is so immensely great, that no task could be more ungrateful to an admirer of Spenser, than to enter into the com parison. By an admirer of Spenser, I do not mean, in this place, a proso fessed disciple of the Spenserian school, but a rational admirers who, unfettered by the thraldom of schools, or the canons of " invariable principles of poetry," knows to sepas rate his virtues from his vices, his beauties from his defects; and whose admiration of the one causes him to forget, not to ignore, the existence

of the other. The time in which he wrote, as I have already observed,^ rendered it almost impossible that he should excel in the language of love. In the first of the three qualities, cessary to the excellence of such a therefore, which I have shewn nepoem as the "Fairy Queen," Spenser was evidently deficient. Let us examine how far he has excelled in the other two.

A strong and vigorous imagination is the quality, which I have observed was necessary to the creation of magic plots, and the description of chivalric deeds. In this quality, Spenser has eminently excelled. His mind was formed to expatiate at large over the face of nature; to create solitudes and wilds, peopled only by the fairy offspring of his own imagination; to invent plots, and scenes, and circumstances, and situations, that could have presented themselves only to a bold, restless, and expatiatory spirit; a spirit which explores every recess and winding in the private retreats and romantic seclusions of nature, and discovers a warrior or a fairy in every recess. The mind of Spenser

would seem to have been stamped by nature with romantic character, and therefore he has excelled most of his successors in the description of romantic situations, and the accomplishment of heroic designs. His ideas of chivalry were so clear and distinct, so characteristic of the time.. in which he wrote, that his heroes are all fit subjects for the canvass. They seem to live and move, and wave their ensigns of destruction in our presence. The colouring is so faithful, and the images so true to nature, that they appear to lose their imaginary character, and to assume not only a real, but a renewed existence. Of this the instances are so numerous, and the portraits in each are executed with so masterly a hand, and in such bold and animated colouring, that perhaps it may he sufficient to quote the first stanza of the first book, where the Red Cross Knight, or the Champion of England is introduced on his fiery

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From top to toe no place appeared bare,

That deadly dint of steele endanger

may;

Athwart his brest, a bauldrick brave he ware,

That shin'd, like twinkling stars, with stones most precious rare;

And, in the midst thereof, one precious

stone

Of wondrous worth, and eke of wondrous mights,

Shapt like a ladie's head, exceeding shone,

Like Hesperus amongst the lesser lights,

And strove for to amaze the weaker lights;

Thereby his mortall blade full comely hong

In yvory sheath, ycarv'd with curious slights,

Whose hilts were burnisht gold; and handle strong

Of mother perle; and buckled with a golden tong.

His haughtie helmit, horrid all with gold,

Both glorious brightnesse and great terrour bredd:

For all the crest, a dragon did enfold With greedie pawes, and over all did spredd

His golden wings; his dreadfull hideous hedd,

Close couched on the bever, seemed to throw

From flaming mouth bright sparckles fiery redd,

That suddeine horrour to faint hartes

did show;

And scaly tayle was stretcht adowne his back full low.

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the life. When the Prince died, he informs us that the "Faery Queene" brought this shield

descended from a race of patriots, to some other country, where he is brought up and educated, ignorant of the land of his fathers, and

"To faery lond; where yet it may be perhaps he may become its most seene, if sought."

I admit then, freely, that Spenser 'excels most of his successors in the creations of an imagination at once vigorous, versatile, and correct. Milton indeed displays a more expanded grasp of mind, and lifts us to the contemplation of sublimer prospects, but his pictures are overcharged, and he seldom presents nature to our eyes in the simple, chaste, and unaffected colouring of Spenser, In the "Fairy Queen" we instantly, and instinctively recognize the reality and truth of the images which are placed before us. We have no difficulty in conceiving and picturing to ourselves the originals which they represent; but Milton too often confuses us with images of undefined and undefinable being, which leave no distinct impression on the mind, and fill it with vague, and unembodied conceptions. Fancy then would seem to have been born with Spenser; and indeed, if it were possible to come into life with the inheritance of a romantic mind, I should not hesitate to admit, that Spenser derived his romantic genius from this original source. Nothing, however, can be more unphilosophic suppose a man born with any intellectual propensity as a genius, for painting, poetry, astronomy, music, &c. If a person be born with a natural propensity for painting, the propensity necessarily exists before he knows, or can conceive what painting is. This species of propensity is a perfect riddle; we cannot assert that we have a propensity for any thing till we first perceive the thing, and perceive also our attachment to it; for if we do

perceive ourselves inclined to a certain object or pursuit, how can we pretend to say that we have a propensity for it, in as much as all our propensities, and all our knowledge are made known to us through the medium of our perceptions. It is a popular error, however, to say we are born with a propensity for certain arts, we are born with a love of our country. Remove a child

formidable enemy. At least it is certain that he will have no more attachment for it than he has for any other nation upon earth, except what may happen to arise from circumstances unconnected with his birth. Such an attachment must be

perfectly uninfluenced by any original laws of his nature, because it owes its sole existence to adventitious circumstances which might have never occurred, and in which case the attachment would have never been felt. Locke has long since exploded the doctrine of innate ideas: the same reasoning applied to innate propensities, would easily. prove the absurdity of supposing a child possessing a propensity for an art of which he is totally igno rant. Propensities, like ideas, are, produced by the agency of sensible, and external being. In our fortieth year we have no propensity for a thing which we never saw, and of which we never heard; and we must presume it fair to suppose, that what we have no propensity for at this age, cannot be an innate or natural propensity; and yet it is certain that we may become strongly attached to this and many other objects and pursuits after this age, though we never felt, nor possibly could feel, the slightest propensity for them before, because we had been totally unacquainted with them. It is then as absurd to say poeta nascitur non fit, as to maintain that a person deeply in love with a woman was born with a natural affection for her. No poet can be more attached to his muse than an ardent lover is to his mistress. Why not suppose one atattachment innate as well as the other? If the lover, however, had never seen his mistress, he would not have regarded her a rush, which `evidently would not be the case if his attachment had been innate, and originally derived from the hand of nature. As then we have no propensity for any object or pursuit, till we e are first made acquainted with it, and as we are not conscious of forming any acquaintances before our birth, except an instinctive

acquaintance with the nutriment imparted to us in the womb, it evidently follows, that we come into the world without the slightest propensity whatever, except for drink or nourishment,

If this reasoning be true, and it is difficult to conceive it otherwise, we must trace the romantic character of Spenser's genius, not to any original propensity of mind, but to the subsequent agency of circumstances and situations. Spenser lived in an age of magic, witchery, and enchantment; of heroism and chivalry. No doubt, if we were acquainted with the occupations of his infant days, but we should find a considerable portion of them devoted to the perusal of fairy tales, and other productions of a similar character. These productions, perhaps, during the course of his earlier reading, were the only works to which he could find access. In this case, they must have made a much stronger impression upon his mind, than on children who read from a more varied and heterogeneous selection. It is also certain, that the earlier and the more he read of them, the more powerful they swayed his plastic and tender mind, then capable of the slightest impressions, though tenacious only of those which were deep and frequently repeated. There is no subject, which gives stronger exercise to the imagination of a child than fairy tales, enchanted castles, and romantic imagery; and where a passion for them is cherished in our infancy, they will ever after continue to give a romantic cast or character to the mind. The occupations of Spenser's youth are, it is true, unknown to us, at present. Speculation must, therefore, supply the absence of historic certainty; but whether our speculations on the subject be true or imaginary, it is equally certain, that the romantic genius of Spenser must have originated from some circumstances, arising out of his own particular situation, or the genius, character, and complexion of the age in which he wrote. It is true, all minds are not equally affected by similar circumstances, because they are formed by nature with different degrees of susceptibility, so that one mind is powerfully affected by a cause which will

not produce the slightest emotion in another; but notwithstanding this difference of susceptibility, all minds are the same, antecedent to the operation of the causes or influences by which they are affected. Genius, then, consists, not in any original propensities, but in a high degree of susceptibility; and the higher the degree, the brighter and purer is the intellectual character of the mind in which it is found.

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These observations lead us, very naturally, to a view of the human mind, which shews the absurdity of those who prefer one sort of intellectual endowment to another; and who, reasoning on this false principle, prefer Spenser to Pope. Those, who are acquainted with all that has been written on the subject, will excuse the digression into which it necessarily leads me. The mind is a complete tabula erasa, as well with regard to impressions as with regard to ideas, a circumstance which renders children more "feelingly alive" to every impulse. They are the inhabitants of a new world; for to them it is as new, as if they and it had come into existence at the first moment. The first sensations, consequently, are more acute and more distinctly felt, than those which succeed them; not only because every sensation we feel, but also the object or circumstance by which it is excited, is always new and strange to us, in the first instance. When the sensation is repeated some time after, we recollect having felt it before, and, consequently, we are not so much surprised at it. The next time it becomes more familiar, and, therefore, less attended to, until, at length, the impression is scarcely recognised, from its frequency. This theory of impressions is not merely philosophical, but confirmed by experience. Every person is conscious of having been more susceptible of impressions in his youth, than he finds himself to be in his riper years. I am aware, that Professor Dugald Steward is of a contrary opinion, and instances himself as an example; but I am inclined to think, that if he really be, as he informs us, not less "feelingly alive" to every "impulse" at present, than he was in his youth, he only proves, that there is no law without its exception. It is possible

for a person to spend his entire boyhood without feeling any of those exquisite emotions or thrilling ecstacies, which the prospects of nature, and the young delights of science, so peculiarly awaken in the youthful breast. This, however, can only arise from two causes, original insensibility, or the indurating influence of peculiar circumstances and situations. He, who is naturally insensible in his youth, becomes still more callous in his old age, so that, even in this case, the advantage is on the side of youth; but if youthful insensibility arise merely from peculiar circumstances and situations, it is not surprising, that when these circumstances are removed, in more advanced life, the native, original susceptibilities of the heart should awaken into existence, and consequently that he who feels them should be, not only as susceptible in his old age, but even more so than in his youthful days. Such a person, however, is not to conclude that all men are as alive to impressions at his time of life as they were in their youth; and therefore I can see no case on which the universality of Mr. Stewart's theory can be rationally founded.

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If then I may assume it as a principle of reasoning, that youth is the season of delight and exquisite sensibility, it is very easy to conceive that the more exquisitely we feel any sensation or impression, the more we attend to the cause, object, or circumstance by which it is produced; and it is equally easy to conceive that the more we attend to any object, the more intimately do we become acquainted with its nature. Hence it follows, that we excel more in any science to which we devote ourselves in our youth, than in those which we commence in our riper years. A boy's ear is, for the reasons already assigned, more sensible of the delights of melody than it is when he grows up to manhood, if he should have happened not to cultivate an acquaintance with music before that period; because in youth, every note makes a distinct impression upon him.ore therefore succeeds in bringing out more correctly the notes which produced this impression, than he who cannot feel it so distinctly. A note

He

produced on a violin by a correct performer, makes a certain impression upon us, and if we attempt to bring out the same note ourselves, we naturally endeavour to produce a sound that identically renews this impression: the sensation felt at both times must be exactly the same. It is obvious, then, that the more distinctly we feel the sensation produced by the first note, the more accurately we are enabled to judge whether the sensation produced by our own note be exactly the same; for if the sensations be the same, the sounds or notes producing them must be equally so. As then, every note makes a more distinct and lively impression upon us in our youth than in our more advanced age, it follows very clearly that he who applies himself to music in his youth, makes a greater proficiency, and arrives to greater perfection, than he who begins to learn it in his manhood, when the fine edge of youthful susceptibility is worn away or saturated by reflection.

To apply these observations to our present purpose, it is obvious that if two boys of equal genius happen accidentally to cultivate two different styles of poetry, one the wild and romantic, the other the tender and pathetic, and continue to do so to their twentieth year, each of them will, for the reasons just mentioned, excel more in his own style than he can in the other, suppose he were to attempt it after that period. Accordingly if they were to write a prize poem at this age, and the subject to be of a romantic character, it is certain that he who had hitherto wooed only the tender muse, should resign the prize to his more fortunate competitor, though his original genius was exactly the same. The observations, which I have made on the cultivation of music, will also shew, that if the latter were to devote the remainder of his life to romantic poetry, he would never arrive at the same eminence with the former. Arguing, however, according to Mr. Warton and his followers, we should maintain that the former gained the prize through the superiority of genius alone. But how easy is it to shew the manifest absurdity of this doctrine. If the subject of the prize

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