To censure so celebrated a name might appear arrogant in an individual, were he not supported by many and judicious critics. Mr. Spence, whose opinion is decisive, and, instar omnium, points out defects in Pope's Translation which could never have escaped so great a poet but from haste and weariness. In this work Pope was assisted by inferior writers; but as the whole is published under his name, he will ever be answerable for its faults. The translation of the Iliad, though a very excellent model of versification, exhibits not a just picture of the simple, yet magnificent Mæonian.

Mr. Spence's Essay, at the same time that it will exhibit the deformities of the Translation, will inspire a taste for the beauties of the original; and, indeed, the general remarks, which are interspersed with the greatest judgment and elegance, will contribute to teach a just method of criticism in almost every species of poetry.

Mr. Spence was a truly classical writer. He was no less amiable in his manners than pleasing in his productions. That he chiefly wrote in dialogue is to be lamented: for that form, where the persons are fictitious, has seldom been approved in England, though it has often succeeded in France.

No. CLXXVI.

Thoughts on the Edipus Tyrannus of Sophocles, and several Circumstances respecting the Grecian Drama.

Of the three Greek dramatic poets, Sophocles is the most celebrated; and of the productions of Sophocles, the Edipus Tyrannus is the most ex

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cellent. It has stood the test of the severest criticism. The unities of time, place, and action are inviolably preserved: and while the Tragedy satisfies the critic, who judges it by the laws of Aristotle, it pleases the common reader and spectator, who forms his opinion from the feelings of his nature. Never was there a tale more affecting than that of Edipus, and never was it told more pathetically than by Sophocles. Many a tear has it excited from an Athenian audience, whose hearts were ever finely susceptible of the sentiments of humanity but the best translation of it would not equally please in a modern theatre. Many other causes of its failure may be assigned, besides that simplicity, artfulness, and incomplexity of fable, which the taste of the moderns is too much vitiated to relish.

In the first place, it must be considered, that every original composition must lose something of its beauty from the best translation. It is a common remark, that the spirit of an author, like that of some essences, evaporates by transfusion. Foreign manners and foreign customs are seldom understood by a common audience, and as seldom approved. The majority of an English audience are unacquainted with ancient learning, and can take no pleasure in the representation of men and things which have not fallen under their notice. Add to this, that they love to see Tragedies formed on their own histories, or on histories in which they are in some manner nearly interested. When Shakspeare's Historical Dramas are represented, they feel as Englishmen in every event; they take part with their Edwards and Henries, as friends and fellow countrymen; they glory in their successes, and sympathize with their misfortunes. To a similar circumstance may part of the applause, which the Athenians bestowed on

this tragedy of Sophocles, be attributed; for Edipus was king of a neighbouring country, with which the Athenians were always intimately connected either in war or peace.

These considerations should teach us to content ourselves with admiring Sophocles in the closet, without attempting to obtrude him on the stage, which must always accommodate itself to the taste of the times, whether unreasonable or just, consistent or capricious.

In truth, the warmest admirer of ancient Greek poetry must acknowledge a barrenness of invention in the choice of subjects. The Trojan war, and the misfortunes of the Theban king, are almost the only sources from which those great masters of composition, Homer, Eschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles, have derived their subject matter. They have, indeed, embellished these little parts of history with all the fire of imagination and melody of poetry; but is it not strange, that in a country like Greece, where the restless spirit of military virtue was continually forming noble designs, and achieving glorious exploits, the poets could discover no illustrious deed worthy of being painted in never fading colours, but the worn out stories of a wooden horse, and a Sphinx's riddle? It is difficult for an age like the present, which hungers and thirsts after novelty, to conceive that an audience could sit with patience during the recital of a story which all must have heard a thousand times; especially as it was unadorned with the meretricious artifices of players, with thunder and lightning, hail and rain, tolling bells, and tinsel garments.

But the sameness of the story in the Grecian poets became agreeable to the audience, through that veneration which every thing that bears a mark of antiquity demands. That the story on which a

dramatic poem is founded should not be of modern date has, I think, been laid down as a rule. Nor is it the precept of an arbitrary critic, but is justified by nature and reason. Imagination always exceeds reality. The vulgar could never prevail upon themselves to look on scenes, to the reality of which they have been eyewitnesses, with the same ardour as on those which they have received from their ancestors, and have painted with the strongest colours on their fancy. In obedience to this rule, the Greek poets took their subjects from ancient facts universally known, believed, and admired: and the audience entered the theatre, to behold a lively representation of the picture already formed in their own imagination.

A modern reader has not a preparatory disposition of mind necessary to receive all that pleasure from these compositions, which transported an ancient Greek. He does not glow with that patriotic ardour which he would feel on reading glorious deeds of a fellow countryman, when Homer represents a hero breaking the Trojan phalanx and encountering a Hector. He does not consider an ancient Theban or Athenian involved in the guilt of undesigned parricide or incest, nearly enough connected with him to excite his sympathy in a violent degree: but all these feelings in a Grecian audience, occasioned by a Grecian sufferer, account for that uncommon delight which they took in their dramatic representations, and for their freedom from that satiety which might otherwise have been occasioned by a simple and reiterated tale.

An English audience has lately shown itself not so averse from the ancient Tragedy as was expected, by its favourable reception of Elfrida and Caractacus, written on the Grecian model: but, perhaps, this event is not so much to be attributed to the

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revival of the refined taste of an Attic audience, as to the insatiable avidity of something new. English are as fond of the Kaivov T in literature as the Athenians were in politics: but, whether caprice or reason, whether taste or fashion gave them a favourable reception on the English stage, it is certain that Elfrida and Caractacus are elegant poems, formed exactly on the ancient model, and may be read with great advantage by those who wish to entertain a just idea of the Greek Tragedy without a knowledge of the language.

No. CLXXVII.

Cursory Remarks on some of the Minor English
Poets.

WE are told in the epistle to the Pisos, that poetical mediocrity is intolerable; yet we find that poets of inferior merit, as well as fame, are read with pleasure.

It is true, indeed, that the loudest melody of the grove is poured forth by the lark, the blackbird, the thrush, and the nightingale; but it is no less true, that their pauses are often filled by the sweet warblings of the linnet and the redbreast. The lofty cedar that waves on the summit of the poetic mountain seems to overshadow and exclude, by its luxuriance, all other vegetation. He, however, who approaches it, will find many a violet and primrose springing at its root. He will often discover, amid a plentiful growth of weeds, a modest floweret lifting its humble head, and becoming more beautiful by