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Page 18
Who does not discern, in this Place, what an Injury is done to
the original Image, by the military Metaphor? Recalling the
'Troops' of a Deluge, 'Drawing off its Forces'; and its 'Marching
away, at a Signal,' carry not only a visible Impropriety of
Thought, but are infinitely below the Majesty of That God, who is
so dreadfully represented thundering his Commands to the Ocean;
They are directly the Reverse of that terrible Confusion, and
overwhelming Uproar of Motion, which the Sea, in the Original, is
suppos'd to fall into. The March of an Army is pleasing, orderly,
slow; The Inundation of a Sea, from the Tops of the Mountains,
frightful, wild and tumultuous; Every Justness and Grace of the
original Conception is destroyed by the Metaphor.
In the same Psalm, the Hebrew Poet describing God, says, '....He
maketh the Clouds his Chariots, and walketh on the Wings of the
Wind.' Making the 'Clouds his Chariots,' is a strong and lively
Thought; But That of 'walking on the Wings of the Wind,' is a
Sublimity, that frightens, astonishes, and ravishes the Mind of a
Reader, who conceives it, as he shou'd do. The Judgement of the
Poet in this Place, is discernable in three different
Particulars; The Thought is in itself highly noble, and elevated;
To move at all upon the Wind, carries with it an Image of much
Majesty and Terror; But this natural Grandeur he first encreas'd
by the Word 'Wings,' which represents the Motion, as not only on
the Winds, but on the Winds in their utmost Violence, and
Rapidity of Agitation. But then at last, comes that finishing
Sublimity, which attends the Word 'walks'! The Poet is not
satisfied to represent God, as riding on the Winds; nor even as
riding on them in a Tempest; He therefore tells us, that He walks
on their Wings; that so our Idea might be heighten'd to the
utmost, by reflecting on this calm, and easy Motion of the Deity,
upon a Violence, so rapid, so furious, and ungovernable, to our
human Conception. Yet as nothing can be more sublime, so nothing
can be more simple, and plain, than this noble Imagination. But
Mr. Trapp, not contented to express, attempts unhappily to adorn
this inimitable Beauty, in the following Manner.
"Who, borne in Triumph o'er the Heavenly Plains,
Rides on the Clouds, and holds a Storm in Reins,
Flies on the Wings of the sonorous Wind, &c."
Here his imperfect, and diminishing Metaphor, of the 'Rains,' has
quite ruin'd the Image; What rational, much less noble Idea, can
any Man conceive of a Wind in a Bridle? The unlucky Word 'Plains'
too, is a downright Contradiction to the Meaning of the Passage.
What wider Difference in Nature, than between driving a Chariot
over a Plain, and moving enthron'd, amidst That rolling, and
terrible Perplexity of Motions, which we figure to our
Imagination, from a 'Chariot of Clouds'? But the mistaken
Embellishment of the Word 'flies,' in the last Verse, is an Error
almost unpardonable; Instead of improving the Conception, it has
made it trifling, and contemptible, and utterly destroy'd the
very Soul of its Energy! 'flies' on the Wind! What an Image is
That, to express the Majesty of God? To 'walk' on the Wind is
astonishing, and horrible; But to 'fly' on the Wind, is the
Employment of a Bat, of an Owl, of a Feather! Mr. Trapp is, I
believe, a Gentleman of so much Candour, and so true a Friend to
the Interest of the Art he professes, that there will be no
Occasion to ask his pardon, for dragging a Criminal Metaphor, or
two, out of the Immunity of his Protection.
Mr. Philips has lately been told in Print, by one of our best
Criticks, that he has excell'd all the Ancients, in his Pastoral
Writings; He will, therefore, be apt to wonder, that I take the
Liberty to say, in downright Respect to Truth, and the Justice
due to Poetry, that I have not only seen modern pastorals, much
better than His, but that his appear, to me, neither natural,
nor equal. One might extend this Remark to the very Names of his
Shepherds; Lobbin, Hobbinol, and Cuddy are nothing of a Piece,
with Lanquet, Mico, and Argol; nor do his Personages agree
better with themselves, than their Names with one another. Mico,
for Example, at the first Sight we have of him, is a very polite
Speaker, and as metaphorical as Mr. Trapp.
"This Place may seem for Shepherds Leisure made,
So lovingly these Elms unite their Shade!
Th'ambitious Woodbine! how it climbs, to breathe
Its balmy Sweets around, on all beneath!"
But, alas! this Fit of Eloquence, like most other Blessings, is
of very short Continuance; It holds him but Just one Speech: In
the beginning of the next, he is as very a Rustick, as Colin
Clout, and has forgot all his Breeding.
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