« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »
38 Thy love is there advanc'd," &c.-And there she remains, dancing in the midst of the Graces for ever, herself a Grace, made one by the ordinance of the poor but great poet who here addresses himself under his pastoral title, and justly prides himself on the power of conferring immortality on his love. The apostrophe is as affecting as it is elevating, and the whole scene conceived in the highest possible spirit of mixed wildness and delicacy.
A PLUME OF FEATHERS AND AN ALMOND TREE.
In this instance, which is the one he adduces in proof of his remark on the picturesque, the reader must agree with Coleridge, that the description (I mean of the almond tree), however charming, is not fit for a picture: it wants accessories; to say nothing of the reference to the image illustrated, and the feeling of too much minuteness and closeness in the very distance. Who is to paint the tender locks "every one," and the whisper of " every little breath ?"
Upon the top of all his lofty crest
A bunch of hairs discolor'd diversely,
With sprinkled pearl and gold full richly dress'd,
Did shake and seem to dance for jollity.
What an exquisite last line! but the whole stanza is perfection. The word jollity seems to show the plumpness of the plume; what the fop in Molière calls its embonpoint.
Holà, porteurs, holà! Là, là, là, là, là, là. Je pense que ces maraudslà ont dessein de me briser à force de heurter contre les murailles et les pavés.
1 Porteur Dame, c'est que la porte est étroite. Vous avez voulu aussi que nous soyons entrés jusqu'ici.
Mascarille. Je le crois bien. Voudriez-vous, faquins, que j'exposasse l'embonpoint de mes plumes aux inclémences de la saison pluvieuse, et j'allasse imprimer mes souliers en boue?-Les Precieuses Ridicules, sc. [Mascarille (to the sedan chairmen). Stop, stop! What the devil is this? Am I to be beaten to pieces against the walls and pavement? Chairman. Why you see the passage is narrow. You told us to bring You right in.
Mascarille. Unquestionably. Would you have me expose the embonpoint of my feathers to the inclemency of the rainy season, and leave the impression of my pumps in the mud ?]
Our gallery shall close with a piece of
Eftsoons they heard a most melodious sound
Was there consorted in one harmony;
Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waters, all agree.
The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade
39" The gentle warbling wind," &c. This exquisite stanza is a specimen of perfect modulation, upon the principles noticed in the description of Archimago's Hermitage. The reader may, perhaps, try it upon them. "Compare it," says Upton, "with Tasso's Gierusalemme Liberata, canto 16, st. 12." Readers who understand Italian will gladly compare it, and see how far their countryman has surpassed the sweet poet of the south.
BORN, ACCORDING TO MALONE, ABOUT 1565,-DIED, 1593.
If ever there was a born poet, Marlowe was one. He perceived things in their spiritual as well as material relations, and impressed them with a corresponding felicity. Rather, he struck them as with something sweet and glowing that rushes by ;— perfumes from a censer,-glances of love and beauty. And he could accumulate images into as deliberate and lofty a grandeur. Chapman said of him, that he stood
Up to the chin in the Pierian flood.
Drayton describes him as if inspired by the recollection :
Next Marlowe, bathed in the Thespian springs,
But this happy genius appears to have had as unhappy a will, which obscured his judgment. It made him condescend to write fustian for the town, in order to rule over it; subjected him to the charge of impiety, probably for nothing but too scornfully treating irreverent notions of the Deity; and brought him. in the prime of his life, to a violent end in a tavern. His plays abound in wilful and self-worshipping speeches, and every one of them turns upon some kind of ascendency at the expense of other people. He was the head of a set of young men from the university, the Peeles, Greens, and others, all more or less possessed of a true poetical vein, who, bringing scholarship to the
theatre, were intoxicated with the new graces they threw on the old bombast, carried to their height the vices as well as wit of the town, and were destined to see, with indignation and astonishment, their work taken out of their hands, and lone better, by the uneducated interloper from Stratford-upon-Avon.
Marlowe enjoys the singular and (so far) unaccountable honor of being the only English writer to whom Shakspeare seems to have alluded with approbation. In As You Like It, Phoebe says,
Dead Shepherd! now I know thy saw of might,—
The " saw is in Marlowe's Hero and Leander, a poem not comparable with his plays.
The ranting part of Marlowe's reputation has been chiefly owing to the tragedy of Tamburlaine, a passage in which is laughed at in Henry the Fourth, and has become famous. Tamburlaine cries out to the captive monarchs whora he has yoked to his car,
Hollo, ye pampered jades of Asia,
What! can ye draw but twenty miles a-day,
Then follows a picture drawn with real poetry:
The horse that guide the golden eye of heaven,
And blow the morning from their nostrils (read nosteriis),
Are not so honor'd in their governor,
It has atterly been thought, that a genius like Marlowe could have had no hand in a play so bombastic as this huffing tragedy But besides the weighty and dignified, though monotonous tone of his versification in many places (what Ben Jonson, very ex actly as well as finely, calls "Marlowe's mighty line,") there are passages in it of force and feeling, of which I doubt whether any of his contemporaries were capable in so sustained a degree, though Green and Peele had felicitous single lines, and occa
sionally a refined sweetness. Take, for instance, the noble verses to be found in the description of Tamburlaine himself, which probably suggested to Milton his "Atlantean shoulders" --“ fit to bear mightiest monarchies "—and to Beaumont a fine image, which the reader will see in his Melancholy:
Of stature tall and straightly fashioned
So large of limbs, his joints so strongly knit,
Old Atlas' burthen :
Pale of complexion, wrought in him with passion, &c.
By "passion we are to understand, not anger, but deep emotions. Peele or Green might possibly have written the beautiful verse that closes these four lines:
Kings of Argier, Moroccus, and of Fesse,
You that have marched with happy Tamburlaine
but the following is surely Marlowe's own :—
As princely lions when they rouse themselves,
So from the east unto the farthest west
And hover in the Straits for Christian wreck,
Have fetch'd about the Indian continent,
And in the following is not only a hint of the scornful part of his style, such as commences the extract from the Jew of Malta, but the germ of those lofty and harmonious nomenclatures, which have been thought peculiar to Milton.