not wholly unknown, on which to build his story, while, at the same time, by reason of the distance of the period, or the remoteness of the scene, sufficient license is left him for fiction and invention.

The third property required in the epic poem, is, that it be interesting. It is not sufficient for this purpose that it be great. For deeds of mere valour, how heroic soever, may prove cold and tiresome. Much will depend on the happy choice of some subject, which shall, by its nature, interest the public; as when the poet selects for his hero, one who is the founder, or the deliverer, or the favourite of his nation; or when he writes of achievements that have been highly celebrated, or have been connected with important consequences to any public cause. Most of the great epic poems are abundantly fortunate in this respect, and must have been very interesting to those ages and countries in which they were composed.

But the chief circumstance which renders an epic poem interesting, and which tends to interest, not one age or country alone, but all readers, is the skilful conduct of the author in the management of his subject. He must so contrive his plan, as that it shall comprehend many affecting incidents. He must not dazzle us perpetually with valiant achievements; for all readers tire of constant fighting and battles; but he must study to touch our hearts. He may sometimes be awful and august; he must often be tender and pathetic; he must give us gentle and pleasing scenes of love, friendship, and affection. The more that an epic poem abounds with situations which awaken the feelings of humanity, it is the more interesting; and these form, always, the favourite passages of the work. I know no epic poets so happy in this respect as Virgil and Tasso.

Much, too, depends on the characters of the heroes, for rendering the poem interesting; that they be such, as shall strongly attach the readers, and make them take part in the dangers which the heroes encounter. These dangers, or obstacles form what is called the nodus, or the intrigue of the epic poem; in the judicious conduct of which, consists much of the poet's art. He must rouse our attention, by a prospect of the difficulties which seem to threaten disappointment to the enterprize of his favourite personages; he must make these difficulties grow and thicken upon us by degrees; till, after having kept us, for some time, in a state of agitation and suspense, he paves the way, by a proper preparation of incidents, for the winding up of the plot in a natural and probable manner. It is plain, that every tale which is designed to engage attention, must be conducted on a plan of this sort.

A question has been moved, whether the nature of the epic poem does not require that it should always end successfully? Most critics incline to think, that a successful issue is the most proper; and they appear to have reason on their side. An unhappy conclusion depresses the mind, and is opposite to the elevating emotions which belong to this species of poetry. Terror and compassion are the proper subjects of tragedy; but as the epic poem is of larger compass and extent, it were too much, if, after the difficulties and troubles which commonly abound in the progress of the poem, the author should bring them all at last to an unfortunate issue. Accordingly, the general practice of epic poets is on the side of a prosperous conclusion; not, however, without some exceptions. For two authors of great name, Lucan and Milton, have held a contrary course; the one concluding with the subversion of the Roman liberty; the other, with the expulsion of man from Paradise.

With regard to the time or duration of the epic action, no precise boundaries can be ascertained. A considerable extent is always allowed to it, as it does not necessarily depend on those violent passions which can be supposed to have only a short continuance. The Iliad which is formed upon the anger of Achilles, has, with propriety, the shortest duration of any of the great epic poems. According to Bossu, the action lasts no longer than forty-seven days. The action of the Odyssey, computed from the taking of Troy to the peace of Ithaca, extends to eight years and a half; and the action of the Eneid, computed in the same way from the taking of Troy to the death of Turnus, includes about six years. But if we measure the period only of the poet's own narration, or compute from the time in which the hero makes his first appearance till the conclusion, the duration of both these last poems is brought within a much smaller compass. The Odyssey, beginning with Ulysses in the island of Calypso, comprehends fifty-eight days only; and the Eneid, beginning with the storm, which throws Eneas upon the coast of Africa is reckoned to include, at the most, a year and some months.

Having thus treated of the epic action, or the subject of the poem, I proceed next to make some observations on the actors or personages. As it is the business of an epic poet to copy after nature, and to form a probable interesting tale, he must study to give all his personages proper and well-supported characters, such as display the features of human nature. This is what Aristotle calls giving manners to the poem. It is by no means necessary, that all his actors be morally good; imperfect, nay, vicious characters may find a proper place; though the nature of epic poetry seems to require, that the principal figures exhibited should be such as tend to raise admiration and love, rather than hatred or contempt. But whatever the character be which a poet gives to any of his actors, he must take care to preserve it uniform, and consistent with itself. Every thing which that person says, or does, must be suited to it, and must serve to distinguish him from any other.

Poetic characters may be divided into two kinds, general and particular. General characters, are, such as wise, brave, virtuous, without any farther distinction. Particular characters express the species of bravery, of wisdom, of virtue, for which any one is eminent. They exhibit the peculiar features which distinguish one individual from another, which mark the difference of the same moral quality in different men, according as it is combined with other dispositions in their temper. In drawing such particular characters, genius is chiefly exerted. How far each of the three great epic poets have distinguished themselves in this part of composition, I shall have occasion afterwards to show, when I come to make remarks upon their works. It is sufficient now to mention, that it is in this part Homer has principally excelled; Tasso has come the nearest to Homer; and Virgil has been the most deficient.

It has been the practice of all epic poets, to select some one personage, whom they distinguish above all the rest, and make the hero of the tale. This is considered as essential to epic composition, and is attended with several advantages. It renders the unity of the subject more sensible, when there is one principal figure, to which, as to a centre, all the rest refer. It tends to interest us more in the enterprise which is carried on; and it gives the poet an opportunity of exerting his talents for adorning, and displaying one character, with peculiar splendor. has been asked, Who then is the hero of Paradise Lost? The devil,

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it has been answered by some critics: and, in consequence of this idea, much ridicule and censure has been thrown upon Milton. But they have mistaken that author's intention by proceeding upon a supposition, that, in the conclusion of the poem, the hero must needs be triumphant. Whereas Milton followed a different plan, and has given a tragic conclusion to a poem, otherwise epic in its form. For Adam is undoubtedly his hero; that is, the capital and most interesting figure in his poem.

Besides human actors, there are personages of another kind, that usually occupy no small place in Epic Poetry; I mean the gods, or supernatural beings. This brings us to the consideration of what is called the Machinery of the Epic Poem the most nice and difficult part of the subject. Critics appear to me to have gone to extremes on both sides. Almost all the French critics decide in favour of machinery, as essential to the constitution of an epic poem. They quote that sen. tence of Petronius Arbiter, as if it were an oracle," per ambages, Deorumque ministeria, precipitandus est liber spiritus," and hold, that though a poem had every other requisite that could be demanded, yet it could not be ranked in the epic class, unless the main action was carried on by the intervention of the gods. This decision seems to be founded on no principal or reason whatever, unless a superstitious reverence for the practice of Homer and Virgil. These poets very properly embellished their story by the traditional tales and popular legends of their own country; according to which all the great transactions of the heroic times were intermixed with the fables of their deities. But does it thence follow, that in other countries, and other ages, where there is not the like advantage of current superstition, and popular credulity, epic poetry must be wholly confined to antiquated fictions and fairy tales? Lucan has composed a very spirited poem, certainly of the epic kind, where neither gods nor supernatural beings are at all employed. The author of Leonidas has made an attempt of the same kind, not without success; and beyond doubt, wherever a poet gives us a regular heroic story, well connected in its parts, adorned with characters, and supported with proper dignity and elevation, though his agents be every one of them human, he has fulfilled the chief requisites of this sort of composition, and has a just title to be classed with epic writers.

But though I cannot admit that machinery is necessary or essential to the epic plan, neither can I agree with some late critics of considerable name, who are for excluding it totally, as inconsistent with that probability and impression of reality which they think should reign in this kind of writing.* Mankind do not consider poetical writings with so philosophical an eye. They seek entertainment from them; and for the bulk of readers, indeed for almost all men, the marvellous has a great charm. It gratifies and fills the imagination; and gives room for many a striking and sublime description. In epic poetry, in particular, where admiration and lofty ideas are supposed to reign, the marvellous and supernatural find, if any where, their proper place. They both enable the poet to aggrandize his subject, by means of those august and solemn objects which religion introduces into it; and they allow him to enlarge and diversify his plan, by comprehending within it heaven, and earth, and bell, men, and invisible beings, and the whole circle of the universe.

See Elements of Criticism, ch. 22.

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At the same time, in the use of this supernatural machinery, it becomes a poet to be temperate and prudent. He is not at liberty to invent what system of the marvellous he pleases. It must always have some foundation in popular belief. He must avail himself, in a decent manner, either of the religious faith, or the superstitious credulity of the country wherein he lives, or of which he writes, so as to give an air of probability to * events which are most contrary to the common course of nature. Whatever machinery he employs, he must take care not to everload us with it; not to withdraw human actions and manners too much from view, not to obscure them under a cloud of incredible fictions. He must always remember, that his chief business is to relate to men, the actions and the > exploits of men; that it is by these principally he is to interest us, and to touch our hearts; and that if probability be altogether banished from his work, it can never make a deep or a lasting impression. Indeed, I know nothing more difficult in epic poetry, than to adjust properly the mixture of the marvellous with the probable; so as to gratify and amuse us with the one, without sacrificing the other. I need hardly observe, that these observations affect not the conduct of Milton's work; whose plan being altogether theological, his supernatural beings form not the machinery, but are the principal actors in the poem.

With regard to allegorical personages, fame, discord, love, and the like, it may be safely pronounced, that they form the worst machinery of any. In description they are sometimes allowable, and may serve for embellishment; but they should never be permitted to bear any share in the action of the poem. For being plain and declared fictions, mere names of general ideas, to which even fancy cannot attribute any existence as persons, if they are introduced as mingling with human actors, an intolerable confusion of shadows and realities arises, and all consistency of action is utterly destroyed.

In the narration of the poet, which is the last head that remains to be considered, it is not material, whether he relate the whole story in his own character, or introduce some of his personages to relate any part of the action that had passed before the poem open. Homer follows the one method in his Iliad, and the other in his Odyssey. Virgil has, in this respect, imitated the conduct of the Odyssey; Tasso that of the Iliad. The chief advantages which arises from any of the actors being employed to relate part of the story, is, that it allows the poet, if he chooses it, to open with some interesting situation of affairs, informing us afterwards of what had passed before that period; and gives him the greater liberty of spreading out such parts of the subject as he is inclined to dwell upon in person, and of comprehending the rest within a short recital. Where the subject is of great extent, and comprehends the transactions of several years, as in the Odyssey and the Eneid, this method therefore seems preferable. When the subject is of smaller compass, and shorter duration, as in the Iliad and the Jerusalem, the poet may, without disadvantage, relate the whole in his own person, according as is done in both these poems.

In the proposition of the subject, the invocation of the muse, and other ceremonies of the introduction, poets may vary at their pleasure. It is perfectly trifling to make these little formalities the object of precise rule, any farther, than that the subject of the work should always be clearly proposed, and without affected or unsuitable pomp. For, according to Horace's noted rule, no introduction should ever set out too high, or pro

mise too much, lest the author should not fulfil the expectations he has raised.

What is of most importance in the tenor of the narration is, that it be perspicuous, animated, and enriched with all the beauties of poetry. No sort of composition requires more strength, dignity, and fire, than the epic poem. It is the region within which we look for every thing that is sublime in description, tender in sentiment, and bold and lively in expression; and, therefore, though an author's plan should be faultless, and his story ever so well conducted, yet if he be feeble, or flat in style, destitute of affecting scenes and deficient in poetical colouring, he can have no success. The ornaments which epic poetry admits, must all be of the grave and chaste kind. Nothing that is loose, ludicrous, or affected, finds any place there. All the objects which it presents ought to be either great, or tender, or pleasing. Descriptions of disgusting or shocking objects, should as much as possible be avoided; and therefore, the fable of the Harpies, in the third book of the Eneid, and the allegory of Sin and Death, in the second book of Paradise Lost, had been better omitted in these celebrated poems.

LECTURE XLIII.

HOMER'S ILIAD AND ODYSSEY....VIRGIL'S ÆNEID.

As the epic poem is universally allowed to possess the highest rank among poetical works, it merits a particular discussion. Having treated of the nature of this composition, and the principal rules relating to it, I proceed to make some observations on the most distinguished epic poems, ancient and modern.

Homer claims, on every account, our first attention, as the father not only of epic poetry. but in some measure, of poetry in general. Whoever sits down to read Homer, must consider that he is going to read the most ancient book in the world, next to the Bible. Without making this reflection, he cannot enter into the spirit, nor relish the composition of the author. He is not to look for the correctness and elegance of the Augustan age. He must divest himself of our modern ideas of dignity and refinement; and transport his imagination almost three thousand years back in the history of mankind. What he is to expect, is a picture of the ancient world. He must reckon upon finding characters and manners, that retain a considerable tincture of the savage state; moral ideas, as yet imperfectly formed; and the appetites and passions of men brought under none of those restraints, to which, in a more advanced state of society, they are accustomed; but bodily strength, prized as one of the chief heroic endowments; the preparing of a meal, and the appeasing of hunger, described as very interesting objects; and the heroes boasting of themselves openly, scolding one another outrageously, and glorying, as we should now think very indecently, over their fallen enemies.

The opening of the Iliad possesses none of that sort of dignity which a modern looks for in a great epic poem. It turns on no higher subject,