So horrible he seems! His faded brow Such plagues from righteous men !) Behind him stalks Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar call'd A Catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods Beware, ye debtors! when ye walk, beware, So pass my days. But when nocturnal shades With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood, Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts And restless wish, and rave; my parched throat My weary limbs, my fancy, still awake, In vain ;-awake I find the settled thirst The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush On Scylla or Charybdis (dangerous rocks) She strikes rebounding; whence the shatter'd oak, So fierce a shock unable to withstand, Admits the sea. In at the gaping side The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage, Resistless, overwhelming. Horrors seize The mariners; death in their eyes appears; They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray. (Vain efforts) still the battering waves rush in, Implacable, till, delug'd by the foam, The ship sinks foundering in the vast abyss. POPE. BORN, 1688-DIED, 1744. BESIDES being an admirable wit and satirist, and a man of the most exquisite good sense, Pope was a true poet; and though in all probability his entire nature could never have made him a great one (since the whole man contributes to form the genius, and the very weakness of his organization was in the way of it), yet in a different age the boy who wrote the beautiful verses, Blest be the man whose wish and care, He would have turned out, I think, a greater poet than he was. had more sensibility, thought, and fancy, than was necessary for the purposes of his school; and he led a sequestered life with his books and his grotto, caring little for the manners he drew, and capable of higher impulses than had been given him by the wits of the time of Charles the Second. It was unlucky for him (if indeed it did not produce a lucky variety for the reading world) that Dryden came immediately before him. Dryden, a robuster nature, was just great enough to mislead Pope; and French ascendency completed his fate. Perhaps, after all, nothing better than such a honey and such a sting as this exquisite writer developed, could have been got out of his little delicate pungent nature; and we have every reason to be grateful for what they have done for us. Hundreds of greater pretensions in poetry have not attained to half his fame, nor did they deserve it; for they did not take half his pains. Perhaps they were unable to take them, for want of as good a balance of qualities. Success is generally commensurate with its grounds. Pope, though a genius of a less masculine order than Dryden, and not possessed of his numbers or his impulsiveness, had more delicacy and fancy, has left more passages that have become proverbial, and was less confined to the region of matter of fact. Dryden never soared above earth, however nobly he walked it. The little fragile creature had wings; and he could expand them at will, and ascend, if to no great imaginative height, yet to charming fairy circles just above those of the world about him, disclosing enchanting visions at the top of drawing-rooms, and enabling us to see the spirits that wait on coffee-cups and hooppetticoats. But more of this in the notes. My limits have allowed me to give only a portion of the Rape of the Lock, but it is the best and most important, containing the two main points of the poem,-the Rape itself, and the leading operations of the sylphs. From his other poems I have also selected such passages as are at once the wittiest and of the most ordinary interest, the characters which he drew from life. THE SYLPHS AND THE LOCK OF HAIR. From "THE RAPE OF THE LOCK." What dire offence from amorous causes springs, Say what strange motive, goddess! could compel |