y retouched it. The verses quoted show a firmer hand than is generally seen in it, and we are safe in assuming that they were added after his visit to England.
Dr. Johnson epigrammatized Spenser's indictment into
There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail, but I think it loses in Whose body is sere, whose branches broke, Whose naked arms stretch unto the fire. It is one of those verses that Joseph Warton would have liked in secret, that Dr. Johnson would have proved to be untranslatable into reasonable prose, and which the imagination welcomes at once without caring whether it be exactly conformable to barnever have had the varied majesty of Milton's blank-verse. But Dr. Warton should have remembered (what he too often forgets in his own verses) that, in spite of Dr. Johnson's dictum, poetry is not prose, and that verse only loses its advantage over the latter by invading its province.
As where Dr. Warton himself says:— How near
ems to me rather that the earliest influence traceable in him is that of Goldsmith, and later of Cowper, and it is, perhaps, some slight indication of its having already begun that his first volume of Descriptive Sketches (1793) was put forth by Johnson, who was Cowper's publisher.
By and by the powerful impress of Burns is seen both in the topics of his verse and the form of his expression.
But whatever their ultimate effect upon his style, certain it is that his juvenile poems were clothed nd dry; Few months of life he has in store, As he to you will tell, For still, the more he works, the more Do his weak ankles swell,— which are not only prose, but bad prose, and moreover guilty of the same fault for which Wordsworth condemned Dr. Johnson's famous parody on the ballad-style,—that their matter is contemptible.
The sonorousness of conviction with which Wordsworth sometimes gives utterance to commonplaces of thought and trivialities of sentiment has a ludicrous effect on the prof
self, he always does it with an epical stateliness of phrase, and whose self-respect even in youth was so profound that it resembles the reverence paid by other men to a far-off and idealized character,— that he should be treated in this offhand familiar fashion by his biographer seems to us a kind of desecration, a violation of good manners no less than of the laws of biographic art. Milton is the last man in the world to be slapped on the back with impunity.
Better the surly injustice of Johnson than such presumptuous friendship as this.
Let the seventeenth century, at least, be kept sacred from the insupportable foot of the interviewer!
But Mr. Masson, in his desire to be (shall I say) idiomatic, can do something worse than what has been hitherto quoted.
He can be even vulgar.
Discussing the motives of Milton's first marriage, he says, Did he come seeking his £ 500, and did Mrs. Powell heave a daughter at him?
We have heard of a woman throwing herself at a man's head, and t
cieties, but him who finds a nepenthe for the soul we elect into the small academy of the immortals.
The poems of Keats mark an epoch in English poetry; for, however often we may find traces of it in others, in them found its most unconscious expression that reaction against the barrel-organ style which had been reigning by a kind of sleepy divine right for half a century.
The lowest point was indicated when there was such an utter confounding of the common and the uncommon sense that Dr. Johnson wrote verse and Burke prose.
The most profound gospel of criticism was, that nothing was good poetry that could not be translated into good prose, as if one should say that the test of sufficient moonlight was that tallow-candles could be made of it. We find Keats at first going to the other extreme, and endeavoring to extract green cucumbers from the rays of tallow; but we see also incontestable proof of the greatness and purity of his poetic gift in the constant return toward equilibri