CHAP. VI.
Of three Kind of Thoughts which seem to be false, yet are admitted and valued by Pastoral Writers.
Tho' I proposed not to consider those Thoughts which are false, either in their own Nature, or with Respect to Pastoral; yet there are some such, that yet are thought good, by the generality of Writers, which I shall therefore Just mention; since Pastoral-Writers are especially fond of 'em, and seem to look upon 'em as Beautys. Of these false Thoughts there are, I think, three sorts. The EMBLEMATICAL, the ALLEGORICAL, and the REFINED.
Of the first Sort, or the EMBLEMATICAL, SPENCER was so fond, that he makes it run all thro' his first and last Pastoral; which two come the nearest of any he has to true Pastorals; and contain Thoughts more pleasant than those in his other (especially his Allegorical) Pieces. But these pleasant Thoughts are mostly Emblematical, as this, which I think, is in SPENCER.
My Leaf is dry'd, my Summer Season's done,
And Winter, blasting Blossoms, hieth on.
Meaning that his happy time of Life was past, and Old Age drew on. I need not prove these Thoughts to be improper for Pastoral.
The Second Sort, or the ALLEGORICAL, is also what SPENCER delighted equally in. His every Pastoral almost has under the plain Meaning a hidden one. Let all judge of Allegorical Pastorals as they please, but in my Opinion, they are not consistent with the Simplicity of that Poem.
The Third Sort I mention'd was the REFINED. And of this our Modern Swains are as fond, as SPENCER was of the two first. But all the Difficulty is to show that their Thoughts are refin'd; for all allow a Refin'd Thought to be faulty. But those I am going to mention are not at present look't upon as such. As that Apostrophe, where the Shepherd calls upon the Works of Nature to assist him in his Grief. This Thought being us'd by all Pastoral-Writers show's how Beautiful they thought it: And the generality of them, 'tis plain, took delight in the Affectation of it, because they have put it as affected as they could.
If 'tis possible for any, the finest Turn, that can be given it, to prevent the Affectation, I think the Ingenious Mr. ROW has done it, in his excellent Tragedy, call'd JANE SHORE.
Give me your Drops, Ye soft-descending Rains,
Give me your Streams, Ye never-ceasing Springs, &c.
But the very best Turn, methinks, that can possibly be given to this
Thought, Mr. PHILIPS, in his Pastorals, has hit upon.
Teach me to grieve, with bleating Moan, my Sheep,
Teach me, thou ever-flowing Stream, to weep;
Teach me, ye faint, ye hollow Winds, to sigh,
And let my Sorrows teach me how to dye.
The Thought likewise of the Heavens and the Works of Nature wailing along with the Swain, is what Pastoral-Writers all aim at. I need not quote different Authors, for the different Turns that are given to this Thought; I remember Mr. CONGREVE has it in four several Places. The best express'd, I think, is this.
The Rocks can Melt, and Air in Mists can mourn, And Floods can weep, and winds to Sighs can turn, &c.
It seem's to be turn'd the best next in these Lines.
And now the Winds, which had so long been still,
Began the swelling Air, with Sighs to fill, &c.
The Affectation of the Thought show's it self rather more, I think, in the following Lines.
And see, the Heav'ns to weep in Dew prepare.
And heavy Mists obscure the burd'ned Air
On ev'ry Tree the Blossoms turn to Tears,
And every Bough a weeping Moisture bears.
But give me leave to quote the Thought once more and I have done.
The Marble Weep's, and with a silent Pace,
It's trickling Tears distil upon her Face.
Falsely ye weep, ye Rocks, and falsely Mourn!
For never will ye let the Nymph return!
If any should have a Curiosity to see these Thoughts at large, for we have not quoted the whole of 'em, he may find 'em in Congreve's Pastoral, call'd The Mourning Muse of ALEXIS.
I shall trouble you with but one Thought more of those which we reduce under the Denomination of Refin'd, and that is the ANTITHESIS. I do not just now remember a Line of this Nature in any Author but Mr. PHILIPS; otherwise, I avoid hinting at particular Faults in a Writer who is generally regular and correct, in his Sentiments.
In vain thou seek'st the Cov'rings of the Grove, In the cool Shades to sing the Heats of Love.