BROWNE'S BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.
I have lately been amusing myself by reading the small volume with this title published in Clarke's Cabinet Series, 1845.
Among the many pleasing passages that I met with in its pages, two in particular struck me as being remarkable for their beauty; but I find that neither of them is cited by either Ellis or Campbell. (See Ellis, Specimens of the Early English Poets, 4th edition, corrected, 1811; and the Campbell, Specimens of the British Poets, 1819.)
Indeed Campbell says of Browne:
"His poetry is not without beauty; but it is the beauty of mere landscape and allegory, without the manners and passions that constitute human interest."—Vol. iii. p. 323.
Qualified by some such expression as—too often—generally—in almost every instance,—the last clause might have passed,—standing as it does, it appears to me to give anything but a fair idea of the poetry of the Pastorals. My two favourites are the "Description of Night"—
"Now great Hyperion left his golden throne," &c.,
(consisting of twenty-six lines)—book ii. song 1. (Clarke, p. 186.) and the "Lament of the Little Shepherd for his friend Philocel"—
"With that the little shepherd left his task," &c.,
(forty-four lines)—book ii. song 4. (Clarke, p. 278.)
If you will allow me to quote a short extract from each passage, it may enable the reader to see how far I am justified in protesting against Campbell's criticism; and I will then try to support the pretensions of the last, by showing that much of the very same imagery that it contains is to be found in other writings of acknowledged merit:—
I. FROM THE "DESCRIPTION OF NIGHT."
"And as Night's chariot through the air was driven,
Clamour grew dumb, unheard was shepherd's song,
And silence girt the woods: no warbling tongue
Talk'd to the echo; satyrs broke their dance,
And all the upper world lay in a trance.
Only the curlëd streams soft chidings kept,
And little gales that from the green leaf swept
Dry summer's dust, in fearful whisp'rings stirr'd,
As loath to waken any singing bird."
II. FROM THE "LAMENT OF THE LITTLE SHEPHERD."
"See! yonder hill where he was wont to sit,
A cloud doth keep the golden sun from it,
And for his seat, (as teaching us) hath made
A mourning covering with a scowling shade.
The dew in every flower, this morn, hath lain,
Longer than it was wont, this side the plain,
Belike they mean, since my best friend must die,
To shed their silver drops as he goes by.
Not all this day here, nor in coming hither,
Heard I the sweet birds tune their songs together,
Except one nightingale in yonder dell
Sigh'd a sad elegy for Philocel.
Near whom a wood-dove kept no small ado,
To bid me, in her language, 'Do so too'—
The wether's bell, that leads our flock around,
Yields, as methinks, this day a deader sound.
The little sparrows which in hedges creep,
Ere I was up did seem to bid me weep.
If these do so, can I have feeling less,
That am more apt to take and to express?
No—let my own tunes be the mandrake's groan,
If now they tend to mirth when all have none."
Both these passages may have been quoted by some of Campbell's predecessors. This might justify him in not repeating them, but not in writing the criticism to which I have ventured to object. His work holds a high rank in English literature—it is taken as a text-book by the generality of readers; for which reasons I think that every dictum it lays down ought to be examined with more than usual care and attention.
Compare with different parts of the "Lament:"
"And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave,—alas!
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass," &c.—Childe Harold, Canto iii. St. 27.
"The morning of the day on which the farmer was to be buried, was rendered remarkable by the uncommon denseness of an autumnal fog. To Mrs. Mason's eye, it threw a gloom over the face of nature; nor, when it gradually yielded to the influence of the sun, and slowly retiring from the valley, hung, as if rolled into masses, mid-way upon the mountains, did the changes thus produced excite any admiration. Still, wherever she looked, all seemed to wear the aspect of sadness. As she passed from Morrison's to the house of mourning, the shocks of yellow corn, spangled with dewdrops, appeared to her to stand as mementos of the vanity of human hopes, and the inutility of human labours. The cattle, as they went forth to pasture, lowing as they went, seemed as if lamenting that the hand which fed them was at rest; and even the Robin-red-breast, whose cheerful notes she had so often listened to with pleasure, now seemed to send forth a song of sorrow, expressive of dejection and woe."—Miss Hamilton's Cottagers of Glenburnie, chap. xii.
C. Forbes.
Temple.