CHAPTER V.
OF GÓNGORA, QUEVEDO, AND THEIR IMITATORS.
To restore to Castilian poetry the tone and vigour which were failing it, the powers of Horace and Virgil, with all the grandeur of their genius, the perfection of their taste, and the high protection they enjoyed, would scarcely have sufficed. Two men in Spain applied themselves to this task; both of great talent, but of a depraved taste, and of different pursuits. Their defects, which they sometimes relieve by better qualities, had the effect of a contagion, and produced consequences more fatal than the evil itself which they sought to remedy.
The first was Don Luis de Góngora, the father and founder of the sect called Purists. All know that after a century of adoration by the followers of his style, Luzán and the other professors who re-established good taste, set themselves to destroy the sect by decrying their founder; and with them Góngora and the detestable poet, were terms synonymous. But this was unjust; and in him, the brilliant, gay, and pleasant poet, should ever be distinguished from the extravagant and capricious innovator. His independent genius was incapable of following, or of imitating any body; his imagination, fiery and vivid in the extreme, could not see things in a common light; and the weak and pallid colouring of other poets will not bear comparison with the rich emblazonry, if we may so say, of his style and expression. In which of them are poetical periods met with, that in wealth of language, brilliancy, and music, can be compared with the following?
Deep king of other streams, whose waters go
Renowned in song, and crystal in their flow;
Let a rough coronal of dark green pine
Bind thy broad brow and wandering locks divine!
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Rise, glorious sun, illuminate and print
The laughing mountains with thy golden tint;
Chase the sweet steps of rosy-red Aurora,
And loose the reins to Zephyrus and Flora!
In which are images more delicate and appropriate, or more naturally expressed, than these?
Sleep, for your winged Lord in guardianship
Keeps watch, the finger on his serious lip.
Lovers! touch not, if life you love, the chaste
Sweet smiling mouth that wooes you to its taste!
For 'twixt its two red lips armed Love reposes,
Close as a poisonous snake 'twixt two ripe roses.
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Each wind that breathes, gallantly here and there
Waves the fine gold of her disordered hair,
As a green poplar-leaf in wanton play
Dances for joy at rosy break of day.
There is not in all Anacreon a thought so graceful as that of the song, wherein, presenting some flowers to his lady, he begs from her as many kisses as he had received stings from the bees that guarded them.
"From my summer alcove, which the stars this morn
With lucid pearls o'erspread,
I have gathered these jessamines, thus to adorn
With a wreath thy graceful head.
From thy bosom and mouth they, as flowers, ere death,
Ask a purer white and a sweeter breath.