The new-born day forth dawning from the east;"
is now the grey Aurora, then the meek-ey'd morn, array'd in a dewy robe, with saffron streamers, placed in a glittering chariot, and drawn by etherial coursers, where, holding the reins with her red hands, she drives the day.
These heathenish descriptions may be very beautiful in their way; but hear our own Shakspeare:
"Night's tapers are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain's top."
Again:
"The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale her ineffectual fire."
This comes home to all men's business and bosoms: it is picturesque, it is poetical; it is intelligible to the peasant or the philosopher, to the classic admirer of ancient mythology, or the man who never heard that the gates which Aurora unbars are made of the purest crystal.
The pictures drawn by Homer, and those feeble imitators who debase his splendid images by the mixture of their own dross, have their scenes laid in the country; but Hogarth has represented his dramatis personæ in the centre of a great city. Had the learned author of Hudibras been a painter, I believe he would have done the same. It will not be easy to select two lines that have more wit than his description of the morning: