An Essay on Criticism

by Mr. Oldmixon

Happily imitated by Milton.

————Up he rode,
Follow'd with Acclamations, and the Sound
Symphonious of ten thousand Harps, that tuned
Angelick Harmonies, the Earth, the Air
Resounding. Thou rememberest; for thou heardest
The Heavens, and all the Constellations ring:
The Planets in their Stations listening stood,
While the bright Pomp ascended jubilant.
Open ye everlasting Gates: They sung,
Open ye Heavens, your living Doors; Let in
The great Creator from his Work returned
Magnificent, his Six Days Work, a World.

Of the sublime Kind is the Ode in the Spectator, N^o 465; being a Paraphrase on that of the Psalmist. The Heavens declare:

The spacious Firmament on high,
With all the blue Ethereal Sky;
And spangled Heavens, a shining Frame,
Their great Original proclaim.

Some very scrupulous Persons may be apt to object against the third Line as an Anteclimax, the spangled Heavens having much more Lustre than shining Frame. The following Stanza is extreamly sublime:

What tho' in solemn Silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial Ball;
What tho', nor real Voice, nor Sound
Amid their radiant Orbs be found,
In Reason's Ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious Voice;
For ever singing as they shine,
The Hand that made me is divine.

I cannot omit here some Lines of Mr. Waller's upon the Holy Scriptures, where there is more of the Sublime than in all other Books whatsoever.

The Græcian Muse has all their gods surviv'd,
Nor Jove at us, nor Phœbus is arriv'd;
Frail Deities, which first the Poets made,
And then invok'd to give their Fancies Aid.
Yet, if they still divert us with their Rage,
What may be hop'd for in a better Age,
When not from Helicon's imagin'd Spring,
But sacred Writ we borrow what we sing?
This with the Fabrick of the World begun
Elder than Light, and shall out-last the Sun.

There are not ten finer Verses together in Mr. Waller's Poems, yet he wrote them when he was above fourscore Years old.

Are not these two Verses of a Manuscript Poem in the sublime Kind? the young Author, a Lad at Eaton School, wrote it on the Birth of his Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland: