Pindar full of the spirit of his age, committed no extravagance in the opinion of those who heard him at the Olympic games. But being regarded as the father of lyric poetry, his wildness was imitated in after ages, when that spirit was departed. This led to a great many extravagant absurdities in Italy and in England. Poets made Pindar their master and forgot Horace. The odes of the fifteenth century are scarcely intelligible; and how those who preach simplicity, and complain that Shelly's obscurity renders his poetry a sealed book, can, as I have sometimes heard them do—applaud Cowley for the beauty of his Pindarics is rather wonderful. In this unnatural state the ode fell into Dryden's hands, and he new-modelled it with strange felicity.
As a translator, Dryden shunned the latitude of those who, like Cowley, paraphrased instead of translating, and at the same time avoided the opposite evil. His translations are sufficiently accurate to convey the original author's meaning, and sufficiently polished to please an ear not too fastidious. He has fallen into error by carrying out what he calls his principle of adaptation too far. It was his opinion that "translation should be adapted to the present." For example, that the sailors of Virgil should speak the sea phrases of modern times, in order to make the description seem natural to the modern reader. This principle he carried on shore too, and many laughable instances of its application are to be found in his version of the Æneid. He translates—
| "Læva tibi tellus, et longo læva petantur Æquora circuitu: dextrum fuge et littas"— "Tack to the larboard and stand off to sea Veer starboard sea and land." |
A direction which Scott suspects would have been unintelligible not only to Palinurus, but to the best pilot in the British navy.
He often too gives precedence in the arrangement of his verse to the name that should be deferred, as in this line,
"The angels, God, the virgin and the saints, &c."
which as Mr. Ezekiel Sanford wittily enough observes reminds one of the clown, who in giving an account of his hunt, begins with—"the dog and I, and dad." In describing the appeal of the vagabond Trojans, he falls into an odd blunder. We find
"Diamond buckles sparkling in their shoes."
A new version this, of Pulchra Sicyona! However, this is descending into the cobbler's criticism on the painting of Apelles. Cibber in his parallel between Dryden and Pope yields to the first greater genius, to the latter more elegance—and the remark seems a just one. But I must leave this ground, haunted as it is with the genius of "glorious John Dryden."
Dryden was hard and haughty in appearance. He had a deep thick brow—a wide forehead, rather full at the temples. His mouth was spoiled by wrinkles which gave him a too determined and stern appearance. He died leaving two sons by Lady Elizabeth Howard, both of whom manifested talent, and became scholars and gentlemen of reputation.