Lives of the English Poets : Prior, Congreve, Blackmore, Pope Part 13

This epitaph contains of the brother only a general indiscriminate character, and of the sister tells nothing but that she died. The difficulty in writing epitaphs is to give a particular and appropriate praise. This, however, is not always to be performed, whatever be the diligence or ability of the writer; for the greater part of mankind HAVE NO CHARACTER AT ALL, have little that distinguishes them from others, equally good or bad, and therefore nothing can be said of them which may not be applied with equal propriety to a thousand more. It is indeed no great panegyric that there is enclosed in this tomb one who was born in one year, and died in another; yet many useful and amiable lives have been spent which yet leave little materials for any other memorial. These are however not the proper subjects of poetry; and whenever friends.h.i.+p, or any other motive, obliges a poet to write on such subjects, he must be forgiven if he sometimes wanders in generalities, and utters the same praises over different tombs.

The scantiness of human praises can scarcely be made more apparent than by remarking how often Pope has, in the few epitaphs which he composed, found it necessary to borrow from himself. The fourteen epitaphs which he has written comprise about a hundred and forty lines, in which there are more repet.i.tions than will easily be found in all the rest of his works. In the eight lines which make the character of Digby there is scarce any thought or word which may not be found in the other epitaphs. The ninth line, which is far the strongest and most elegant, is borrowed from Dryden. The conclusion is the same with that on Harcourt, but is here more elegant and better connected.

VIII.

On Sir G.o.dFREY KNELLER, in Westminster Abbey, 1723.

Kneller, by Heaven, and not a master, taught, Whose art was Nature, and whose pictures thought; Now for two ages, having s.n.a.t.c.hed from fate Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great, Lies crowned with Princes, honours, Poets, lays, Due to his merit, and brave thirst of praise.

Living, great Nature feared he might outvie Her works; and dying, fears herself may die.

Of this epitaph the first couplet is good, the second not bad, the third is deformed with a broken metaphor, the word crowned not being applicable to the honours or the lays, and the fourth is not only borrowed from the epitaph on Raphael, but of a very harsh construction.

IX.

On General HENRY WITHERS, in Westminster Abbey, 1729.

Here, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind, Thy country's friend, but more of human kind.

O born to arms! O worth in youth approved!

O soft humanity in age beloved!

For thee the hardy veteran drops a tear, And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere Withers, adieu! yet not will thee remove Thy martial spirit, or thy social love!

Amidst corruption, luxury, and rage, Still leave some ancient virtues to our age: Nor let us say (those English glories gone) The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.

The epitaph on Withers affords another instance of commonplaces, though somewhat diversified by mingled qualities, and the peculiarity of a profession. The second couplet is abrupt, general, and unpleasing; exclamation seldom succeeds in our language; and, I think, it may be observed that the particle O! used at the beginning of a sentence, always offends. The third couplet is more happy; the value expressed for him, by different sorts of men, raises him to esteem; there is yet something of the common cant of superficial satirists, who suppose that the insincerity of a courtier destroys all his sensations, and that he is equally a dissembler to the living and the dead. At the third couplet I should wish the epitaph to close, but that I should be unwilling to lose the two next lines, which yet are dearly bought if they cannot be retained without the four that follow them.

X.

On Mr. ELIJAH FENTON, at Easthamstead in Berks.h.i.+re, 1730.

This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, Here lies an honest man: A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate, Whom Heaven kept sacred from the Proud and Great: Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease, Content with science in the vale of peace.

Calmly he looked on either life, and here Saw nothing to regret or there to fear; From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied, Thanked Heaven that he lived, and that he died.

The first couplet of this epitaph is borrowed from Crashaw. The four next lines contain a species of praise peculiar, original, and just. Here, therefore, the inscription should have ended, the latter part containing nothing but what is common to every man who is wise and good. The character of Fenton was so amiable, that I cannot forbear to wish for some poet or biographer to display it more fully for the advantage of posterity. If he did not stand in the first rank of genius, he may claim a place in the second; and, whatever criticism may object to his writings, censure could find very little to blame in his life.

XI.

On Mr. GAY, in Westminster Abbey, 1732.

Of manners gentle, of affections mild; In wit, a muse; simplicity, a child: With native humour tempering virtuous rage, Formed to delight at once and lash the age: Above temptation, in a low estate, And uncorrupted, ev'n among the Great: A safe companion and an easy friend, Unbiased through life, lamented in thy end, These are thy honours! not that here thy bust Is mixed with heroes, or with kings thy dust; But that the worthy and the Good shall say, Striking their pensive bosoms--Here lies GAY.

As Gay was the favourite of our author this epitaph was probably written with an uncommon degree of attention, yet it is not more successfully executed than the rest, for it will not always happen that the success of a poet is proportionate to his labour. The same observation may be extended to all works of imagination, which are often influenced by causes wholly out of the performer's power, by hints of which he perceives not the origin, by sudden elevations of mind which he cannot produce in himself, and which sometimes rise when he expects them least. The two parts of the first line are only echoes of each other; GENTLE MANNERS and MILD AFFECTIONS, if they mean anything, must mean the same.

That Gay was a MAN IN WIT is a very frigid commendation; to have the wit of a man is not much for a poet. The WIT OF MAN and the SIMPLICITY OF A CHILD make a poor and vulgar contrast, and raise no ideas of excellence, either intellectual or moral.

In the next couplet RAGE is less properly introduced after the mention of MILDNESS and GENTLENESS, which are made the const.i.tuents of his character; for a man so MILD and GENTLE to TEMPER his RAGE was not difficult. The next line is inharmonious in its sound, and mean in its conception; the opposition is obvious, and the word LASH used absolutely, and without any modification, is gross and improper. To be ABOVE TEMPTATION in poverty and FREE FROM CORRUPTION AMONG THE GREAT is indeed such a peculiarity as deserved notice. But to be a SAFE COMPANION is a praise merely negative, arising not from possession of virtue but the absence of vice, and that one of the most odious.

As little can be added to his character by a.s.serting that he was LAMENTED IN HIS END. Every man that dies is, at least by the writer of his epitaph, supposed to be lamented, and therefore this general lamentation does no honour to Gay.

The first eight lines have no grammar; the adjectives are without any substantive, and the epithets without a subject. The thought in the last line, that Gay is buried in the bosoms of the WORTHY and GOOD, who are distinguished only to lengthen the line, is so dark that few understand it, and so harsh, when it is explained, that still fewer approve.

XII.

Intended for Sir ISAAC NEWTON, in Westminster Abbey.

ISAACUS NEWTONIUS: Quem Immortalem Testantur, Tempus, Natura, Coelum: Mortalem hoc marmor fatetur.

Nature, and Nature's laws, lay hid in night: G.o.d said, Let Newton be! And all was light.

On this epitaph, short as it is, the faults seem not to be very few.

Why part should be Latin and part English it is not easy to discover. In the Latin the opposition of IMMORTALIS and MORTALIS is a mere sound, or a mere quibble; he is not IMMORTAL in any sense contrary to that in which he is MORTAL. In the verses the thought is obvious, and the words NIGHT and LIGHT are too nearly allied.

XIII.

On EDMUND Duke of BUCKINGHAM, who died in the 19th Year of his Age, 1735.

If modest youth, with cool reflection crowned, And every opening virtue blooming round, Could save a parent's justest pride from fate, Or add one patriot to a sinking state; This weeping marble had not asked thy tear, Or sadly told how many hopes lie here!

The living virtue now had shone approved, The senate heard him, and his country loved.

Yet softer honours, and less noisy fame, Attend the shade of gentle Buckingham: In whom a race, for courage famed and art, Ends in the milder merit of the heart; And, chiefs or sages long to Britain given, Pays the last tribute of a saint to heaven.

This epitaph Mr. Warburton prefers to the rest, but I know not for what reason. To CROWN with REFLECTION is surely a mode of speech approaching to nonsense. OPENING VIRTUES BLOOMING ROUND is something like tautology; the six following lines are poor and prosaic. ART is in another couplet used for ARTS, that a rhyme may be had to HEART. The six last lines are the best, but not excellent.

The rest of his sepulchral performances hardly deserve the notice of criticism. The contemptible dialogue between He and She should have been suppressed for the author's sake.

In his last epitaph on himself, in which he attempts to be jocular upon one of the few things that make wise men serious, he confounds the living man with the dead:

"Under this stone, or under this sill, Or under this turf, &c."

When a man is once buried, the question, under what he is buried, is easily decided. He forgot that though he wrote the epitaph in a state of uncertainty, yet it could not be laid over him till his grave was made. Such is the folly of wit when it is ill employed.

The world has but little new, even this wretchedness seems to have been borrowed from the following tuneless lines:-