favorable to the strong emotions of sublimity. The genius of mankind was then very prone to admiration and astonishment. Meeting continually with new and strange objects, their imagination was kept glowing, and their passions were raised to the utmost. They thought and expressed themselves boldly, and without restraint. In the progress of society, the genius and manners of men have undergone a change more favorable to accuracy, than to strength or sublimity.

Of all writings, ancient or modern, the Sacred Scriptures afford us the highest instances of the sublime. The descriptions of the Deity, in them, are wonderfully noble-both from the grandeur of the object, and the manner of representing it. What an assemblage, for instance, of awful and sublime ideas is presented to us, in that passage of the XVIIIth Psalm, where an appearance of the Almighty is described: "In my distress I called upon the Lord: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him. Then, the earth shook and trembled; the foundations also of the hills were moved; because he was wroth. He bowed the heavens, and came down, and darkness was under his feet; and he did ride upon a Cherub, and did fly; yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind. He made darkness his secret place; his pavilion round about him were dark waters, and thick clouds of the sky." Here, the circumstances of darkness and terror, are applied with great propriety and success, for heightening the sublime. The noted instance given by Longinus, from Moses, "God said, let there be light; and there was light," belongs to the true sublime; and the sublimity of it arises from the strong conception it gives, of an exertion of power, producing its effect with the utmost speed and facility. A thought of the same kind is magnificently amplified in the 24th, 27th, and 28th verses of the XXIVth chapter of Isaiah.

Homer is a poet, who, in all ages, and by all critics, has

To what was the genius of mankind then prone; and what follows? In the progress of society, what change have the genius and manners of men undergone? Of all writings, which affords us the highest instances of the sublime; and of the descriptions of the Deity in them, what is observed? Repeat the passage from the XVIIIth Psalm, illustrative of this remark; and of it what is observed ? What instance is given by Longinus, from Moses; and from what does its sublimity arise? Where is a thought of the same kind magnificently amplified? What is observed of Homer; and to what is he indebted for his sublimity?

been greatly admired for his sublimity; and he is much indebted for it, to that native and unaffected simplicity which characterizes his manner. His description of hosts engaging; the animation, the fire, and rapidity which he throws into his battles, present to every reader of the Iliad, frequent instances of sublime writing. His introduction of the gods, tends often to heighten, in a high degree, the majesty of his warlike scenes. In the XXth book, where all the gods take part in the engagement, according as they severally favor either the Grecians or the Trojans, the poet's genius is signally displayed, and the description rises into the most awful magnificence. All nature seems to be in commotion. Jupiter thunders in the heavens; Neptune strikes the earth with his trident; the ships, the city, and the mountains shake; the earth trembles to its centre; Pluto starts from his throne, in dread, lest the secrets of the infernal regions should be laid open to the view of mortals. The following is Mr. Pope's translation of the passage alluded to; which, though, perhaps, inferior to the original, is yet highly animated and sublime.

But when the powers descending swell'd the fight,
Then tumult rose, fierce rage, and pale affright:
Now through the trembling shores Minerva calls,
As now she thunders from the Grecian walls.
Mars, hov'ring o'er his Troy, his terror shrouds
In gloomy tempests, and a night of clouds;
Now through each Trojan heart he fury pours,
With voice divine, from Illion's topmost towers-
Above, the sire of gods his thunder rolls,
And peals on peals redoubled, rend the poles;
Beneath, stern Neptune shakes the solid ground,
The forests wave, the mountains nod around;
Through all her summits tremble Ida's woods,
And from their sources boil her hundred floods:
Troy's turrets totter on the rocking plain,
And the toss'd navies beat the heaving main.
Deep in the dismal region of the dead,

The infernal monarch reared his horrid head,

Leap'd from his throne, lest Neptune's arm should lay
His dark dominions open to the day;

And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes,

Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful e'en to god's.

Such wars the immortals wage; such horror's rend
The world's vast concave, when the gods contend.

What present, to every reader of the Iliad, frequent instances of sublime writing? What is observed of his introduction of the gods; and of the passage from the XXth. book what is remarked? Repeat Mr. Pope's translation of it.

The works of Ossian abound with examples of the sublime. The subjects of which that author treats, and the manner in which he writes, are particularly favorable to it. He possesses all the plain and venerable manner of the ancient times. He deals in no superfluous or gaudy ornaments; but throws forth his images with a rapid conciseness, which enables them to strike the mind with the greatest force. Among poets of more polished times we are to look for the graces of correct writing, for just proportion of parts, and skilfully conducted narratives. But amidst the rude scenes of nature and of society, such as Ossian describes; amidst rocks and torrents, and whirlwinds and battles, dwells the sublime; and naturally associates itself with that grave and solemn spirit which distinguishes the author of Fingal.

These instances have been produced, in order to show how essential conciseness and simplicity are to sublime writing. Simplicity is properly opposed to studied and profuse ornament; and conciseness to superfluous expression. Why a defect, either in conciseness or simplicity, is peculiarly hurtful to the sublime, may be easily seen. The emotion excited in the mind by some great or noble object, raises it considerably above its common pitch. A sort of enthusiasm is produced extremely agreeable while it lasts; but from which the mind is tending every moment to fall into its ordinary tone. When an author, therefore, has brought us, or is attempting to bring us into this state; if he multiplies words unnecessarily, if he decks the sublime object on all sides with glittering ornaments; nay, if he throws in any one decoration which falls, in the least, below the principal image, that moment he altars the key; he relaxes the tension of the mind; the strength of the feeling is emasculated; the beautiful may remain, but the sublime is gone. Homer's description of the nod of Jupiter, as shaking the heavens, has been admired in all ages, as highly sublime. Literally translated, it runs thus: "He spoke, and bending his sable brows, gave the awful nod; while he shook the celestial locks of his immor

What is observed of the works of Ossian; and why are they so sublime? For what are we to look among poets of more modern times; but where dwells the sublime, and with what does it naturally associate itself? Why have these instances been produced; and to what are they respectively opposed? Why is a defect in either, peculiarly hurtful to the sublime What is remarked of Homer's description of the nod of Jupiter; and how is it literally translated?

tal head, all Olympus was shaken." The following is Mr. Pope's translation:

He spoke and awful bends his sable brows,
Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod,
The stamp of fate, and sanction of a god.

High heaven with trembling the dread signal took,
And all Olympus to its centre shook.

The image is spread out, and attempted to be beautified; but it is, in reality, weakened. The third line-" The stamp of fate, and sanction of a god," is merely expletive, and introduced for no other reason than to fill up the rhyme; for it interrupts the description and clogs the image. For the same reason, Jupiter is represented as shaking his locks before he gives the nod ;-" Shakes his ambrosial curls and gives the nod;" which is trifling and insignificant: whereas, in the original, the hair of his head shaken, is the effect of his nod, and makes a happy picturesque circumstance in the description.

66

The boldness, freedom, and variety, of our blank verse, is infinitely more favorable than rhyme, to all kinds of sublime poetry: The fullest proof of this is afforded by Milton-an author, whose genius led him eminently to the sublime. The whole first and second books of Paradise Lost, are continued instances of it. Take only, for an example, the following noted description of Satan, after his fall, appearing at the head of the infernal host:

He, above the rest,

In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower; his form had not yet lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared
Less than an archangel ruined; and the excess
Of glory obscur'd: as when the sun new risen,
Looks through the horizontal misty air,
Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon,
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd so, yet shone
Above them all th' archangel.-

Here concur a variety of sources of the sublime: the principal object eminently great; a high superior nature,

What is Mr. Pope's translation; what is observed of it; and why Of our blank verse what is observed? By whom is the fullest proof of this offered; and of his genius, what is remarked? What books are continued instances of this; and what example is given? Of this passage what is remarked?

fallen indeed, but erecting itself against distress; the grandeur of the principal object heightened, by associating it with so noble an idea as that of the sun suffering an eclipse; this picture shaded with all those images of change and trouble, of darkness and terror, which coincide so finely with the sublime emotion; and the whole expressed in a style and versification, easy, natural, and simple, but magnificent.

Besides simplicity and conciseness, strength, also, is essentially necessary to sublime writing. The strength of description arises, in a great measure, from a simple conciseness; but it also implies something more; namely, a proper choice of circumstances in the description, so as to exhibit the object in its full and most striking point of view. For every object has several faces, so to speak, by which it may be presented to us, according to the circumstances with which we surround it; and it will appear eminently sublime, or not, in proportion as all these circumstances are happily chosen, and of a sublime kind. In this the great art of the writer consists; and it is, indeed, the principal difficulty of sublime description. If the description be too general, and divested of circumstances, the object appears in a faint light; and makes either a feeble impression, or no impression at all, on the reader. At the same time, if any trivial or improper circumstances are mingled, the whole is degraded.

The nature of the emotion aimed at in sublime description, is such, as to admit of no mediocrity, and cannot subsist in a middle state; but must either highly transport us, or, if unsuccessful in the execution, leave us greatly disappointed and displeased. We attempt to rise along with the writer; the imagination is awakened, and put upon the stretch; but it requires to be supported; and if, in the midst of its efforts, you desert it unexpectedly, down it comes with a painful shock. When Milton, in his battle of the angels, describes them as tearing up the mountains, and throwing them at one another; there are, in his description, as Mr. Addison has observed, no circumstances but what are properly sublime:

Besides simplicity and conciseness, what, also, is essential to sublime writing; and from what does it arise? Why is this the case? Why is this the principal difficulty of sublime description? Of the nature of the emotion aimed at in sublime description what is observed; and why? How is this remark illustrated from Milton's battle of the angels ?