Addifon, in his life, and for fome time afterwards, was confidered by the greater part of readers as fupremely excelling both in poetry and criticifm. Part of his reputation may be probably ascribed to the advancement of his fortune; when, as Swift obferves, he became a statefman, and faw poets waiting at his levee, it was no wonder that praife was accumulated upon him. Much likewise may be more honourably afcribed to his perfonal character: he who, if he had claimed it, might have obtained the diadem, was not likely to be denied the laurel. But time quickly puts an end to artificial and accidental fame; and Addison is to pass through futurity protected only by his genius. Every name which kindness or interest once raised too high is in danger, left the next age fhould, by the vengeance of criticism, fink it in the fame proportion. A great writer has lately styled him "an indifferent poet, "and a worse critick." His poetry is firft to be confidered; of which it must be confeffed that it has not often those I felicities felicities of diction which give luftre to fentiments, or that vigour of fentiment that animates diction: there is little of ardour, vehemence, or tranfport; there is very rarely the awfulness of grandeur, and not very often the fplendour of elegance. He thinks juftly; but he thinks faintly. This is his general character; to which, doubtlefs, many fingle paffages will furnish exception. ༣ Yet, if he feldom reaches fupreme excellence, he rarely finks into duluefs, and is ftill more rarely entangled in abfurdity. He did not truft his powers enough to be negligent. There is in moft of his compofitions a calmnefs and equability, deliberate and cautious, fometimes with little that delights, but feldom with any thing that offends. Of this kind feem to be his poems to Dryden, to Sommers, and to the King. His ode on St. Cecilia has been imitated by Pope, and has fomething in it of Dryden's vigour. Of his Account of the English Poets, he used to freak as a poor thing*;" but it is not worse than his ufual ftrain. He has faid, not very judiciously, in his character of Waller, Thy verfe could fhew ev'n Cromwell's innocence; And compliment the ftorms that bore him hence. O! had thy Mufe not come an age too foon, But feen great Naffau on the British throne, How had his triumph glitter'd in thy page!- What is this but to say, that he who could compliment Cromwell had been the proper poet for king William? Addison, however, never printed the piece. The Letter from Italy has been always praised, but has never been praised beyond its merit. It is more correct, with less appearance of labour, and more elegant, with lefs ambition of ornament, than any other of his poems. There is, however, one broken metaphor, of which notice may properly be taken: Fir'd with that name I bridle in my struggling Mufe with pain, To bridle a goddess is no very delicate idea; but why must the be bridled? because the longs longs to launch; an act which was never hindered by a bridle: and whither will the launch? into a nobler ftrain. She is in the first line a horfe, in the fecond a boat; and the care of the poet is to keep his horfe or his boat from finging. The next compofition is the far-famed Campaign, which Dr. Warton has termed a "Gazette in Rhyme," with harshness not often used by the good-nature of his criticism. Before a cenfure fo fevere is admitted, let us confider that War is a frequent subject of Poetry, and then enquire who has described it with more juftnefs and force. Many of our own writers tried their powers upon this year of victory: yet Addison's is confeffedly the best performance; his poem is the work of a man not blinded by the duft of learning; his images are not borrowed merely from books. The fuperiority which he confers upon his hero is not perfonal prowefs, and "mighty bone," but deliberate intrepidity, a calm command of his paffions, and the power of confulting his own mind in the midst of danger. The rejection and contempt of fiction is rational and manly. It may be obferved that the last line is imitated by Pope : Marlb'rough's exploits appear divinely brightRais'd of themselves their genuine charms they boast, And thofe, that paint them trueft, praise them moft. This Pope had in his thoughts; but, not knowing how to ufe what was not his own, he spoiled the thought when he had borrowed it : The well-fung woes fhall foothe my penfive ghoft; He best can paint them who fhall feel them moft, Martial exploits inay be painted; perhaps woes may be painted; but they are furely not painted by being well-fung; it is not eafy to paint in fong, or to fing in colours. No paffage in the Campaign has been more often mentioned than the fimile of the Angel, which is faid in the Tatler to be one of the "nobleft thoughts that ever entered into the "heart of man," and is therefore worthy of attentive confideration. Let it be firft en |