them admirable, exquisite, and charming. The truth is, Dryden's craft was such that he could do in a measure almost everything he tried to do; but the art of the craftsman is more visible in these pieces than the spontaneity of the poet, and I may add that there are sound reasons why, upon moral as well as upon literary grounds, they should cease to live in our literature.* His poem on the death of Mrs. Killigrew is, according to Johnson, “undoubtedly the noblest ode that our language ever has produced;" and his " Alexander's Feast," on the same authority, is "allowed to stand without a rival;"† and more recent critics have spoken of it in a strain almost equally flattering. No doubt it is a splendid poem, and proves that Dryden, at the age of sixty-six, was still in his poetical prime. There is no want of fire, of variety, of imperial fancy, and of the despotic power over language, which distinguishes this poet. But "Alexander's Feast,' if I rightly judge, is rather a magnificent piece of rhetoric than a great lyrical poem. It is the work of an excellent artificer, not of an inspired singer; it delights the intellect, but fails-which true lyric poetry never does-to win its way to the heart. Next in fame amongst Dryden's lyric pieces stands the ode "To the pious memory of the accomplished young lady, Mrs. Anne Killigrew, excellent in the *Mr. Palgrave, in his "Golden Treasury of Songs and Lyrics," has not found space for a single song of Dryden's. †This was the view taken of it by the poet himself. ode," he said, "never was produced nor ever will." "A nobler two sister arts of Poesy and Painting." Even in this poem, fine though in parts it be, the student will discover, I think, more of literary ingenuity than of poetical inspiration. Some of the lines are extremely laboured, and some are disfigured by the conceits that Cowley loved. In this poem Dryden makes the well-known confession of the sins committed by poets generally, and by himself in particular. "O gracious God! how far have we Profaned thy heavenly gift of Poesy! I have said that Dryden is without pathos, and certainly there is no pathos in this ode. Perhaps, however, it may be detected in the closing lines of the beautiful epistle addressed to his "dear friend Mr. Congreve," the wittiest, the most brilliant, and by no means the most profligate of the Restoration dramatists. “Already I am worn with cares and age, And take for tribute what these lines express; You merit more nor could my love do less." Faulty though Dryden was-and few English poets have done more to degrade their genius-it is well that we should part from him remembering with gratitude the fine qualities which give him so high a place in our literature. Dryden is a master in prose as well as in verse. His intellect is robust, clear-sighted, and generous; he is often perverse, but never feeble; his study of French writers left his racy English unaffected; as a man and as an author he is eminently manly; his criticisms are full of weighty sense, and his style, like the beautiful image of the Thames which we owe to Sir John Denham, may be said to be "Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull; Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full." [The Globe edition of Dryden's poetical works, edited by the late Mr. W. D. Christie (Macmillan), contains all, and more than all, the writings of this poet which it is necessary for the student to read. Sir Walter Scott's admirable biography of Dryden will amply repay a reader for the time expended upon it. It is essential, too, that he should read Dr. Johnson's masterly life, paying especial attention to the criticism, which is none the less valuable because it differs from the broader and more general comments to which we are accustomed in the present day. The comparison between the genius of Dryden and that of Pope must also be read. It will be found in Johnson's life of the latter poet. Mr. Saintsbury's Dryden, in the series of "English Men of Letters," though open to criticism with regard to many of the opinions expressed, forms a concise and comprehensive account of the poet's work. A highly interesting essay on Dryden appeared in the Quarterly Review for 1878, and another critical essay will be found in Mr. Cowell's delightful volume, "Among my Books."] CHAPTER VIII. THE QUEEN ANNE AND GEORGIAN POETS. ALEXANDER POPE-SAMUEL JOHNSON-OLIVER GOLD SMITH. Edmund Waller, 1605-1687. WHEN Dryden was a young man, and long before he achieved reputation as a poet, Edmund Waller's fame was established. His "smooth" poems, published in 1645, were highly popular, and received a degree of praise which the judgment of a later age has not confirmed. Dryden joined in this praise, observing that he showed poets how to conclude the sense in distichs, and that "the excellence and dignity of rhyme were never fully known till Mr. Waller taught it." Four years after Dryden's death, Joseph Addison, known to us now as an incomparable humorist and essayist, gained his first laurels as a poet by the publication of "The Campaign." Waller may have known the youthful Dryden before his genius was fledged, and Addison knew him in the maturity of his powers. Viewed, therefore, chronologically, Waller may be Joseph Addison, 1672-1719. called Dryden's father and Addison his son; but both these men are now virtually dead as poets, or if they live at all, and may not be dropped entirely out of the succession, the life of Waller hangs upon two lyrics, and that of Addison upon two or three fine hymns. It may perhaps be a question who is entitled to be called Dryden's father in poetry, but there can be no doubt that Pope is his legitimate son. There were several poets or versemen in the first half of the eighteenth century, but there is not one who stands out so prominently as Pope. And the fame he won in his own day can scarcely be said to have much diminished with time. We cannot think of him, indeed, as his contemporaries thought. Greater poets than Pope had lived before his age, and greater poets have lived since. Modern criticism has treated him with the utmost severity, and not always with injustice. Into the highest and purest region of poetry Pope never entered, and in his own sphere his genius has so many flaws that the pleasure we gain from his verse is largely mixed with pain. His defects alike as a man and as a poet stand out prominently, but there is much notwithstanding, both in his life and in his poetry, to excite the strongest interest. I do not know whether young students will feel this. Pope's treacherous and ignoble vices will disgust, as well they may, the generous frankness of youthful readers, and the wit and satire, the point and verve, which make his lines so fascinating to older men, may be lost in a measure on their juniors. For |