Noctes Ambrosianae. No. LVI. ΧΡΗ ΔΕΝ ΣΥΜΠΟΣΙΩ ΚΥΛΙΚΩΝ ΠΕΡΙΝΙΣΣΟΜΕΝΑΩΝ [This is a distich by wise old Phocylides, Σ. PHOC. ap. Ath. An ancient who wrote crabbed Greek in no silly days; Meaning," "TIS RIGHT FOR GOOD WINEBIBBING PEOPLE, An excellent rule of the hearty old cock 'tis- C. N. ap. Ambr. SCENE-The Snuggery-Time, Nine o'clock-Present, NORTH, TICKLER, and SHEPHERD Tea, Coffee, Caulkers, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c, SHEPHERD. Receet the passage, again, sir-for oh! but it's beautifu', and I couldna hae believed that it was Milton's. TICKLER. Milton is worth all your modern poets in a lump, were you to multiply them by SHEPHERD. But we shanna put them a' into a lump, Mr Tickler-nor multiply their multiplicand by any multiplicawtor whatsomever; for I hae nae notion o' slumpin' inspiration in that gate, a sair injustice to a' individual Genie. Let ilka poet, great and sma', staun' on his ain feet, and no be afeard o' the takin' o' his altitude, by quadrants in the hauns o' geometrical critics-accepp them that sits on ane anither's knees, and they may just keep sittin' there; and them that tries to owertap their betters, by getting theirsells hoisted up upon stools or tables-to say little or naething o' twa three mair wha shall be nameless, that speels up the backs o' the brither-bards, and look proudly alang the heads o' the crood, seemingly higher by head and shouthers than their supporters and elevators, but wha are sure to get a fa' at last-and then, wae's me! they're trampled aneath hoofs, and never mair recover either their hats or their laurels. But receet the passage again, Mr North. NORTH (recites). "Now came still evening on, and twilight grey Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light, SHEPHERD. How beautifully progressive, sir, up to the tapmost pitch o' nocturnal beauty! NORTH. Seemingly most simple, James, yet, believe me, steeped, every syllable and sentence, in imagination. Had it not been so, be assured, the "divine Milton" had never introduced so long a description into Paradise Lost. Natural it might have been, without being imaginative; but, in that case, it would have disfigured instead of improving the poem. SHEPHERD. It may be sae. I ken naething, for my ain pairt, about imaginationthat's to say, the secret o' its power. For I'm a poet, and nae metaphysician; whereas the late Dr Thomas Brown-wha, by the by, was aye unco kind to me—was a metaphysician, but nae poet. NORTH. Coleridge is both-so is Wordsworth-so is Bowles-and so was Byron. For my own part, James, I am neither That's true. SHEPHERD. NORTH. What's true, sir? Do you dare to say that I am not sup SHEPHERD. I'm wullin', Mr North, to alloo ye the possession o' a' the powers that ever glorified humanity, gin you would but gie ower layin traps for compliments to your genius and tawlons-fishin' for flatteries, no only frae the likes o' me-for that I can understaun' and sympatheese wi'-but frae fules and sumphs o' a' ages and sexes-sometimes wi' the flea, and sometimes wi' the worm-and sometimes wi' the baggy mennon-and sometimes wi' the sawmon-rae-and, when nae bait 'll catch them, wi' the verra naked hyeuck, or a girn! NORTH. I acknowledge-I confess-I glory in that impeachment. Without sympathy, James, there is "A craving void left aching at my heart." 'Tis like the air I breathe-without it I die. That's the secret of my seem. ing love of SHEPHERD. Weel, weel-I believe you-judging by mysell-but what o' the passage? NORTH. The imagination, therein, my dear Shepherd, is conceivable to be, either in the successive objects or portions of descriptions, that is, severally, in each; or not in each singly, but in the conjunction of them in the whole. Or baith ways at ance. SHEPHERD. NORTH. True. What then, may be the Imagination of the successive members of the whole? Rather, is there any, and what is it, in them, in this example? For it may be whatever it is in real objects. SHEPHERD. I'm perplexed already-what's your wull? NORTH. There appears to be much of that kind of Imagination which consists in infused animation and undefined incipient Impersonation. "Now came still evening on," and "Twilight grey had in her sober livery all things "Silence accompanied." clad." SHEPHERD. You say richt, sir-three impersonifications. NORTH. If I could suppose that here were meant to be introduced three distinct figured personages, taken out of Italian poetry, and all sorts of poetical writing, for some hundreds of years, I should be sorry. I hope and confide that Milton meant no more than that degree of alteration of things from their reality which forces itself irresistibly upon us, in certain proper moods of contemplating them. SHEPHERD. Imaginative moods. NORTH. that Try to consider each expression as literally as you can, and suppose Milton meant to represent the objects as nearly what they are, to the simple understanding, as poetical feeling, predominant, would suffer him. Try how much the word Evening is forced from meaning the mere season or hour. "Came on" seems to mean more than that the Evening succeeded to the day. In the first place, it severs the hour, as having a unity in itself; in the next, it attributes to the season a power of advancing, an energy of progress of its own. TICKLER. Come, be clear, North-no mysticism. NORTH. What! are you listening? Detur, that the proper idea of Evening to the understanding, is of a certain state of external affairs, then co-existent with a particular portion of diurnal rotation:-Detur, that the natural idea of Evening superadds to this something of positiveness in the season of existence, of unity, a distinct entity in it. TICKLER. Begin then, my metaphysical master, with an explanation of the natural idea of Evening, and then shew us what of Poetry or Imagination—if any— Milton has added, out of his divine mind, to that Idea. SHEPHERD. That's the richt method o' procedure, sure aneuch, Mr North. Mr Tickler's a clear headed tyke. NORTH. You will observe then that the accustomed idea of Evening has in it a degree of work of imagination, since in it that darkness, or less light, which is merely the state, or fact, of certain objects being less illuminated than for some time past they have been, is conceived by us, in the first place, as a positive existing dusk; and in the second, as brought on by a certain hour or season, which hour or season, being in effect nothing but a portion of the admeasurement of time, appears to us to be made up, and consist of, in part, those appearances in nature which are merely its accompaniments, amongst others, for instance, of that very darkness which at the same time it appears to bring;-the hour, properly considered, can bring nothing it can only coexist with other things, or become existent along with them. And in all ideas of day, night, seasons, &c., there is such illusion. TICKLER. As the old Schoolmen used to say, "In omnem sensus actum influit Imaginatio." NORTH. Correctly quoted, Tim? Nevertheless, there must be an idea of Evening, which being the universal idea, and as necessarily conceived by the human understanding as that the Sun sets, though mixed in part of illusory conception, is not, for the purposes of poetry, to be accounted imagination. Granted. TICKLER. NORTH. Let us take, then, this accustomed, simple, necessary idea, and see how far the expressions of the passage in question go beyond it. It shall then appear, that in Milton's expressions there is conceived something more, namely, of the motion of that which has no motion; and, as I think, of an energy, and almost a will of motion in itself. In some way, the words are lifted out of prose, and but a little way. The epithet "still," though as ordinary an epithet to Evening as you can find, enhances the effect, the separation of Evening, from being nothing but a state, with time, of external existence. TICKLER. But you must make out more distinctly, sir, the division between the na tural imagination which is in our usual idea of Evening, and the heightened imagination that is in Milton's expressions. NORTH. I will. If you go through the description, you find, as to each object of thought, some heightening of the same sort. "Twilight had clad,”an energy of action. Even "Silence accompanied," is an act,-and an act of that which is so far from being something, that it is not even the negation of an entity, but the negation of certain actions of entities. Besides, whatever it is, it is included in the state of external things. It does not "accompany." "Hesperus that led,"-" host,"-" rode brightest,"—" clouded majesty,"—" queen,”—“ unveiled her light,"-observe here is, at every point almost, a heightening from the inanimate reality. The only part of the description which is without alteration from reality, is bird and beast, they being already animate. What is to be remarked, in respect to them, is merely the generalizing way in which they are disposed of, and perhaps the word "slunk." Now, supposing the description to be a tolerably good one, we may say that every step of it falls under imagination, severally. The objects being either such as naturally affect imagination without any heightening from the peculiar and strong feelings of the poet, or being brought under imagination, or their natural imagination enhanced by such heightenings. The nightingale singing sole, is in herself an object to imagination. I do not take "living sapphires" to have the sense of that infused animation which belongs to impersonation, but merely the effect to the eye. The firmament "glowed," may have a slight degree of imagination. There is something in the conception beyond what the cold understanding gives. Is there, then, I ask, gentlemen, besides this imagination in the parts, any imaginative effect in the whole, that is, an effect resulting from the combination of all the parts? I am inclined to think there is, and that the impression which is left from the whole is that of a LIVING CALM. A Leevin' Cawm! SHEPHERD. NORTH. If so, the contribution of every part to the effect of the whole is intelligible. The stillness throughout the song that does not disturb silencethe lights so serene and yet pregnant with life-the infused animation of every object that has not-and the sufficiency of animation in those that have it have all a perfect propriety. It may not belong exactly to the question I am considering What question? SHEPHERD. NORTH. though it does to the poetical analysis of the passage, to show the skilful progress of impressiveness. SHEPHERD. Ah, ah! ma man! You're borrowin' frae me noo-for that's the verra first observe I made on your selectin' the passage. NORTH. So much the better, James. Observe then, on the whole, each object rising in this respect above another-and yet not by a scale. For instance, when real living creatures are introduced, it is done in gradation, first, those that sleep, then the night-singer, in whom the feeling of animal natural life is raised to its height, by the line "She all night long her amorous descant sung." And immediately a great tranquillization follows, and that animal vitality is blotted out by insensate things, and no pulse or breathing is more, save those which circulate in space, and in the bosom of universal nature. VOL. XXIX. NO, CLXXIX. 2 Y Detur, that all I have said is right-here is then shewn by an instance what is meant properly by a poetical description-that is to say, of many ways believed, one way is shewn in which a description is placed under the reign of Imagination, Aneuch. Be dune, sir. SHEPHERD. NORTH. This is the preparatory part of the enquiry. Then ensues this other question-What is in this instance the character, quality, nature of the affection of imagination? It is plain, in the first place, that it is essentially feeling. Secondly, that it is feeling of a singular, remote, and rather mysterious kind. Thirdly, the feeling is that which accompanies and enters into the lower degrees of impersonation. If the impression resulting from the whole, is that which I have endeavoured to render by the expression, a LIVING CALM, this belongs to the same mode of imagination. It is as if the vast and deep tranquillity, the very rest and peace, were self-conscious. TICKLER. You're a clever lad, Kit, Perge Puer. NORTH. It may be proper here to repeat, that in this particular act or mode of imagination, the analysis of imagination gives this form, which always appears to me to be the essential and proper form of imagination, viz. that an object being given to the understanding, by a new and further intellectual act, a feeling not proper to the object (that is, not proper to it in its truth, as conceived by the understanding) is superinduced upon it. Try this in one or two instances. "Silence was pleased." What is given to the understanding? The noiselessness and hush of night-and song delighting the ear, and not disturbing to the heart, but rather quickening and deepening the affection, produced by the general hush and repose. But herein moved imagination perceives a listening spirit of silence-and that pleasure which is felt by the bodily imagined witness, the poet, or any other, and that non-disturbance and rather vivifying and intensifying of his affection of stillness and peace, is, by a turn of imagination, transferred to that spirit which is conceived to be pleased with, and, instead of being annihilated, to exist in more animation by virtue of those sounds. There is here both a production and a variation of thought, beyond or after, or from what is given, proper to the understanding. Is there, by means of these further intellectual acts, any new different feeling induced towards the object of the understanding? Undoubtedly there is, though the difference may be diffi cult to define. For it is quite impossible that we should look with the same affection of feeling on objects materially different, though it is often difficult to ascertain what our feeling is, especially towards objects which do not affect us with strong emotion; as indeed very many of the feelings of imagination are of so slight, delicate, fine a kind, that we hardly know how to speak of them, or to call them feeling, they are so infinitely remote from the vehement, and possessing power of ordinary passion. Our feeling, or the affection of our mind, the disposition to feel, cannot be the same towards objects so different as the actual silence of nature, and that vivified silence having a soul into which song is instilled. The affection with which we consider silence itself, including in it the idea of tranquillity, is that of tran quillity mixed with something of solemnity, and from its vacancy of fear. But if silence is considered as "LIVING," the sense of solemnity is taken off in some degree, that of fear altogether. SHEPHERD. Weel, thank Heaven, this metafeesical enquiry, for it was nae less, into the natur o' imagination, is owre, and that I hae survived it, though rather a wee fentish-sae let's drap in a thummle-fu' o' cogniac intil this-is't the seventh or aucht cup, think ye, sir, o' coffee-and fortified by the speerit, I wad fain trust that sae I shall be able to endure the severest conversation |