exulted, and knew or owned their king; and that the sea parted with joy : γηθοσύνη δὲ θαλασσα διίστατο Neither is there a word of the wondering waters: we therefore think the lines might be thus altered to advantage : They knew and own'd the monarch of the main : The curling waves before his coursers fly; Besides the metaphors, similes, and allusions of poetry, there is an infinite variety of tropes, or turns of expression, occasionally disseminated through works of genius, which serve to animate the whole, and distinguish the glowing effusions of real inspiration from the cold efforts of mere science. These tropes consist of a certain happy choice and arrangement of words, by which ideas are artfully disclosed in a great variety of attitudes, of epithets, and compound epithets; of sounds collected in order to echo the sense conveyed; of apostrophes; and, above all, the enchanting use of the prosopopoeia, which is a kind of magic, by which the poet gives life and motion to every inanimate part of nature. Homer, describing the wrath of Agamemnon, in the first book of the Iliad, strikes off a glowing image in two words: ὄσσε δ' οἱ πυρὶ λαμπετούντι εΐκτην. -And from his eye-balls flash'd the living fire. This indeed is a figure, which has been copied by Virgil, and almost all the poets of every age-oculis micat acribus ignis-ignescunt iræ: auris dolor ossibus ardet. Milton, describing Satan in Hell, says, With head uplift above the wave, and eye -He spake: and to confirm his words out flew Far round illumined Hell There are certain words in every language particularly adapted to the poetical expression; some from the image or idea they convey to the imagination; and some from the effect they have upon the ear. The first are truly figurative; the others may be called emphatical.-Rollin observes, that Virgil has upon many occasions poetized (if we may be allowed the expression) a whole sentence by means of the same word, which is pendere. Ite meæ, felix quondam pecus, ite capellæ, Non ego vos posthac, viridi projectus in antro, At ease reclined beneath the verdant shade, Here the word pendere wonderfully improves the landscape, and renders the whole passage beautifully picturesque. The same figurative verb we meet with in many different parts of the Æneid. Hi summo in fluctu pendent, his unda dehiscens These on the mountain billow hung; to those In this instance, the words pendent and dehiscens, hung and yawning, are equally poetical. Addison seems to have had this passage in his eye, when he wrote his Hymn, which is inserted in the Spectator: -For though in dreadful worlds we hung, High on the broken wave. And in another piece of a like nature, in the same collec tion : Thy providence my life sustain'd, And all my wants redress'd, And hung upon the breast. Shakspeare, in his admired description of Dover cliff, uses the same expression: -Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire-dreadful trade! Nothing can be more beautiful than the following picture, in which Milton has introduced the same expressive tint: -He, on his side, Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love We shall give one example more from Virgil, to show in what a variety of scenes it may appear with propriety and effect. In describing the progress of Dido's passion for Æneas, the Poet says, Iliacos iterum demens audire labores Exposcit, pendetque iterum narrantis ab ore. The woes of Troy once more she begg'd to hear; The reader will perceive in all these instances, that no other word could be substituted with.equal energy; indeed no other word could be used without degrading the sense, and defacing the image. There are many other verbs of poetical import fetched from nature, and from art, which the poet uses to advantage, both in a literal and metaphorical sense; and these have been always translated for the same purpose from one language to another; such as quasso, concutio, cio, suscito, lenio, sævio, mano, fluo, ardeo, mico, aro, to shake, to wake, to rouse, to soothe, to rage, to flow, to shine or blaze, to plough. Quassantia tectum limina―Æneas, casu concussus acerbo—Ære ciere viros, Martemque accendere cantu-Æneas acuit Martem et se suscitat ira-Impium lenite clamorem. Lenibant curas-Ne sævi magna sacerdos-Sudor ad imos manabat solos-Suspensæque diu lachrymæ fluxere per ora—Juvenali ardebat amore— Micat æreus ensis-Nullum maris æquor arandum. It will be unnecessary to insert examples of the same nature from the English poets. The words we term emphatical, are such as by their sound express the sense they are intended to convey: and with these the Greek abounds, above all other languages, not only from its natural copiousness, flexibility, and significance, but also from the variety of its dialects, which enables a writer to vary his terminations occasionally as the nature of the subject requires, without offending the most delicate ear, or incurring the imputation of adopting vulgar provincial expressions. Every smatterer in Greek can repeat Βῆ δ ̓ ἀκέων παρα θῖνα πολυφλοισβοῖο θαλάσσης, in which the last two words wonderfully echo to the sense, conveying the idea of the sea dashing on the shore. How much more significant in sound than that beautiful image of Shakspeare The sea that on the unnumber'd pebbles beats. And yet, if we consider the strictness of propriety, this last expression would seem to have been selected on purpose to concur with the other circumstances, which are brought together to ascertain the vast height of Dover cliff; for the poet adds, « cannot be heard so high." The place where Glo'ster stood was so high above the surface of the sea, that the photobos, or dashing, could not be heard; and therefore an enthusiastic admirer of Shakspeare might with some plausibility affirm, the poet had chosen an expression in which that sound is not at all conveyed. In the very 7 same page of Homer's Iliad we meet with two other striking instances of the same sort of beauty. Apollo, incensed at the insults his priest had sustained, descends from the top of Olympus, with his bow and quiver rattling on his shoulder as he moved along: Εκλαγξαν δ ̓ ἄρ ̓ οἵστω ἐπ ̓ ὤμων. Here the sound of the word Exλayğɑv admirably expresses the clanking of armour; as the third line after this surprisingly imitates the twanging of a bow. Δεινὴ δὲ κλαγγὴ γένετ' ἀργυρέοιο Βιοῖο. In shrill-ton'd murmurs sung the twanging bow. Many beauties of the same kind are scattered through Homer, Pindar, and Theocritus, such as the ẞoubeñoa periooa, |