than the expression, or even the sense of gratitude; and the remembrance of the obligation will rather stimulate than depress. Other considerations have, I must confess, rendered me not a little solicitous I am appointed to superintend a particular department of science, which you have constantly distinguished by your presence and attention; and a subject is to be discussed, which not only you have judged worthy of your cultivation, and the public countenance of the University, but which has hitherto received in this place all the embellishments of grace and elegance, of which it is naturally susceptible. Should it therefore fall into neglect or disrepute hereafter, I fear, that I should be compelled to acknowledge the fault to have been mine, and not that of the institution itself.

Whatever degree of success indeed may attend my endeavours, let it not for a moment be suspected, that the design is not altogether deserving of approbation. For can there be any thing of more real importance to literature itself; can any thing be more consistent with the ends for which this University was founded, than that the art, of whose assistance every other art and profession has so greatly availed itself, should be assigned a place among the rest? That art, so venerable for its antiquity, so delightful in itself; that art, which is in a manner congenial to humanity, and which sets off nature by the most agreeable representation of her beauties: which among the ignorant and the learned, the idle and the studious, has ever obtained favour, admiration, and regard. Nothing surely can be more worthy of a liberal and accomplished mind, than to perceive what is perfect, and what is defective in an art, the beauties of which frequently lie beneath the surface; to understand what is graceful, what is becoming, in what its excellencies consist, and in a word, to discover and relish those delicate touches of grace and elegance, that lie beyond the reach of vulgar apprehension. From these subtile researches after beauty and taste, there is also the fairest reason to apprehend that the judgement itself will receive some accessions of strength and acuteness, which it may successfully employ upon other objects, and upon other occasions. Such at least appear to have been the sentiments of that excellent person,1 to whose munificence poetry has been long indebted for her admission into the circle of those sciences which are cultivated in this University. For, possessing a mind not only instructed in the most useful branches of knowledge, but adorn

1 The poetic lecture was instituted by HENRY BIRKHEAD, L L. D. formerly Fellow of All Souls.

ed with the most elegant arts; and having imbibed the first principles of education in a seminary, where the most important and sacred subjects, recommended by all the elegance of polite literature, have been heretofore, and still continue to be, studied with vigour and effect; he saw and experienced, how much an attention to these elegancies would contribute to the investigation or illustration of the severer branches of erudition, and how strict the alliance between philosophy and the muses.

The design, therefore, of the author of this institution, as well as the usual practice on occasions like the present, reminds me, gentlemen, of the propriety (though a matter already familiar to most of you) of premising a few such observations, as appear least exceptionable, concerning the end and utility of the poetic art.

Poetry is commonly understood to have two objects in view, namely, advantage and pleasure, or rather an union of both. I wish those who have furnished us with this definition, had rather proposed utility as its ultimate object, (B) and pleasure as the means by which that end may be effectually accomplished. The philosopher and the poet indeed seem principally to differ in the means, by which they pursue the same end. Each sustains the character of a preceptor, which the one is thought best to support, if he teach with accuracy, with subtlety, and with perspicuity; the other, with splendour, harmony, and elegance. The one makes his appeal to reason only, independent of the passions; the other addresses the reason in such a manner, as even to engage the passions on his side. The one proceeds to virtue and truth by the nearest and most compendious ways; the other leads to the same point through certain deflexions and deviations, by a winding, but pleasanter path. It is the part of the former so to describe and explain these objects, that we must necessarily become acquainted with them; it is the part of the latter so to dress and adorn them, that of our own accord we must love and embrace them.

I therefore lay it down as a fundamental maxim, that poetry is useful, chiefly because it is agreeable; and should I, as we are apt to do, attribute too much to my favourite occupation, I trust philosophy will forgive me, when I add, that the writings of the poet are more useful than those of the philosopher, inasmuch as they are more agreeable. To illustrate this position by well known examples: Can it be supposed that the more learned Romans, when they became devoted to the doctrine of Epicurus, did not more highly esteem, and

more frequently apply to the admirable poem of Lucretius, than to Catius, or Amafanius, or even the commentaries of Epicurus himself? Who can believe that even the most tasteless could peruse the writings on agriculture, either of the learned Varro, or (not to mention the elder Cato) of Columella, an author by no means deficient in elegance, with the same pleasure and attention as that most delightful and most perfect work, the Georgics of Virgil? A work in which he has equalled the most respectable writers in the solidity of his matter, and has greatly excelled the most elegant in the incredible harmony of his numbers. (c) On the contrary, if Manilius, who is numbered (and rightly if we may credit his own testimony) among the writers of the Augustan age, has treated the engaging science of astronomy in such low and inelegant verse, as even scarcely to excel Julius Firmicus, a prose writer on the same subject in a less polished age, I will allow him the merit of a philosopher and astronomer, but never can account him a poet. For what is a poet, destitute of harmony, of grace, and of all that conduces to allurement and delight? or how should we derive advantage or improvement from an author, whom no man of taste can endure to read? The reason, therefore, why poetry is so studious to embellish her precepts with a certain inviting sweetness,

"Et quasi Musaeo dulci contingere melle,"

is plainly, by such seasoning to conciliate favour to her doctrine, as is the practice even of physicians, who temper with pleasant flavours their least agrecable medicines :

"Ut puerorum aetas improvida ludificetur

Labrorum tenus, interea perpotet amarum
Absinthi laticem, deceptaque non capiatur;"

as Lucretius expresses himself in illustration of his own design, as well as that of poetry in general.

But if it be manifest, even in authors who directly profess improvement and advantage, that those will most efficaciously instruct, who afford most entertainment; the same will be still more apparent in those, who, dissembling the intention of instruction, exhibit only the blandishments of pleasure; and while they treat of the most important things, of all the principles of moral action, all the offices of life, yet laying aside the severity of the preceptor, adduce at once all the decorations of elegance, and all the attractions of amusement: who display, as in a picture, the actions, the manners, the pursuits and passions of men; and by the force of imitation and fancy, by

the harmony of numbers, by the taste and variety of imagery, captivate the affections of the reader, and imperceptibly, or perhaps reluctantly, impel him to the pursuit of virtue. Such is the real purpose of heroic poetry; such is the noble effect produced by the perusal of Homer. And who so thoughtless, or so callous, as not to feel incredible pleasure in that most agreeable occupation; who is not moved, astonished, enraptured by the inspiration of that most sublime genius? Who so inanimate as not to see, not to feel inscribed, or as it were imprinted upon his heart, his most excellent maxims concerning human life and manners? From philosophy a few cold precepts may be deduced; in history some dull and spiritless examples of manners may be found here we have the energetic voice of virtue herself, here we behold her animated form. Poetry addresses her precepts not to the reason alone; she calls the passions to her aid she not only exhibits examples, but infixes them in the mind. She softens the wax with her peculiar ardour, and renders it more plastic to the artist's hand. Thus does Horace most truly and most justly apply this commendation to the poets:

"Qui quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non,
Plenius ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore dicit:"

Plainer or more completely, because they do not perplex their disciples with the dry detail of parts and definitions, but so perfectly and so accurately delineate, by examples of every kind, the forms of the human passions and habits, the principles of social and civilized life, that he, who from the schools of philosophy should turn to the representations of Homer, would feel himself transported from a narrow and intricate path to an extensive and flourishing field. Better, because the poet teaches not by maxims and precepts, and in the dull, sententious form; but by the harmony of verse, by the beauty of imagery, by the ingenuity of the fable, by the exactness of imitation, he allures and interests the mind of the reader, he fashions it to habits of virtue, and in a manner informs it with the spirit of integrity itself.

But if, from the heroic we turn to the tragic Muse, to which Aristotle2 indeed assigns the preference, because of the true and perfect imitation, we shall yet more clearly evince the superiority of poetry over philosophy, on the principle of its being more agreeable. Tragedy is, in truth, no other than philosophy introduced upon the

2 Poet. Cap. ult.

stage, retaining all its natural properties, remitting nothing of its native gravity, but assisted and embellished by other favouring circumtances. What point, for instance, of moral discipline, have the tragic writers of Greece left untouched, or unadorned? What duty of life, what principle of political economy, what motive or precept for the government of the passions, what commendation of virtue is there, which they have not treated of with fulness, variety, and learning? The moral of Æschylus (not only a poet, but a Pythagorean) will ever be admired. Nor were Sophocles and Euripides less illustrious for the reputation of wisdom; the latter of whom was the disciple of Socrates and Anaxagoras, and was known among his friends by the title of the dramatic philosopher. In these authors surely, the allurements of poetry afforded some accession to the empire of philosophy; nor indeed has any man arrived at the summit of poetic fame, who did not previously lay the foundation of his art in true philosophy.

Should it be objected, that some have been eminent in this walk of poetry, who never studied in the schools of the philosophers, nor enjoyed the advantages of an education above the common herd of mankind; I answer, that I am not contending about the vulgar opinion, or concerning the meaning of a word: the man who, by the force of genius and observation, has arrived at a perfect knowledge of mankind, who has acquainted himself with the natural powers of the human mind, and the causes by which the passions are excited and repressed; who not only in words can explain, but can delineate to the senses every motion of the soul; who can excite, can temper and regulate the passions; such a man, though he may not have acquired erudition by the common methods, I esteem a true philosopher. The passion of jealousy, its causes, circumstances, its progress and effects, I hold to be more accurately, more copiously, more satisfactorily described in one of the dramas of Shakspeare, than in all the disputations of the schools of philosophy.

Now if tragedy be of so truly a philosophical nature; and if to all the force and gravity of wisdom it add graces and allurements peculiarly its own, the harmony of verse, the contrivance of the fable, the excellence of imitation, the truth of action; shall we not say that philosophy must yield to poetry in point of utility? or shall we not rather say, that the former is. greatly indebted to the latter, of whose assistance and recommendation it makes so advantageous a use, in order to attain its particular purpose, utility or improvement?