51S 



UN THE LANGUAGE 



in the former case^ upon a series of artful and refined conversations, con- 

 nected, indeed, with interesting attractions, but carried on with little action 

 and vehemence, though with nmch poetical beauty, and the strictest 

 propriety and decorum ; or whether, as in the latter instance, made to 

 hinge on a cornbat of strong passions, set before us in all their violence, 

 producing deep disasters ; often irregularly conducted, abounding in 

 action and filling the spectators with grief. It is, indeed, peculiarly wor- 

 thy of remark, that three of the greatest, if not the three greatest ma^er- 

 pieces of the French tragic theatre, turn wholly upon religious subjects : 

 the Athalie of Racine, the Polyeucte of Corneille, and the Zaire of Voltaire. 

 The first is founded upon an historical passage of the Old Testament ; 

 while, in the other two, the distress arises from the zeal and attachment of 

 the principal personages to the Christian faith. So powerfully has each of 

 these writers felt, whatever may have been his private creed, the majesty 

 which may be derived from religious ideas, and the deep impression they 

 are calculated to produce on the human heart. 



To select such, topics, however, for such a purpose, demands a very 

 delicate judgment : and no serious mind woiild readily consent, I appro* 

 hend, that they should be resorted to and promulgated as sources of en- 

 tertainment in the theatres of our own country. I mention the fact with 

 the mere view of contrasting it with what has of late years been the pre- 

 dominant and licentious taste of the French metropolis ; and to show the 

 readiness with which this polite and elegant, but gay and giddy people, 

 rush from one extreme to the other of that sober medium which will, I 

 trust, ever Hmit and characterize our own national feelings and conduct.^ 

 It is well known to have been the opinion of Dr. Johnson, that rehgious 

 subjects are but little calculated for poetry of any kind ; that the fire of the 

 Muses will not cordially blend with the flame of devotion. From this opi- 

 nion, however, I must beg leave altogether to dissent. 



There is no topic so well quahfied for enkindling and enlisting into its 

 service all the best and purest passions. of the heart ; and none, therefore, 

 to which the language of the passions, subje«t, indeed, to the discipline of 

 a nice judgment, is better adapted, or can be more laudably consecrated. 

 And on turning accidentally to Sir Wilham Jones's Essay on the Arts 

 commonly called Imitative," I find this opinion fortified ; and the general 

 survey of the subject now oflfered supported by the authority of this great 

 scholar, whose name and judgment I may fairly put into the scale against 

 those of our celebrated lexicographer* 



" It seems probable, that puetry was originally no more than a strong 

 and animated expression of the human passions, of joy and grief, love and 

 hatred, admiration and anger, sometimes pure and unmixed, pometimes 

 variously modified and combined : for, if we observe the voice and accents 

 of a person affected by any of the violent passions, we shall perceive a 

 something in them very nearly approaching to cadence and measure ; 

 which is remarkably the case in the language of a vehement orator, whose 

 talent is chiefly conversant about praise or censure ; and we may collect 

 from several passages in Tuliy, that the fine speakers of old Greece and 

 Rome had a sort of rhythm in their sentences, less regular, but not less 

 melodious than that of the poets. 



If this idea be just, one would suppose that the most ancient sort of 

 poetry consisted in praising the Deity : for if we conceive a being cre- 



- * It should be recollected that this Lecture was composed and delivered 4urmg the reign 

 of JiiioBiipartc. 



