The Age of Dryden. Richard Garnett

is almost entirely comprehended in Dryden; for Marvell, of whom we must nevertheless speak, belongs in spirit to a former age. The songs in Dryden’s plays, to be mentioned shortly, prove that he was by no means destitute of spontaneous lyrical feeling; but he no doubt succeeded best when, having first penetrated himself with a theme sufficiently stirring to generate the enthusiastic mood which finds its natural expression in song, he sat down to frame a fitting accompaniment by the aid of all the resources of metrical art. The principal examples of this lyrical magnificence which he has given us are the elegy on Anne Killigrew and the two odes on St. Cecilia’s Day. Of the first of these two latter, Johnson says that ‘it is lost in the splendour of the second,’ and such is the fact; but had Dryden produced no other lyric, he would still have ranked as a fine lyrical poet. Of the second ode, better known as Alexander’s Feast, it is needless to say anything, for all readers of poetry have it by heart, and all recognize its claim to rank among the greatest odes in the language – the greatest, perhaps, until Wordsworth and Shelley wrote, and little, if at all, behind even them. Johnson, indeed, prefers the memorial ode on Anne Killigrew, and if all the stanzas equalled the first he would be right; but this is impossible; as he himself remarks, ‘An imperial crown cannot be one continued diamond.’ The inevitable falling off, nevertheless, would have been less apparent if Dryden had shown more judgment in the selection of his topics, or at least more tact in handling them. The morals of the age were, indeed, bad enough, as he well knew who had helped to make them so; but such frank treatment of a disagreeable theme jars exceedingly with an ode devoted to the celebration of chastity and virtue. Notwithstanding this flaw, the entire ode deserves Mr. Saintsbury’s eulogy, ‘As a piece of concerted music in verse it has not a superior.’ The hyperbolical praise of Anne Killigrew’s now forgotten poems is explained, and in some measure excused, by the fact that it was written to be prefixed to them. The first stanza, appropriate to thousands beside its ostensible subject, appeals to the general human heart, and indicates the high-water mark of Restoration poetry:

      ‘Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,

      Made in the last promotion of the blest,

      Whose palms, new-plucked from Paradise,

      In spreading branches more sublimely rise,

      Rich with immortal green above the rest:

      Whether, adopted to some neighbouring star,

      Thou roll’st above us in thy wandering race,

      Or in procession fixed and regular

      Mov’st with the heavens’ majestic pace;

      Or, called to more superior bliss,

      Thou tread’st with seraphims the vast abyss:

      Whatever happy region is thy place,

      Cease thy celestial song a little space;

      Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,

      Since Heaven’s eternal year is thine.

      Hear then a mortal Muse thy praise rehearse

      In no ignoble verse;

      But such as thy own voice did practise here,

      When thy first fruits of Poesy were given,

      To make thyself a welcome inmate there

      While yet a young probationer

      And candidate of heaven.’

      The poet who so excelled in majestic artificial harmonies was also the one poet of his day who could occasionally sing as the bird sings. Dryden has never received sufficient praise for his songs, inasmuch as these are mostly hidden away in his dramas, and not always adapted for quotation. The following, with a manifest political meaning, is a good example of his simple ease and melody:

      ‘A choir of bright beauties in spring did appear

      To choose a May-lady to govern the year;

      All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds in green;

      The garland was given, and Phyllis was queen:

      But Phyllis refused it, and sighing did say,

      I’ll not wear a garland while Pan is away.

      ‘While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore,

      The Graces are vanished, and Love is no more:

      The soft God of Pleasure that warmed our desires,

      Has broken his bow and extinguished his fires;

      1

      He was an ungrateful son of his alma mater, having pointedly declared his preference for Oxford. Perhaps this disloyalty may be connected with the appearance at Cambridge of a pamphlet against him, in the form of a mock defence against “the censure of the Rota,” in the same year (1673).

      2

      Malone thinks that it was the translation of The History of the League, but Dryden can have hardly deemed country retirement necessary for a work of this nature.

      3

      It is perhaps worth remarking that, although not yet a Roman Catholic, Dryden in this name employs the orthography, not of the authorized English version, but of the Vulgate.

      4

      In his dedication to the second book of De Raptu Proserpinae, Claudian says:

      ‘Tu mea plectra moves,

      Antraque Musarum longo torpentia somno

      Excutis et placito ducis ab ore sonos.’

      5

      Mr. Churton Collins, by a clerical error, prints Waller.