138-) English Literature

138-) English Literature 

 Joseph Warton 

  

Works 

 Ode X: Ode to a Lady on the Spring

Lo! Spring, array'd in primrose-colour'd robe,

Fresh beauties sheds on each enliven'd scene,

With show'rs and sunshine cheers the smiling globe,

And mantles hill and vale in glowing green.

All nature feels her vital heat around,

The pregnant glebe now bursts with foodful grain,

With kindly warmth she opes the frozen ground,

And with new life informs the teeming plain.

She calls the fish from out their ouzy beds,

And animates the deep with genial love,

She bids the herds bound sportive o'er the meads,

And with glad songs awakes the joyous grove,

No more the glaring tiger roams for prey,

All-powerful love subdues his savage soul,

To find his spotted mate he darts away,

While gentler thoughts the thirst of blood controul.

But ah! while all is warmth and soft desire,

While all around Spring's cheerful spirit own,

You feel not, Amoret, her quickening fire,

To Spring's kind influence you a foe alone!

Analysis (ai): Spring brings life and renewal to nature, from the blooming earth to the lively animals. However, Amoret alone remains unaffected, untouched by the season's invigorating effects. The poem contrasts the vibrancy of nature with Amoret's indifference, highlighting the disconnect between the natural world and the speaker's emotional state. The poem reflects the Romantic era's fascination with nature and its transformative power, a theme commonly explored in literary works of the time.

Ode to Music

Queen of every moving measure,

Sweetest source of purest pleasure,

Music; why thy powers employ

Only for the sons of joy?

Only for the smiling guests

At natal or at nuptial feasts?

Rather thy lenient numbers pour

On those whom secret griefs devour;

Bid be still the throbbing hearts

Of those, whom death, or absence parts,

And, with some softly whisper'd air,

Smooth the brow of dumb despair.

Analysis (ai): This poem explores the power of music to transcend joy and provide solace in times of grief and loss. It urges musicians to use their art not only to entertain the fortunate, but also to bring comfort to the afflicted.

The poem's language is simple and direct, conveying its message clearly and effectively. The structure is simple and repetitive, consisting of four stanzas of six lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABCBDB, contributing to the poem's smooth, flowing rhythm.

Compared to the author's other works, this poem is characterized by its focus on music's emotional and therapeutic qualities rather than its technical aspects. It also differs from the author's other works in its lack of mythological references and classical allusions.

While this poem is a product of its time, its themes and message remain relevant today. It highlights the universal power of music to heal, comfort, and provide solace in difficult times.

Verses on a Butterfly

Fair Child of Sun and Summer! we behold

With eager eyes thy wings bedropp'd with gold;

The purple spots that o'er thy mantle spread,

The sapphire's lively blue, the ruby's red,

Ten thousand various blended tints surprise,

Beyond the rainbow's hues or peacock's eyes:

Not Judah's king in eastern pomp array'd,

Whose charms allur'd from far the Sheban maid,

High on his glitt'ring throne, like you could shine

(Nature's completest miniature divine):

For thee the rose her balmy buds renews,

And silver lillies fill their cups with dews;

Flora for thee the laughing fields perfumes,

For thee Pomona sheds her choicest blooms,

Soft Zephyr wafts thee on his gentlest gales

O'er Hackwood's sunny hill and verdant vales;

For thee, gay queen of insects! do we rove

From walk to walk, from beauteous grove to grove;

And let the critics know, whose pedant pride

And awkward jests our sprightly sport deride:

That all who honours, fame, or wealth pursue,

Change but the name of things—they hunt for you.

Analysis (ai): This ode to a butterfly emphasizes nature's artistry through vivid descriptions of its beauty. Warton's tone is celebratory throughout, as he marvels at the butterfly's radiant wings, comparing them to precious jewels and royal attire. He uses nature's bounty to illustrate the butterfly's importance, as flowers bloom for it and the wind carries it over lush landscapes. The poem's conclusion addresses those who mock the poet's admiration for nature, declaring that the pursuit of fame and wealth is merely a desire for the beauty that only nature possesses.

Compared to Warton's other works, this poem lacks the melancholy and philosophical themes common in his elegies. It also differs from the politically charged verse popular during the mid-18th century, instead focusing on the natural world. The poem's joyful tone and celebration of beauty reflect the emergence of sensibility in literature, a literary movement that emphasized emotion and sensory experience.

The Enthusiast, or the Lover of Nature

Ye green-rob'd Dryads, oft' at dusky Eve

By wondering Shepherds seen, to Forests brown,

To unfrequented Meads, and pathless Wilds,

Lead me from Gardens deckt with Art's vain Pomps.

Can gilt Alcoves, can Marble-mimic Gods, 

Parterres embroider'd, Obelisks, and Urns

Of high Relief; can the long, spreading Lake,

Or Vista lessening to the Sight; can Stow

With all her Attic Fanes, such Raptures raise,

As the Thrush-haunted Copse, where lightly leaps 

The fearful Fawn the rustling Leaves along,

And the brisk Squirrel sports from Bough to Bough,

While from an hollow Oak the busy Bees

Hum drowsy Lullabies? The Bards of old,

Fair Nature's Friends, sought such Retreats, to charm 

Sweet Echo with their Songs; oft' too they met,

In Summer Evenings, near sequester'd Bow'rs,

Or Mountain-Nymph, or Muse, and eager learnt

The moral Strains she taught to mend Mankind.

As to a secret Grot Ægeria stole 

With Patriot Numa, and in silent Night

Whisper'd him sacred Laws, he list'ning sat

Rapt with her virtuous Voice, old Tyber leant

Attentive on his Urn, and husht his Waves.

Rich in her weeping Country's Spoils Versailles 

May boast a thousand Fountains, that can cast

The tortur'd Waters to the distant Heav'ns;

Yet let me choose some Pine-topt Precipice

Abrupt and shaggy, whence a foamy Stream,

Like Anio, tumbling roars; or some bleak Heath,   

Where straggling stand the mournful Juniper,

Or Yew-tree scath'd; while in clear Prospect round,

From the Grove's Bosom Spires emerge, and Smoak

In bluish Wreaths ascends, ripe Harvests wave,

Herds low, and Straw-rooft Cotts appear, and Streams 

Beneath the Sun-beams twinkle — The shrill Lark,

That wakes the Wood-man to his early Task,

Or love-sick Philomel, whose luscious Lays

Sooth lone Night-wanderers, the moaning Dove

Pitied by listening Milkmaid, far excell   

The deep-mouth'd Viol, the Soul-lulling Lute,

And Battle-breathing Trumpet. Artful Sounds!

That please not like the Choristers of Air,

When first they hail th'Approach of laughing May.

Creative Titian, can thy vivid Strokes, 

Or thine, O graceful Raphael, dare to vie

With the rich Tints that paint the breathing Mead?

The thousand-colour'd Tulip, Violet's Bell

Snow-clad and meek, the Vermil-tinctur'd Rose,

And golden Crocus? — Yet with these the Maid, 

Phillis or Phoebe, at a Feast or Wake,

Her jetty Locks enamels; fairer she,

In Innocence and home-spun Vestments drest,

Than if coerulean Sapphires at her Ears

Shone pendant, or a precious Diamond-Cross

Heav'd gently on her panting Bosom white.

Yon' Shepherd idly stretcht on the rude Rock,

Listening to dashing Waves, and Sea-Mews Clang

High-hovering o'er his Head, who views beneath

The Dolphin dancing o'er the level Brine,

Feels more true Bliss than the proud Ammiral,

Amid his Vessels bright with burnish'd Gold

And silken Streamers, tho' his lordly Nod

Ten thousand War-worn Mariners revere.

And great Æneas gaz'd with more Delight

On the rough Mountain shagg'd with horrid Shades,

(Where Cloud-compelling Jove, as Fancy dream'd,

Descending shook his direful Ægis black)

Than if he enter'd the high Capitol

On golden Columns rear'd, a conquer'd World

Contributing to deck its stately Head:

More pleas'd he slept in poor Evander's Cott

On shaggy Skins, lull'd by sweet Nightingales,

Than if a Nero, in an Age refin'd,

Beneath a gorgeous Canopy had plac'd

His royal Guest, and bade his Minstrels sound

Soft slumb'rous Lydian Airs to sooth his Rest.

Happy the first of Men, ere yet confin'd

To smoaky Cities; who in sheltering Groves,

Warm Caves, and deep-sunk Vallies liv'd and lov'd,

By Cares unwounded; what the Sun and Showers,

And genial Earth untillag'd could produce,

They gather'd grateful, or the Acorn brown,

Or blushing Berry; by the liquid Lapse

Of murm'ring Waters call'd to slake their Thirst, 

Or with fair Nymphs their Sun-brown Limbs to bathe;

With Nymphs who fondly clasp'd their fav'rite Youths,

Unaw'd by Shame, beneath the Beechen Shade,

Nor Wiles, nor artificial Coyness knew.

Then Doors and Walls were not; the melting Maid 

Nor Frowns of Parents fear'd, nor Husband's Threats;

Nor had curs'd Gold their tender Hearts allur'd;

Then Beauty was not venal. Injur'd Love,

O whither, God of Raptures, art thou fled?

While Avarice waves his golden Wand around,

Abhorr'd Magician, and his costly Cup

Prepares with baneful Drugs, t'enchant the Souls

Of each low-thoughted Fair to wed for Gain.

What tho' unknown to those primæval Sires,

The well-arch'd Dome, peopled with breathing Forms

By fair Italia's skilful Hand, unknown

The shapely Column, and the crumbling Busts

Of awful Ancestors in long Descent?

Yet why should Man mistaken deem it nobler

To dwell in Palaces, and high-rooft Halls, 

Than in God's Forests, Architect supreme!

Say, is the Persian Carpet, than the Field's

Or Meadow's Mantle gay, more richly wov'n';

Or softer to the Votaries of Ease,

Than bladed Grass, perfum'd with dew-dropt Flow'rs?

O Taste corrupt! that Luxury and Pomp

In specious Names of polish'd Manners veil'd,

Should proudly banish Nature's simple Charms.

Tho' the fierce North oft smote with Iron Whip

Their shiv'ring Limbs, tho' oft the bristly Boar 

Or hungry Lion 'woke them with their Howls,

And scar'd them from their Moss-grown Caves to rove,

Houseless and cold in dark, tempestuous Nights;

Yet were not Myriads in embattled Fields

Swept off at once, nor had the raving Seas 

O'erwhelm'd the foundering Bark, and helpless Crew;

In vain the glassy Ocean smil'd to tempt

The jolly Sailor, unsuspecting Harm,

For Commerce was unknown. Then Want and Pine

Sunk to the Grave their fainting Limbs; but Us

Excess and endless Riot doom to die.

They cropt unweetingly, the poisonous Herb

But wiser we spontaneously provide

Rare powerful Roots, to quench Life's chearful Lamp.

What are the Lays of artful Addison, 

Coldly correct, to Shakespear's Warblings wild?

Whom on the winding Avon's willow'd Banks

Fair Fancy found, and bore the smiling Babe

To a close Cavern: (still the Shepherds shew

The sacred Place, whence with religious Awe

They hear, returning from the Field at Eve,

Strange Whisperings of sweet Music thro' the Air)

Here, as with Honey gather'd from the Rock,

She fed the little Prattler, and with Songs

Oft' sooth'd his wondering Ears, with deep Delight 

On her soft Lap he sat, and caught the Sounds.

Oft' near some crowded City would I walk,

Listening the far-off Noises, rattling Carrs,

Loud Shouts of Joy, sad Shrieks of Sorrow, Knells

Full slowly tolling, Instruments of Trade,

Striking mine Ears with one deep-swelling Hum.

Or wandering near the Sea, attend the Sounds

Of hollow Winds, and ever-beating Waves.

Ev'n when wild Tempests swallow up the Plains,

And Boreas' Blasts, big Hail, and Rains combine

To shake the Groves and Mountains, would I sit,

Pensively musing on th'outragious Crimes

That wake Heav'n's Vengeance: at such solemn Hours,

Dæmons and Goblins thro' the dark Air shriek,

While Hecat with her black-brow'd Sisters nine,

Rides o'er the Earth, and scatters Woes and Deaths.

Then too, they say, in drear Ægyptian Wilds

The Lion and the Tiger prowl for Prey

With Roarings loud! the list'ning Traveller

Starts Fear-struck, while the hollow-echoing Vaults

Of Pyramids encrease the deathful Sounds.

But let me never fail in cloudless Nights,

When silent Cynthia in her silver Car

Thro' the blue Concave slides, when shine the Hills,

Twinkle the Streams, and Woods look tipt with Gold,

To seek some level Mead, and there invoke

Old Midnight's Sister Contemplation sage,

(Queen of the rugged Brow, and stern-fixt Eye)

To lift my Soul above this little Earth,

This Folly-fetter'd World; to purge my Ears,

That I may hear the rolling Planets Song,

And tuneful-turning Spheres: If this debarr'd,

The little Fayes that dance in neighbouring Dales,

Sipping the Night-dew, while they laugh and love,

Shall charm me with a‰rial Notes. — As thus 

I wander musing, lo, what awful Forms

Yonder appear! sharp-ey'd Philosophy

Clad in dun Robes, an Eagle on his Wrist,

First meets my Eye; next, Virgin Solitude

Serene, who blushes at each Gazer's Sight;

Then Wisdom's hoary Head, with Crutch in Hand,

Trembling, and bent with Age; last Virtue's self

Smiling, in White array'd, who with her leads

Fair Innocence, that prattles by her Side,

A naked Boy! — Harrass'd with Fear I stop,

I gaze, when Virtue thus — "Whoe'er thou art,

"Mortal, by whom I deign to be beheld,

"In these my Midnight-Walks; depart, and say

"That henceforth I and my immortal Train

"Forsake Britannia's Isle; who fondly stoops 

"To Vice, her favourite Paramour." — She spoke,

And as she turn'd, her round and rosy Neck,

Her flowing Train, and long, ambrosial Hair,

Breathing rich Odours, I enamour'd view.

O who will bear me then to Western Climes, 

(Since Virtue leaves our wretched Land) to Shades

Yet unpolluted with Iberian Swords;

With simple Indian Swains, that I may hunt

The Boar and Tiger thro' Savannah's wild?

There fed on Dates and Herbs, would I despise

The far-fetch'd Cates of Luxury, and Hoards

Of narrow-hearted Avarice; nor heed

The distant Din of the tumultuous World.

So when rude Whirlwinds rouze the roaring Main,

Beneath fair Thetis sits, in coral Caves,

Serenely gay, nor sinking Sailors Cries

Disturb her sportive Nymphs, who round her form

The light fantastic Dance, or for her Hair

Weave rosy Crowns, or with according Lutes

Grace the soft Warbles of her honied Voice.

Analysis (ai): The Enthusiast, or the Lover of Nature by Joseph Warton is a celebration of nature's beauty and tranquility, contrasting it with the artificiality of man-made creations. The poem opens with the speaker expressing his preference for nature's "unfrequented Meads" over "Gardens deckt with Art's vain Pomps." He goes on to describe the idyllic scenes that he finds in nature, such as the "Thrush-haunted Copse" and the "Pine-topt Precipice."

The poem also includes several references to classical mythology, such as the story of Numa and Ægeria and the story of Æneas and Evander. These references help to reinforce the poem's message that nature is superior to man-made creations.

The poem is written in blank verse, which gives it a more natural and conversational tone than it would have if it were written in a more formal style. The language is simple and straightforward, with few embellishments. This adds to the poem's sense of authenticity and sincerity.

 The Enthusiast, or the Lover of Nature is a poem that is simple yet powerful. It is a celebration of nature's beauty and a reminder that true happiness can be found in the simple things in life.