.wv * # LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 300+ JM&M i. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, fS3C « c c TWO LECTURES ON O&iiaaSOAlL &SVttttAVWNB % PART OF A COURSE DELIVERED AT THE NEW-TORS ATHENAEUM IN FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1836, »&« BY RICHARD RAY r G. & C. CARVILL, BROADWAY, 1826. o,0' ?*<& Printed by VANDBRPOOL, AND COLE, 104 Boekmavj-street, LECTURE I. ON THE GENERAL SPIRIT AND TENDENCY OF CLASSI- CAL LITERATURE. LECTURE II. ON THE INFLUENCE OF THE REVIVAL OF CLASSICAL LITERATURE UPON LETTERS AND THE ARTS. m^OTW^s s« I propose to consider in this lecture the general spirit and tendency of Classical Literature. I approach with reverence so great a subject ; I feel all the difficulty of treating with originality that which has employed the pens of some of the first of men ; and like one who wanders spell-bound amid the ruins of a mighty empire, I find the inade- quacy of words to express the beauty, the sublimity, the imagination, which reign in these relics spared by time. Yet, if a love, ardent and sincere, for classical studies ; if a mind, I hope I may say without vanity, in some degree imbued from its earliest thoughts with recollections cherished and called up by a thousand associations of an- cient annals ; if many hours, I dare not say wasted in the contemplation of these mo- dels of European — of our own literature, can give a claim to your attention, I ask it. Classical themes, classical associations, form alone the inspiration to which I must look for eloquence — yet even in the names themselves there is eloquence. The very words alone, Greece and Rome, raise in us emotions, — they bring to our minds those talismanic terms, which are literally burn- ing words, for Leonidas, Marathon, Plataea, and a host of others, seem but personifica- tions of liberty, — and no matter in what clime the oppressor's yoke was to be tram- pled under foot — no matter whether an old or new world was to be regenerated, they came mingled and identified with the thoughts of freedom, the universal patri- mony of every free nation. And often, as I have sat surrounded by their works, while the godlike page of Plato was open before me, or Cicero, unequalled name in Roman history, was charming with immortal elo- quence, to my roused fancy the bars of the tomb have been broken, and the men them- selves have come to inspire nobler aspira- tions of liberty and virtue ; and I have been ready to exclaim in the words of Alcaeus, "You are not dead, but live in those Islands of the Blest, where Achilles and Diomedes have gone before you." By Classical Literature I understand those remains of the Greek and Roman letters which have reached us. It there- fore admits of a distinction into these two classes. In the remarks which follow, though generally applicable to both, refer- ence is had more to the Grecian than the Roman, as the former is more spirited, ori- ginal, and powerful ; the latter rather a con- tinuation, a translation, than a fountain of its own. They are the golden and the sil- ver ages of letters ; where, in the latter the mind having reached its greatest perfection rather degenerates from its original vigour. In the Grecian, in all the highest efforts of human genius are found a simplicity, a truth to nature, which touch while they astonish; in the Roman is more of refinement, more of ornament, less of free and bold imagina- tions. The Romans contented themselves with being the worthy pupils of great mas- ters, — they opened not new paths, they as- pired not to lead, but followed, giving a 8 grace and finish to what was already crea- ted. Thus, in the most delightful Roman poetry we are ever reminded of the Gre- cian, — its finest flights betray the eagle- wing of its predecessors, and its greatest invention is a new combination of their thoughts. But the Grecian poetry is inspi- ration itself, it comes directly from nature, it is, like the inhabitants of Attica, ct.w$m. Its fancies belong to the very soil — there they sprung, there they seem most natural; there is the birth-place of its mythology, and in its scenery, its language, and its fic- tions, its guardian deities take their great- est delight. In Classical Literature we meet with an exuberance of fancy. The earth was then unappropriated ; and its flowers, fields, the beasts of the forest, the works of men, all gave a free range for illustration, without the danger of being anticipated by an ear- lier footstep. The minds of men could roam unchecked through the world's vast expanse, and whatever was more striking, more beautiful, or sweeter, they could cull to enrich their stores. Their scenery, natu- rally picturesque, was heightened by asso- ciations which made it more lovely — their fanciful eye could discern new beings to pay homage to — and the sublime opinion of Thales was almost realized, that the Divi- nity was the soul that filled and breathed life into the universe. An ethereal power was seen to animate every grove ; beautiful beings were bid to preside over every gush- ing stream, while thoughts more of heaven than earth, were whispered to every one, if not by his own genius as he too credulously imagined, yet by the universal genius of nature. Thus while the Grecian was wan- dering among the temples which hallowed to religion the loveliest spots of earth, or yielding homage to the marble images which stood like deities in the gardens and fount- ains, how could he but feel his fancy teem- ing with glorious thoughts, as he gazed upon the beautiful before him ? Imagination be- came the presiding faculty of his nature — all the visions of demi-gods and heroes, which it brought to his sight, he felt him- self bound to believe — and a sublime pre- sence awaited him in the most solitary scenes. The voice of diviner spirits was 9 10 floated to his ear from the murmur of groves, the sound of cascades, and their reality became palpable to his senses, breathed in all the freshness and fragrance of nature. If a nobler thought — and who with such a fancy could have been without noble thoughts — chanced to arise, it was to the mountain-god that he owed it, or a hun- dred nymphs came dancing forth in dewy buskins to claim it as theirs. The sense of religion, the belief of supernatural pre- sence, thus gave a beauty and richness to his imagination, which almost seemed the actual inspiration of a god. Classical Lite- rature becomes thus the very resting-place of fancy ; following its delightful creations we are almost carried to the very times of its belief, — we think ourselves encircled with numberless shadowy beings, who have earned their immortality by deeds of bene- ficence to men. Connected with the belief in their gods was a multiplicity of fables which conse- crated every place with charming recollec- tions. Upon this hill the god of their coun- try once appeared ; here was born the an- 11 cestor of their race, and cradling violets arose to shelter him from the hostile eye ; # here a mortal nymph wandering became the bride of an inhabitant of the skies. Their fancy, kindling with such visions, clothed every the most common spot with romantic imagery ; a supernatural hand was to be traced in every occurrence ; and throwing themselves back in the fabulous ages, they gave a mystic and divine origin to their cities, their islands, their customs, and themselves. Thebes was walled by the magic muse of Amphion — Delos moved along the iEgean with its sacred freight to escape the pursuit of a jealous deity, or amid a golden snow Rhodes slowly emerged from the ocean, the patrimony of the father of lightt — from the sowing of dragons' teeth sprung the warrior-ancestry of a people. Thus did fancy throw its delightful veil over every object, giving birth to unnum- bered traditions and scattering every where Elysian flowers. There is this difference in the fables of antiquity and those of suc- * See the exquisite description in Pindar of the birth of Ia- mus. — Olymp. vi. 90. t Pind. Olymp. vii. 12 eeeding times, that in the latter they mark the age of ignorance, and fade with the ad- vance of refinement, but in the former they were cherished in the most polished eras. We all can feel how much our own poetry has lost by losing its ideal character, by throwing off the sanctity of tradition, and confining itself to the descriptions of re- ality. The fairies, which once charmed, charm no longer — they have receded be- fore the ages of knowledge, and the poet is precluded from preternatural and legend- ary fictions. Taste has lighted her torch at the altar of truth, and fanciful illusions vanish in her beams. Even Chaucer com- plains that the fairies had been in his time banished by the monks from the British shore, # — and now are daily expiring the remnants of the delightful rustic sports of England, which received so peculiar an in- terest from popular superstitions. Our soil never has been touched by fairy-step, the beliefs which have marked the infancy of other nations have not reached us ; the de- lusions of fiction belong not to our country; and if we would enjoy them, we must go * Wife of Bath's Tale* 13 back to the classic ages when the earth was alive with hosts of beautiful imaginary be- ings, and when fancy, like the evening-star, daily rose in the twilight, investing the forms of nature with softer radiance. Then the scenery never was dead, but it gathered a new life from the never-failing smiles of ima- gination. Let it not be said that enlightened men disbelieved these fictions — they were brought so constantly present to every mind as to produce the effect of belief. Their history was interwoven with them, their temples recorded them, and as they looked upon the pictured or sculptured representa- tions, the models of consummate art, which every where at home and abroad sur- rounded them — the false-witnesses which gave delusion the colour of reality — fancy overthrew the cold dominion of reason, and for a while they believed them to be true. Hence that imaginative spirit which is breathed over the whole of Classical Lite- rature, giving brilliancy to its poetry, and shedding on even its philosophy itself the attraction of romance. From the lovely clime of Ionia, where nature has tempered with her kindest skill the vicissitudes of 14 the seasons, seem to have sprung that ex- quisite delicacy and purity of taste which reign in every class of their productions. There first was cut the Ionic capital, the grace and pride of architecture, and there the Homeric swan first plumed his wings. Thence was diffused that "Ionian elegance," the proverb for every thing chaste or de- lightful in fancy or taste. Whatever nature produced of fascinating in objects of sight or sound found there admirers and praisers. The wild harmony of forests was listened to — the beautiful and fragile flowers viewed with rapture, from the same taste which clothed with imagery their poesy. With flowers they strewed the graves of their friends, — with flowers they crowned, a most grateful offering, the altars of their gods — " thy altars," says Callimachus in his hymn to Apollo, "bear in spring the flowers which the dew-breathing Zephyrs blow on, and in winter the sweet crocus," — with these they garlanded their hair, and loved to feign a renewed and fanciful existence in the form of flowers for the care-worn victims of early fate. It is thus that their poetry receives a fresh perfume from its continual allusions to 15 this most delicate offspring of nature. But tbey dared, with bolder images, to unite with heaven the triumphs of human genius. The poet,, they said, was the child of Apollo, or of the Muses ; they gave him in life a sacred origin, and after death an eter- nal existence in the figure of a swan. A beautiful thought ! His spirit, clothed in its feathered dress, soared proudly to the fount- ain of its inspiration, or lingered round the scene of its earthly fame, or flew to join the poetic choirs which are spreading together their immortal pinions. But amid these tones of grace and fancy the ancient lyre is thrilling with a deeper note — a higher power comes to pervade the strings, and the spirit of freedom, which hallows to the lover of republics, to the lover of mankind, Classical Literature, breathes inextinguishably through every part. The consequence of the study is an increased love of free institutions, reflected with united effect from the pages of its his- torians, orators, and poets. Classical Lite- rature is the history of liberty, its strug- gles, and its triumphs, — it is the mauso- leum, where we see the remains of the 16 fathers of the world, bearing one great in- scription, — devotion to their country. Our memory delights to dwell on the bright an- nals of tyrant-hating Athens, of republican Rome, the thought of which in after-ages has filled the indignant slave with redeem- ing energy, and made him feel that he was born equal to his fellows. No common hand has recorded those glories, no feeble intellect is kindling that enthusiasm, but im- mortal mind, which could not be quenched by ages of darkness, has inscribed them, and the living fire of freedom has commu- nicated a corresponding glow to the litera- ture which celebrates it. Athens, associa- ted with the highest powers of intellect, becomes doubly dear to us as the practical instance how far a free people must be lifted above a servile, and exhibits the ge- nius of republics crowned with the em- blems of prosperity and happiness. It is delightful to see one general spirit anima- ting a whole country. The various dialects of Greece, — Ionian, Dorian, iEolian, Attic, have one universal root, and the nations which spoke them, differing — contending on every other theme, join in the undistin- 17 guishing hatred of slavery. When the de- legates from Peloponnesus assembled to deliberate on the restoration of Hippias, the tyrant, to Athens, Sosicles, a Corinthian, exclaimed, and the Grecian voices around him responded to his, " The heavens shall be below the earth, and the earth raised above the heavens, and men abide in the sea, ere the Lacedaemonians undertake to establish tyrannies in the Grecian cities."* Sentiments like these break forth from every part of their writings, and it has been well said that as long as the languages re- main, and the writings of Greece and Rome are understood, there will be a hope for mankind. In them will liberty seek her last retreat, and there shall the young scholar, warming his thoughts with ancient recollec- tions, preserve unexpired a vestal flame of republican virtue. There as he dwells on the generous devotion to country, on the de- struction of homes and temples, and all the noble sacrifices of nations who counted every thing as dust in comparison with independ- ence — he will start as if the ancient patriots were around him, and his breast will throb * Herod, lib. v. c. 92. 3 18 with the same love of country which kindled theirs, and conscious that the occasion is alone wanting to equal his fame and virtue to theirs, he will, with an enthusiasm almost pardonable, wish that the danger may arise, that his arm may nerve itself to shield his native land. In modern times too often has the mercenary pen charged upon republi- can governments scenes of turbulence and anarchy ; and, showing the deadly effects of their party-spirit, urged mankind to take shelter in monarchies. But while these writings of antiquity remain, in them shall be the antidote. There is a record which cannot be obliterated ; there are praises which will not be forgotten ; there live the immortal works of genius associated and assimilated with the triumphs of liberty. And if the American student, as he laments the miserable degeneracy of Greece and Rome when enslaved from the glories of their freedom, chances to glance his eye upon such a passage as this of Herodotus, how he prides himself in the thought that he too is the citizen of a republic: "The Athenians now daily grew in strength ; they were freed from their tyrants, and proved, 19 what all history proves, that freedom is pros- perity; for when oppressed, they scarcely coped with their neighbours, but now, when free, they were seized with such a thirst for honourable fame, that they became the first in Greece."* This is the testimony of one who was himself the spectator and recorder of the blessings of Athenian liberty. Hero- dotus, when he praised the republic of Athens, praised what he had witnessed, he had crowned his brows with the sacred olive of Attica, he had sung at the Olympic festival, while triumphant applauses re- bounded from side to side her patriotic de- votion, her glorious victories over Persia's myriads. O thou barren and rocky strip of Attica, thy name shall be dear to mankind while there remains in a single heart a free drop of blood; thy name shall ascend in paeans from ten thousand varying tongues ; Attica, parent of liberty ! Yes, Liberty, thou wert cradled on the Attic mount, and thy infant lips, like Plato's, were sweetened with Hymettian honey. As, at the Panathensean game, above the steps of thronging citizens, the music of * Herod, lib. v. c. 78. 20 flutes, and the virgin chorus, was heard dis- tinctly to rise the triumphal song, chant- ing the memory of Harmodius, or the noble daring of Thrasybulus, so from these classic pages, amid all the richness of metaphor and beauty of thought, we can almost au- dibly catch the exhortation from the spirit of liberty — Be free ! To the ancient repub- licans love of country was a part of their re- ligion, and, ere they forgot that country, they must forget the images of their fathers and the temples of their gods.* Proceeding from this enthusiasm for liberty, and this ardent love of country, were their almost divine speculations concerning those who perished to defend it. Such a death seem- ed to be a privilege. In the rites of their religion, their names arose mingled with those of the gods ; they were handed down in perpetual remembrance from father to son; and Pericles, as he stood over the ashes of those who had fallen in battle, de- * In illustration of this may be cited these lines of Horace : Consenuit socerorum in arvis- Sub rege Medo, Marsus et Appulus Anciliorum et nominis et togae Oblitus, seternaeque Vestae, Incoluau Jove et nrbe Roma. 21 clared, " That the whole earth was their sepulchre, nor were they immortalized only by the inscriptions on their monuments, but even in a foreign land their unwritten me- mory lived forever."* Extravagant as such expressions seem, they have been verified : climes then unthought of are interested in their fame ; and, if in the course of so many ages, their names have been lost, yet their honour lives fresh in their country's memo- rials, and finds a sympathy in every free breast. They died not for Athens only, but for the world ; and the world, grateful for their lessons of patriotism, never hears the name of their birth-place, but it is reminded of its glorious ktovo^ioc. The sounds of pa- triotism come well from the lips of those whose arms had been raised in its service, and almost all the eminent men in the gold- en days of Greece had been soldiers for their country. Poets, orators, philosophers, and historians, having braved danger for its sake, had a right to partake in, and to cele- brate its glory.t * Thucydides, lib. ii. c. 43. ■t iEschylus, Alcaeus, Demosthenes, Socrates, Plato, Thucydides, Xenophon, &c. 22 There is one trait which proudly distin- guishes the better periods of Grecian lite- rature from the Roman and from modern authors, that, seeking for no other patron- age than that of a great and enlightened people, it is unmixed with the false praises of patron-monarchs, which make us blush for human genius. The praises thus be- stowed, are blots which disfigure the other- wise pure pages of Virgil and Horace. With what weariness and disgust do we turn from those parts of Ariosto, where the payment of the price of patronage extorts from him laboured panegyrics on the scions, past, present, and to come, of the house of Este. In wandering through these obscure lists, the wings of his genius lose their vi- gour, and sink powerless to the ground. When Tasso, too, stoops to flatter the petty tyrants who could not understand his me- lancholy temperament, we give him a fresh pity, and execrate the more the unworthy objects he commends. From Boileau's pensioned praise, from Dryden's extrava- gant and almost alms-begging flattery, from the courtly strains of Waller, from the cum- brous adulation of Bacon, heu miserande t 23 we are humiliated to find the first minds of our race capable of such degradation. But while filled with this mournful view, we are beginning to lower our estimate of man- kind ; if, then, we come back to the volumes of Grecian lore, we breath a purer air; we return, as iEneas, from Stygian darkness to some bright plain, where the soil is spread with uncontaminated flowers, and we de- lightfully linger on spirited strains, where the truth is the greatest flattery to a free nation. Pindar himself, while composing odes which celebrate the victories of princes and nobles, passes hastily over their honours, to dwell upon the fables of the gods and heroes, founders of free states, and games where Greeks alone had the privi- lege of contending. It was these very games which nursed this national and patri- otic spirit. They there learnt to be proud of the name of Greek, when at Olympia, a king of Macedonia was excluded from the contest, till he had proved a Grecian de- scent ; his antagonists, when he entered the stadium, objected that the race belonged to Greeks, not to barbarians, but the monarch vindicated his title to the honoured name 24 by his Argive ancestry.* Yet there the as- sembled crowd from every corner and re- gion of Greece, when Themistocles, a citi- zen of Athens, entered the theatre, rose in a body from their seats to salute him.t Of men who thus knew to value their own country and its most eminent sons, it was the ambition of the greatest genius to merit the applause. He needed not, to in- cite him, the splendid slavery of a mo- narch's patronage, but where a free and generous people were assembled round their games, — the games in which talent and skill were their own reward, and the simple crown of olive or laurel weighed down the gemmed diadem, — he brought the productions of his genius. To them he re- peated the praises of heroic states, the de- votion of patriots, the beneficence of the gods, certain that their Grecian taste, un- purchased and just, would give the meed where it was due ; and felt himself more than paid, when the thundering acclama- tions of thousands and thousands rising up- wards carried his name and glory to the skies. And think you not that such a hope * Herod, lib. v. g. 22. t Plut. in Vit. Themist. 25 would give bolder inspiration to his fancy, and can you wonder that his powers should be elevated and invigorated when they had in prospect rewards like these ? We may well conceive in such a scene, how a de- lightful yet almost despairing emulation must have drawn tears from the youthful eye, as it did from Thucydides at the Olym- pic games, when Herodotus recited his Mu- ses. When we see the general assemblies of a nation, owning one kindred name, though divided into numerous distinct peo- ples, thus made the scenes of literary con- test ; when we see their taste in poetry and every branch of polished art appealed to by the greatest of mankind as the test of merit, do we not, ought we not to, feel a sentiment of shame at the total absence of such great festivals with us ; and must we not acknowledge, that the scholar, whose breast swells with noble enthusiasm at the recollections and memorials of such a peo- ple, and with a desire to spread the know- ledge and love of them in his own country, has a just cause for his emotions, and de- serves well of that country ? There, where- ever he looks, he sees a people taking a i 26 pride in their monuments of genius ; he be- holds the greatest of its poets, not only claimed as a citizen by numerous cities as their highest distinction, but actually dei- fied by some ; he sees that the ode of ano- ther, which celebrated the origin of Rhodes, was inscribed in golden characters in the temple of one of its cities ; he sees the power of the lyric melody of Tyrtaeus to inspirit the faded courage of the Spartans ; and the verses of Euripides so honoured as to save the lives of his captive fellow-citi- zens from an exasperated foe : how, with these and other numberless instances of honours paid to literature and art, how can he but recur to the remembrance of such a nation, illustrated by such men, endued with such a refined taste, as the model of every thing glorious and inspiring in the history of freedom. Go then to those en- chanting pages, dip your throbbing pulse at its fount, in the pure stream of new-born liberty ; and let fancy, as it carries you to the clime where every mountain and every river have something to charm, as perhaps it treads with you at the pass of Thermo- pylae, or tracks on the Trojan plain in the 27 twilight the great footstep of Achilles, or winds with the Peneus through the Thessa- lian Tempe, but wake in you a deeper feel- ing for lovely nature, for patriotic zeal, here in this congenial land of equal laws: let every sight and every sound, as they bring before your mind spots and themes glorified in classic story, but produce in you a holier ardour for the cause of liberty, an universal love for mankind ; and as you roam a de- lighted visitant to those gardens of flowers and fruits most sw r eet and valuable, bring back from them the same exquisite sensibi- lity to the beautiful in creation, together with the same taste for all that is noble or excellent in genius and art. There is something elevating to the mind in the study of the literature of the ancients; there is a sort of just pride in their works, in their national renown, which raises our opin- ion of mankind. A different race lived then, if we are to judge from the superior gran- deur and magnitude of their public edifi- ces, the splendour of their amusements, the perfection to which they brought every art. There is a pleasure in beholding their ge- nerous pride in being the citizens of their 28 states, springing from the consciousness of the advantages they enjoyed. Our minds are filled with to piya ovopot, A0*jva>v, # and we can sympathize in the glory due to the smallest member of such a country. It was a high privilege to call themselves by the then valued name of Greek or Roman, as the possession of it seemed to constitute a distinct class, a higher order of men than the rest of the world. There the arts, whether of peace or war, whether of use or ornament, grew and flourished ; there literature spread, softening their manners and refining their taste; and the citizen, looking upon these advantages, learned to value his country, and himself as belonging to it. Around its limits a barrier of gloom appeared to rise, separating it from the land of the barbarian ; and glorying in his free- dom and his civilization, he considered him- self, a simple citizen, entitled to a higher rank than the kings of other countries. Wherever he trod, the greatest specimens of human genius met his view. If entering the splendid temple, where its lengthening colonnade of Parian marble lifted its airy * Thucyd. lib. vii. c. 64. 29 capitals, he turned to worship the parent- deity of his race; the perfect statue, almost clothed in immortal glory, seemed to de- mand his homage. Or if amusement drew his steps to the crowded theatre, to ask his applause the rival geniuses of Sophocles and Euripides produced their master-pieces, confiding to his taste and judgment the dis- crimination of their numerous beauties. How, then, with all this, with the praises of liberty ringing in his ears, its influence per- vading every thing around him, and the images of his country's preservers standing with their crowned honours to greet him — how can we wonder that the ancient repub- lican should think he walked in a brighter path than other mortals, and how can we be surprised at the elevation of soul, which made him esteem his native land far the fairest and first of earth ? Nor is this elevation confined to their po- litics, but it is communicated likewise to their literature. Hence the fictions, before alluded to, of the celestial origin of the more eminent mind, as if it required a divi- ner spark to kindle the soul of true genius ; and hence that boast we so often meet with 30 of the immortality of their writings. They feared not the critic's rebuke, but boldly declared, that these the winter shower or the ocean wind had not power to injure. In the works of moderns such a prediction has the air of presumption ; but in the an- cient, we consider it as a truth which time has realized; as something due to their merit, and only the allowable boast of con- scious genius. This immortality they claim- ed not as a contingency, but a certainty, as if they had had a prophetic spirit that they must survive to obscure the efforts of mo- dern emulation. They knew that they pos- sessed a power of self-preservation, so as amid the accidents of time, and all the ne- glect of barbarous ages, to keep them safe for us ; that they were the remembrancers of a superior race, and must descend to distant ages at once exhibiting what men in former days have acted and thought, and inducing the despair that others ever will in the future arise to equal them. And here, while considering the tendency of Classical Letters to raise the soul to no- bler conceptions, I must not omit the sub- lime, though often erring, meditations of the 31 philosophers of old ; and, least of all, the mention of the favourite sect of every judg- ing scholar, the sect of Zeno, Seneca, and Epictetus, — the Stoics. Prejudice and mis- representation have combined to condemn their opinions ; but their brightness breaks forth through every cloud, and sheds a lof- tier light upon ancient philosophy. Even the Christian, rising, as he does, warmed and touched with a purer belief, cannot but look with admiration upon the proud, the almost superhuman conceptions, which gave grandeur to error itself. And indeed if ever the soul can be drawn from self, and fitted for higher objects, it must be when assisted by such speculations as place earth and its ambitions, its passions, and its hopes, below the steady glance of wisdom. The Stoic taught himself to consider man formed not to enjoy the world, but to contemn, and in contemning conquer, every feeling un- worthy of a purely intellectual being. And as his thoughts were fixing on these high subjects, did care or sorrow come to dis- tract him, he opposed to its entrance the eternal barrier of an unconquerable soul. And death, — where could death find cause 32 of dread to him, who looked with equal eye on the decrees of fate ; if to live, re- solved to live for virtue, if to die, to die without repining. And threats, could they move, or torture terrify him, who forgave not himself, if his flesh shrunk at pain, or his cheek was blanched at danger? But to every thing justly and intrinsically good he looked to guide him ; virtue, virtue was his goal, and while the worldling was lost in ambition, his secret aspirations, his open doctrines framed themselves to the pursuit and acquirement of virtue. And deem you an earthly pattern was before him, — no, to the perfections of divinity he raised his mind, and proudly scorned every attribute which savoured not of heaven. By such a life he secured to himself happiness on earth, and he went to the grave confident that it would be rewarded hereafter. Yet he pursued not virtue for its reward, but because it was the only beautiful and good. Thus the Portico became the nurse of the true citizen, the intrepid freeman, whose private feelings merged in the general weal, and who disdained every action which was not based on the justest motives. A devout 33 sect they cannot be called, — there was too much of haughtiness, of self-confidence in their opinions ; but if to hold in contempt the pleasures of the world, and whatever in- terests mere ordinary men — to crush every selfish and ignoble passion — to be assimi- lated, as far as man can, with superior beings — are calculated to make us wiser and better, they were pre-eminently so. Demetrius, a celebrated Stoic, used to say, " That he complained of the immortal gods, that they did not beforehand signify to him their will ; then, should they doom aught of calamity, should they require his fortune, his children, or his life, he might himself be the first to offer each and all to meet their decrees, and not, as now, content himself merely with following them." # Is there not a sublimity in sentiments like these to transport us to a brighter sphere, the rest- ing-place of some nobler race, where Wis- dom sits enthroned, and smiles upon the immortal train around her ? We cannot wonder, then, that this sect should be the glory of the scholar, and fill * Seneca de Prov. c. 5. 5 34 his mind with elevated contemplations. Dr. Warton very justly rebukes Pope for joining in the common-place censure of the Stoics, which ignorance has so often repeated, and cites an admirable defence of their tenets by Mr. Harris.* Montesquieu, Gibbon, Ro- bertson, have recorded their high admira- tion of them; and though the Portico can- not pretend to the piety, softness, and tem- pering mercy of Christianity, still it is the perfection of natural religion. But there is a stronger feeling connected with Classical studies, which enables us at once to account for the deep interest which they have awakened, and to show how be- neficially they have acted on mankind. Be- fore us are spread the treasures bequeathed to us by the greatest of our race, which have survived not their authors only, but even their countries and tongues, and which time, sparing nought, has still stayed his hands from injuring. The remnants of a mighty empire lie around us, not of its works of art, but of its works of mind, which contain the examples of the past, and the warning * Essay on Pope, Vol. ii. p. 82. 35 voice for us to profit by. When we read the eminent writers of our own language, we are proud of them, and take to our- selves, because we use the same tongue, a portion of their glory : they ask and they re- ceive our sympathy, as our countrymen and brothers. But of these — orphan-children of mighty ancestors — where is the country to sympathize, where is the language to laud, where are the descendants to che- rish ? Gone, — or worse than gone, so de- generated, that their free ancestors would spurn to acknowledge them. Their kin- dred has perished, and the very knowledge that such nations ever existed would have perished too, if their memory had not been piously embalmed and honoured in the re- lics of their literature. How powerful were those nations in their season of prosperity ; with what conscious pride did their authors anticipate an increasing honour from their descendants, from being able to claim such a citizenship. But the nations are no more, and there exist none to take an interest in them, none to shield them from calumny; they have no hope but from intrinsic merit. 36 They are like those insulated beings, who have survived every tie which binds them to the earth. But they have thus become the property of the world, the repositories where are safely stored free principles, true patriotism, and pure taste, to give light to barbarism, and to preserve civilization from retrograding. We therefore look upon them with reverence, as the parents of all that is excellent and happy in our institutions, and with melancholy, that what they record has now its sole existence in their remembran- ces. And amidst these memorials of such a waste, we must indeed be cold, if there do not arise some mournful thoughts at the fate which has wrapped their parent-lands. The country, which was once so conquered by the enthusiasm of the free orator, hears no more the language which was its boast, the pure dialect survives, but not on the lips of its inhabitants — it survives in that very eloquence, which has made modern times excuse the extravagance of ancient fable, by beholding with what materials it was enabled to work — it survives in poetry, in history, — but in poetry, in history alone. 37 Never more shall the bema be trodden by a Demosthenes, never more shall the true Attic, pouring forth from the commonest mouth, prove the universality of Athenian refinement ; nor, if we turn to the rival na- tion, shall those seven hills glitter again with the magnificent ornaments of freedom, or echo the step of the Roman citizen greater than kings. These thoughts arise at once in our minds, and give a sacred interest to the volumes we are perusing. They alone are the temples of their gods ; for their religion has faded, its fanes are no longer warmed with offered victims, and another creed has usurped its few remain- ing shrines ; they too are alone the monu- ments of the illustrious great of ancient times, for their country, language, and vir- tues have departed, and their fame has rested alone upon the preservation of these few and perishable memorials. Is it not melancholy to consider that these models of genius, these founders of modern litera- ture and refinement, have depended for their existence upon the capricious care of men who knew not their value, which a few 38 more ages of neglect might have swept to oblivion ? It is this feeling of sorrow which has thrown round them such a fascination, that to the youthful mind accustomed to contemplate them, neither the power of fashion, the witching smile of beauty, nor the ardour of passion have been able to divert it. They have for him the same sa- cred charm as the ashes of those he loves ; and, while he is perusing the memorials of the mighty spirits of old,, time flies un- heeded, and every thought devotes itself to them. It is this circumstance which has operated unfavourably on Classical studies ; they have tended too much, when long in- dulged, to isolate the scholar from the rest of the world, and to engross him entirely with these delightful pursuits. He has turned from the common-places of society with a heightened relish to a library stored with his loved companions, and has at every fresh mingling with the world derived but a stronger taste for such indulgence. There indeed he found few to sympathize in his inclinations — the business of the day ex- cludes from the worldly mind the thought 39 of, or care for, the records of long-past ge- nius, and he shrunk, with the modesty natu- ral to the scholar, from contemptuous or overbearing pride. With what a freshened love has he then had recourse, to sooth his chafed spirits, to these his unchanging friends ; with how much alacrity has he rushed to lose himself in Grecian or Ro- man story, or in the divine illusions of an- cient poetry or philosophy, till his mind has recovered its tone, and he has become once more self-satisfied. He has thus learnt too much to estrange himself from inter- course with the world, and Classical attain- ments are thus most frequently found in the cell of the university, or the shades of lite- rary retirement. It is not that they require more study than other pursuits, — the pro- fessional man is in his art as deeply read, and has as maturely reflected ; but his sub- jects have drawn him more into human commerce, and the free interchange of thought has corrected his own prejudices equally with those of others. But the field of the scholar lies exclusively at home. His shelves contain the precepts of his art, 40 and the reward of his toils ; to their con- tents he looks for applause, and gaining it he is indifferent to that of the world. His learning seldom comes forth into public no- tice, except in that exclusive way, which seems to claim attention from none but those engaged in similar studies. But in return, if the devotion to Classical pursuits has confined their admirer too much to his library, and thus rendered him deficient in the courtly graces, which distinguish and recommend other men of letters, they have rescued many a youth from dissipation, and given him a purer taste for the charms of literature. Virtue often retires from crowds and public places to clothe these relics with stronger power. And where could she seek a more congenial home, than pa- ges rich with the eloquence of Plato, or the half-inspired wisdom of Socrates ? And if indeed her chosen temple be the moulder- ing ruins of a nation's works, whence her influence arises teaching the most thought- less to tread with reverence ; must we not think that there is her more peculiar shrine where the monuments of human genius, in 41 their original perfection, spread themselves open to tell to man, how vain is power, mili- tary, political, or intellectual, to give stabi- lity to empire, — to tell him not to presume to pray for his own country an immortal existence, but such a course of honourable conduct, as that when its language and in- habitants shall equally have departed, its history, its literature, and its public virtue, may shed an eternal twilight around its sun-set glories. Little does he, who floats on the un- steady tide of fashion or dissipation, know of the charms of Classical studies. He pictures them forth as the seat of gloomy and misanthropic thoughts, where a monk- ish ignorance of the pleasures of the world fixes the neglected or disappointed scholar. Or perhaps proud of the petty distinction which awaits him in the gay circle, he smiles upon him with contempt as a book- worm, who has not the spirit, not the soul to enjoy the charms of life. Not the soul! When the scholar has retired to the sanctu- ary, where are entombed the sacred dead, think you that his meditations are likewise 6 42 dead ? Oh ! no, every beautiful and virtu- ous thought takes a new wing, here the mind new plumes her faculties, and starts forth for higher discoveries, and his soul, expatiating on the great expanse of vanish- ed years, gathers from every one its lesson of morality or wisdom. For amid all the ages which pass in review before him, there is not a year which does not bring some food for holy meditation, — and not an event which is treasured in these volumes, that does not present something of example to guide him. Not the soul ! From that study, where mind alone surviving teaches how truly dust is every thing material and sen- sual, he views a world engaged in the short- lived trophies of earthly ambition, or worse, in miserable dissipation, — but upon him shines a brighter star, those volumes scat- ter out a purer light, and vice is revealed in her deformity, — but mind, mind triumphs — and the short record of it, which may be compressed in a square inch of paper, has come to his hands, when an Atlantis has been engulfed, when the pyramids have trembled to their bases, and cities — were 43 they not called eternal ? — have been rooted from their foundations. Condemn not then as useless the attach- ment to Classical studies, nor be willing to reject that which has been the guide and the solace of the most powerful intellects. Among its admirers may be numbered the greatest names in modern letters. The poet has recurred to it for his most agreeable al- lusions, the statesman for his best examples, the orator for his most inspiring themes, while the man of literary taste has never tired of repeating its praises and dwelling upon its glowing fancies. Scaliger declared that he would rather be the author of two odes of Horace, than king of Spain. The scholar in his retirement, as he broods over them, finds his mind enlarged, his taste re- fined, and his patriotism strengthened. He shines with a borrowed lustre ; we wonder at the elevation of his genius, and the fine flights of fancy, but they are not his own, — no, he has caught them from immortal pa- ges, and an enthusiasm enlightened and ge- nerous spreads over his style such an elo- quence, that the dullest is kindled by it. 44 His noble thoughts he claims for himself, — but believe him not ; he has been consult- ing greater and more enduring geniuses, — he comes from the company of the highly- gifted minds, and whatever is striking and beautiful they have communicated. Visions of every thing great and good stand before him, and the spirit which brightens their pages hovers around him like the daemon of Socrates, giving peace to his heart, richness to his images, and delicacy to his fancy. S»1TOM 11* In considering the influence which the Revival of Classical Letters has exercised upon the literature, the arts, and the modes of thinking of Europe, to which I designed to devote this lecture, there arise so many various and striking results, that a full ex- amination of them would far exceed its limits. The era of their revival is prolific in improvements. Law, every branch of industry, politics, the fine arts, date their advance from it, and it would be no trivial discussion to ascertain how much is owing by each to Classical Literature. But it is necessary to circumscribe the circle of in- quiry to a few of the parts, instead of en- deavouring to embrace the whole. 46 The most obvious of these results are the refinement of taste, and the improvement of literature. Omitting for the present the more prominent topics, I would wish, though at the risk of tediousness, to turn aside to one, which, if less inviting, is certainly cu- rious, the influence of this revival upon scholarship. How is it, that among the men most conversant with Classic studies, and therefore best fitted to apply to the perfecting of their native literature, the true taste, the judicious precepts, the beau- tiful examples, which there abound, the vo- taries of Greek and Roman Letters have confined themselves to the dullest part of criticism, losing in the contemplation of words the strength and fire of consummate genius ? We may well believe, that if the spirits of the most eminent writers in an- cient times could have new-embodied them- selves, and visibly appeared to some of their commentators, they would have be- sought them to spare the toilsome labour of giving insipidity to their fancies, diluting their best thoughts by endless disquisitions, and barbarously mutilating the noblest pro- ductions for the sake of their own petty 47 inventions. It is difficult to view without astonishment men degrading the finest ta- lents in unimportant disputes, placing their chief merit in an ohscure quotation, or chanting paeans for a happy conjecture. This class of scholars owes its existence entirely to Classic Letters, and it may not be unprofitable to trace their origin and influence on literature. Greece was early distinguished by the rise of a set of men, who, under the name of grammarians, opened regular schools for the illustration of the distinguished authors of their country. These schools, which often acquired great celebrity, were filled with pupils, whose exercise it was to write complete commentaries on any given au- thor. These commentaries were hence called scholia, and the writers received the name of scholiasts. In these scholia, acuteness and ingenuity were exerted ra- ther than taste, though the higher order of grammarians often exhibited a cultivated discrimination and judgment. But in ge- neral they were much more addicted to the less elevated parts of criticism. Some of them became highly eminent, and main- 48 tained a perfect despotism in the repub- lic of letters. They flourished most after Greece had lost its liberty. Their minds, no longer lifted by the excitements of free institutions, turned their natural acuteness to safer though less noble studies, and as their country exhibited no new glories to require the inspiring themes of poetry, they were satisfied with elucidating and dwelling upon the works, which were the remem- brancers of former trophies. Around the court of the Ptolemies, where a lesser con- stellation was shining, and the Pleiades, as seven of its poets were then called, were shedding a more mellowed light, a famous band of grammarians arose to give a new lustre to study. At the head of this school was Aristarchus, the greatest name in gram- marian learning, and saluted by the voice of posterity as the first of critics. At his nod a ready crowd of worshipping follow- ers awaited, sealing with an irrevocable doom the unhappy author whose polish did not reach to the required perfection. Upon every line of Homer he sat in judgment, drawing the dreadful obelos (in which prac- tice he has been but too well imitated by 49 bis modern successors) through whatever displeased his imperial will, and condemn- ing it to eternal exile. He pretended that his taste was alone sufficient to separate the genuine from the false, and relying upon this guide he threw away this book — he obliterated this verse, or rooted from its established place an offending word. But from time immemorial they had been consi- dered as Homer's, and where was the testi- mony he adduced against their authority ? None, but his judgment — and that judgment was taught to counterbalance all the pre- scription of 500 years. 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