[In transcribing the following Edinburgh Review evaluation of both Darwin’s last major work and his entire body of poetry for the Victorian Web, I have relied upon the Hathi Trust Digital Library’s online version of a copy in the University of California Library. In doing so, I have corrected its few scanning errors and artifacts and followed the nineteenth-century periodical’s punctuation rather than our house style. — George P. Landow]
Art. XX. The Temple of Nature; or, the Origin of Society: A Poem, with Philosophical Notes. By Erasmus Darwin, M. D. F. R. S. Author of the Botanic Garden, of ‘Zoonomia’, and of Phytologia. London. 1S03. 4to. pp. 300.
HE work which we are now to review, seems to have been fully prepared for the press before the death of the author; and it certainly derives an additional and melancholy interest from its appearance as the parting legacy of a writer, from the exertion of whose splendid talents we have formerly derived very high gratification. Yet, if we were to judge only from the first impressions which were made by the early productions of Dr Darwin's muse, and from the force with which they caught the public attention, we should probably overrate the eagerness and impatience with which the greater number of readers will now be drawn to listen to his dying notes. Only a few years have elapsed, since the genuis of the author of ‘the Botanic Garden' first burst on the public notice in all its splendour. The novelty of his plan—an imposing air of boldness and originality in his poetical as well as philosophical speculations—and a striking display of command over some of the richest sources of poetical embellishment, were sufficient to secure to him a large share of approbation, even from the most fastidious readers, and much more than sufficient to attract the gaze, and the indiscriminating acclamations, of a herd of admirers and imitators. Yet, with all these pretensions to permanent fame, we are much deceived, if we have not already observed, in that of Dr Darwin, the visible symptoms of decay. Whether, in consequence of more sober and chastened reflection, or from mere caprice, or from whatever other cause it may have proceeded, his beauties seem to have quickly palled upon the public taste; and his decline from the exalted place he once appeared to hold, has been unhappily accelerated [491/492] by the ridicule of tasteless and and impotent imitation. Still, however, we presume that the former admirers of Dr Darwin's poetry will turn with some degree of pleasing expectation to this posthumous work; and though we are very far from thinking that it is likely to produce any new fluctuation of opinion, we may safely promise them the satisfaction of recognizing the same characteristic manner, and some of the same peculiar excellencies, which distinguish his former compositions. At the same time we feel little hesitation in stating, that ‘the Temple of Nature’ appears to us, in poetical excellence, to fall far short of ’ the Botanic Garden;’ and that without possessing an equal share of beauties, its defects are more frequent and obtrusive.
In estimating the merits of Dr Darwin's work, it is difficult, and perhaps would be improper, to separate the characters of the poet and the philosopher. His larger poems are all of the didactic class, and seem to have been designed as the vehicles of such parts of his philosophical speculations, as were the most susceptible of poetical illustration and embellishment. In a short preface, the author has informed us, that ‘the poem, which is here offered to the public, does not pretend to instruct by deep researches of reasoning; its aim is simply to amuse, by bringing distinctly to the imagination the beautiful and sublime images of the operations of nature, in the order, as the author believes, in which the progressive course of time presented them.’ From this declaration, the reader might probably be induced to expect nothing more than a description of some of the known phenomena of nature, exhibited in detached compartments, and bound together by no other connection than might be necessary to aid the imagination in its transitions from one subject to another. On a slight inspection; however; it will be found, that, in his delineations of Nature, the author does not restrain himself within the narrow bounds of observation; that he again returns to the confines of Chaos and Old Night, from which he had escaped with so much labour in his former poem; and that, instead of copying from the great volume of Nature which now I lies open to our view, he fondly attempts to penetrate the veil 'which must for ever conceal her mysteries from mortal eye, and affects to disclose, with all the confidence of an observer, an imaginary order and progress of things, from sluggish and unorganized matter, upwards; into living, intelligent, and moral existence. In a word, those who are at all acquainted with the writings of Dr Darwin, will be at no loss to discover, that ‘the Temple of Nature’ is in substance, little else than some of the wildest theories of the ‘Zoonomia’ done into verse, and divested [492/493] of those subordinate and collateral discussions which form the most valuable part of that ingenious but fanciful work.
Considered as a whole, it seems to possess a sufficient degree both of philosophical and poetical unity. The origin of human society, or the formation of a race of beings with qualities and attributes to fit them for uniting into a social state, may be considered as the general theme which he proposes to explain; arid in doing so, he has attempted to shew, that the object has been accomplished solely by the slow and spontaneous operation of certain primary and general laws impressed on rude matter by the great Author of nature. In this undertaking, he cannot be accused of timidity; but that he might not be loaded with the charge of undue presumption, he has provided a suitable machinery to give force and authority to his doctrines. After a very general statement of a subject, and an address to ‘Immortal Love,' which in a poem ‘de natura verum’ could not with decency be omitted, we are introduced to the Temple of Nature, which the poet has had the good fortune to discover on the ancient site of the Mosaic Paradise, and which he has taken care to make sufficiently vast and capacious, for the reception of all sorts of imaginary beings, clean and unclean. Among the crowd, the reader will have the pleasure of meeting again with a most respectable assemblage of bright Nymphs, recumbent Beauties, unclad Graces, gay Desires, besides young Dione and her quieter loves, with all of whom he must have before contracted an intimate acquaintance under the auspices of Dr Darwin. The goddess herself is the only new figure in the group; and perhaps the reader may agree with us, that novelty is not the only circumstance in her appearance which may be apt to startle a stranger.
'Shrin'd in the midst, majestic Nature stands;
Extends o'er earth or sea her hundred hand.-:
Tower upon tower her beamy forehead crests,
And births unnumber'd milk her hundred breasts:
Drawn round her brows a lucid veil depends,
O'er her fine waist the purfled woof descends;
Her stately limbs the gather'd folds surround,
And spread their golden selvage on the ground.'
[Canto I. 1. 129.]
In a morning procession of nymphs to the temple, which is led by Urania, or the Priestess of Nature, the muse rather abruptly presents herself, and implores the ‘fair hierophant’ to withdraw the ‘mystic veil,’ and disclose the hidden plan of Nature, in the formation of her animated works. This request is of course instantly complied with; and the remainder of the poem proceeds in the words of the hierophant, interrupted only by a few pertinent [493/494] pertinent questions, or a few supplementary illustrations, which had occurred to the muse herself.
The first of four cantos, into which the poem is divided, is entitled ’ ‘Production of Life;’ and apart from the machinery which (is thus employed to give it poetical effect, it contains little more than an exposition of the author's favourite hypothesis of the gradual process of Nature in the formation of organized and living matter, by the spontaneous operation of chemical laws and affinities. Reasoning analogically from the growth of individual animals, and the successive changes of being through which they are seen to pass, he seems to think himself warranted in concluding, that there are no fixed or insurmountable boundaries between the different species of animals; — that the more perfect animals differ from the less perfect only in having arrived at a more advanced stage in the spontaneous evolution of those original energies which have been bestowed in common upon all; — and that hence, by a fair deduction, we shall arrive at the origin of our own nature, merely by descending along the scale of animal existence, till we find ourselves at the natural zero, where the transition from unorganized to organized matter is supposed to shew itself in the rudest and most minute of the microscopic animalcula.
In stating this general outline of Dr Darwin's theory, we do not feel the slightest provocation to enter into any serious inquiry either as to its originality or its truth. Whatever may be its merits in other respects, we believe that it is not of a kind to lose much of its native dignity and importance, by exchanging the severe and simple garb of science for the thin and gaudy draperies of fancy. As a specimen, we shall select the first that occurs; and we leave it to others to decide, whether, as a grave philosophical hypothesis, it could possibly be improved by the flattest translation into prose.
First Heat from chemic dissolution springs,
And gives to matter its excentric wings:
With strong repulsion parts the exploding mass,
Melts into lymph, or kindles into gas;
Attraction next, as earth or air subsides,
The ponderous atoms from the light divides,
Approaching parts with quick embrace combines,
Swells into spheres, and lengthens into lines.
Last, as fine gpads the glutton thread excite,
Cords grapple cords, and webs with webs unite;
And quick Contraction with etherial flame,
Lights into life the fibre-woven frame.
Hence, without parent, by spontaneous birth,
Rise the first specks of animated earth;
[494/495]
From Nature's womb the plant or insect swims,
And buds or breathes with microscopic limbs.
'In earth, sea, air, around, below, above,
Life's subtile woof in Nature's loom is wove;
Points glued to points, a living line extends,
Touch'd by some goad approach the bending ends;
Rings join to rings, and irritated tubes
Clasp with young lips the nutrient globes or cubes;
And urged by appetencies new select,
Imbibe, retain, digest, secrete, eject.
In branching cones the living web expands,
Lymphatic ducts, and convoluted glands;
Aortal tubes propel the nascent blood,
And lengthening veins absorb the refluent flood;
Leaves, lungs, and gills, the vital ether breathe
On earth's green surface, or the waves beneath.
So Life's first powers arrest the winds and floods,
To bones convert them, or to shells, or woods;
Stretch the vast beds of argill, lime, and sand,
And from diminish'd oceans form the land!
'Next the long nerves unite their silver train,
And young Sensation permeates the brain;
Through each new sense the keen emotions dart,
Flush the young cheek, and swell the throbbing heart»
From pain and pleasure quick Volitions rise,
Lift the strong arm, or point the enquiring eyes;
With Reason's light bewilder'd man direct,
And right and wrong with balance nice detect.
Last in thick swarms Associations spring,
Thoughts join to thoughts, to motions motions cling;
Whence in long trains of catenation flow
Imagined joy, and voluntary woe.
[Canto I. L 235.]
In the second canto, after alluding to the operation of ‘cherubic strife’ in resolving the elements of organic matter, the Priestess of Nature proceeds to unfold the remedy which is spontaneously wrought; and in a train of similar reasoning, supported by similar analogies, she traces the progressive advancement of animals through the successive stages, first of the solitary, and secondly of the sexual reproduction of their respective kinds. Nor do the salutary tendencies of this new direction of the laws of motion stop short here, but bring along with them the most astonishing physical improvements of the individual, and the consequent evolution of the paternal and connubial affinities, ‘the first and-second chains of society.’ That our readers may share with us the benefit [495/496] of these precious discoveries, we will indulge them with the author's theory of the transition from solitary to sexual reproduction.
'In these lone births no tender mothers blend
Their genial powers to nourish or defend;
No nutrient streams from Beauty's orbs improve
These orphan babes of solitary love:
Birth after birth the line unchanging runs,
And fathers live transmitted in their sons;
Each passing year beholds the unvarying kinds,
The same their manners, and the same their minds:
Till, as ere long successive buds decay,
And insect shoals successive pass away,
Increasing wants the pregnant parents vex
With the fond wish to form a softer sex;
"Whose milky rills with pure ambrosial food
Might charm and cherish their expected brood.
The potent wish in the productive hour
Calls to its aid Imagination's power,
O'er embryon throngs with mystic charm presides,
And sex from sex the nascent world divides,
With soft affections warms the callow trains,
And gives to laughing Love his nymphs and swains;
Whose mingling virtues interweave at length
The mother’s beauty with the father's strength.
[Canto II. 1. 103]
The third canto, on ‘the Progress of the Mind,’ contains a physiological theory of the growth of the intellectual and moral faculties, by the developement of what our author terms the four sensorial powers of irritation, sensation, volition, and association. Those who are acquainted with the former writings of Dr Darwin, will here recognise the outlines of that fantastical theory of mind, which is given with more detail, and with much truly curious illustration, in the ‘Zoonomia’. To those who have not studied the original, any attempt to exhibit the metaphysical system of the author, in an abridged form, would be equally uninteresting and unsatisfactory. As a very favourable specimen of the poetry of this canto, we may transcribe the mythological descent of Celestial Love.
'Now on swift wheels descending like a star,
Alights young Eros from his radiant car;
On angel-wings attendant Graces move,
And hail the God of Sentimental Love.
Earth at his feet extends her flowery bed,
And bends her silver blossoms round his head;
Dark clouds dissolve, the warring winds subside,
And smiling Ocean calms his tossing tide.
[496/497]
O'er the bright morn meridian lustres play,
And heaven salutes him with a flood of day.
'Warm as the sun-beam, pure as driven snows,
The enamoured god for young Dione glows;
Drops the still tear, with sweet attention sighs,
And woos the goddess with adoring eyes;
Marks her white neck beneath the gauze's fold,
Her ivory shoulders, and her locks of gold;
Drinks with mute ecstacy the transient glow,
Which warms and tints her bosom's rising snow.
With holy kisses wanders o'er her charms,
And clasps the Beauty in Platonic arms;
Or, if the dewy hands of Sleep, unbid,
O'er her blue eye-balls close the lovely lid,
Watches each nascent smile, and fleeting grace,
That plays in day-dreams o'er her blushing face:
Counts the fine mazes of the curls, that break
Round her fair ear, and shade her damask cheek:
Drinks the pure fragrance of her breath, and sips
With tenderest touch the roses of her lips:—
O'er female hearts with chaste seduction reigns,
And binds Society in silken chains.'
[Canto III. 1. 177]
In these three cantos, the author may be said to have completed his design, in so far as it embraced the developement of those principles which ultimately lead to the social connexion, and are the foundation of that varied happiness of which an animated, intelligent, and moral being is susceptible. But the benign operation of these principles is by no means unmixed, and seems to be encumbered, or to bring along with it an admixture of evil, the origin of which has furnished one of the most perplexing, questions which can exercise the ingenuity of man. This is the professed subject of the fourth canto: But, with less than his usual hardiness, the author evades the solution of the problem, and contents himself with a statement which is intended to shew that, on the balance of good and evil, the former preponderates;—that the physical and moral evils incident to man are more than compensated by the various enjoyments attached to the exercise of sensorial power; — and that the constant destruction of organic life finds an adequate remedy in the constant reproduction of it in new forms. It is scarcely necessary to observe, that though all this be true, the difficulty would still remain nearly as formidable as ever. — But whatever may be thought of this or any other of the abstract speculations of Dr Darwin, it would be an injustice to the character of the author not to acknowledge, that here, as in every other part of his writings, his [497/498] views are pure, amiable, and benevolent. Amidst the freedom of our criticisms on the writer, we should bestow this tribute to the man with unmixed satisfaction, did it not forcibly bring to our recollection, that now, alas! he is equally beyond the reach of our censure or our praise.
In the discussion ot his arduous and diversified subject, it is obvious that Dr Darwin did not intend to fetter himself by the stricter rules of philosophical connexion and arrangement. While a general object is kept in view, his course in the pursuit of it is not meant to be always direct or steady; and it never restrains him from any collateral excursion where variety or amusement are likely to be found. Nor are these rambles confined to the poetical part of the work. Whenever he despairs of subduing the natural ruggedness of his matter, and of clothing it with the embellishments of fancy, he presents it to his reader in the form of a note or dissertation; and in this manner he has easily contrived to give ample scope to his speculations on a great variety of subjects. Of the ‘additional notes,’ independently of those more immediately subservient to the illustration of the text, the most considerable are, ‘A Chemical Theory of Electricity and Magnetism;’ — ‘An Analysis of Taste;’ — ‘The Theory and Structure of Language;’ — and an ‘Analysis of Articulate Sounds.’ On topics such as these, it may be presumed that Dr Darwin will display a great deal of his usual ingenuity and acuteness; at the same time it appears to us that these dissertations in prose, as well as every other part of the volume, in so far as it lays claim to the character of a philosophical work, are deeply marked with all the grossest faults of his former philosophical writings.
It requires no stretch of candour to admit, that Dr Darwin was possessed of talents, which, under happier and more judicious direction, might have ensured very great advances in scientific investigation. To great acuteness of observation he joined a singular degree of ingenuity in the combination of particular facts; and with such powers be could scarcely fail of occasional success in attaining original, extensive, and commanding views of his subject. At the same time, his most devoted admirers will hardly venture to dispute that his successes bear no considerable proportion to the number or boldness of his attempts. The causes of these failures do not appear to us to lie very deep; and a few general remarks, in this point of view, on the character of Dr Darwin's philosophical writings, will supersede a more minute examination of the particular dogmas which form the groundwork of the volume before us.
The fundamental error, which appears to us to pervade and infect the whole of Dr Darwin's scientific speculations, is a presumptuous [499/499] contempt, or perhaps a gross ignorance, of the legitimate bounds of philosophical inquiry. It may justly excite astonishment, that after all that has been taught on the rules of sound philosophizing ever since the days of Bacon, and after the noble examples of their successful application, especially in the physical sciences, which have been exhibited to the imitation of philosophers, there should still be found so many lamentable instances of the waste of genius in the pursuit of false or unattainable objects. Of these instances we consider Dr Darwin as decidedly the most notorious and most lamentable that has lately occurred. In his attempts to investigate the phenomena of matter, as well as of mind, it is but rarely indeed that we ever find him proceeding in the legitimate road of observation, by which alone it is given to man to penetrate even those parts of nature that are most within his reach; and it can occasion no surprise, that by thus deserting the only sure guide to discovery, he should often insensibly wander into that forbidden ground where observation and discovery are no longer practicable. It is in the choice of such a course that the disgrace of failure consists; for powers of a much higher order than those of Dr Darwin, when so misdirected, could not have secured a more fortunate issue.
Another error, nearly akin to that we have been describing, but which deserves particular notice, as fatally characterizing many of the metaphysical speculations of Dr Darwin, arises from constantly blending and confounding together the two distinct sciences of matter and of mind. In this censure, we would not be understood as referring directly to that hypothesis of materialism, which is everywhere assumed by him with the utmost confidence. Ignorant as we are of the nature of matter, beyond a few of its sensible qualities, it would be rash and idle to limit dogmatically the modifications of which it may be susceptible. For similar reasons, indeed, we cannot but regard it as still more rash and unphilosophical, to assert the identity of substances between the known qualities and attributes of which no sameness or analogy have yet been recognized; and in the present state of our knowledge, we should certainly esteem it more rational to adopt that sceptical theory, which rejects the evidence of an alleged identity between matter and the principle of thought, and which rather holds that, in so far as we have any evidence applicable to the question, it tends to the contrary conclusion. But the objection we have here in view, is not aimed at the dogmatical opinions of Dr Darwin on the nature ot mind, but alludes to a favourite mode of investigation which is completely unphilosophical inasmuch as it attempts to trace [499/500] the laws of thought, through the medium of those laws which are solely applicable to unthinking matter. Whatever diversity of opinions may prevail as to the nature of mind, this at least must on all hands be admitted, that there is a class of phenomena, of which our knowledge is derived solely from consciousness; and it appears to us an intuitive proposition, that all our speculations on the laws of these phenomena must be ultimately drawn from the same source. There is another great class of phenomena, of which our knowledge is derived solely from external observation; and from that source, in like manner, must all our speculations respecting them be of necessity derived. We are not conscious of the laws which regulate the material world; and no man in his senses ever dreamt of discovering those laws, by turning his thoughts inward upon themselves, any more than, by a similar process, of adding a cubit to his stature. In reversing the process, there seems to be as little propriety, and as little prospect of success. This, however, has been on most occasions the favourite practice of Dr Darwin; and it is by thus confounding the investigations of physiology and of metaphysics, that he appears to us to have lost himself in that gulph which will probably for ever separate the sciences of matter and of mind. It is no doubt true, that, between the two parts of our constitution, there is a constant action and re-action; and the laws which regulate that connexion, form of themselves a curious and interesting subject of inquiry. In the investigation of these laws, though the lights which are derived from the two different sources we have mentioned, may be sometimes thrown together upon the different parts of a complex phenomenon, yet they can never be suffered to cross or become blended with each other, without violating a fundamental principle of physical as well as metaphysical science.
Under the influence of such mistaken views of the objects and methods of philosophical inquiry, it is evident that no superiority of talents could have secured him against ultimate failure; but, even independently of these considerations, Dr Darwin's prospects of success in the pursuits of science do not appear to have been, extremely promising. While we allow him the credit of much curious knowledge, and of great ingenuity in the application of it, it is impossible to deny that he frequently betrays a want of discernment in the proper evidence of facts, and a strange incapacity for strict inductive reasoning, even from the facts he chooses to assume and bring together. He is ever aiming at the construction of a vast and comprehensive system, but with powers and preparation by no means equal to the task; and his puerile impatience for the completion of his design leaves [500/501] him but little room for nicety in the choice or compact arrangement of his materials. His ardent imagination and sanguine temper seem to have supplied or concealed the real weakness of this slovenly workmanship; but his own confidence is rarely of a kind to inspire others with the feeling of security. His reader may sometimes be fascinated with the boldness and originality of his views; but the strongest impression which usually remains is, that the author's genius was better fitted, to catch what he has himself called, ‘the looser analogies which dress out the imagery of poetry,’ than to trace the ‘stricter ones which form the ratiocination of philosophy.’ If his fame be destined in any thing to outlive the fluctuating fashion of the day, it is, on his merit as a poet that it is likely to rest; and his reveries in science have probably no other chance of being saved from oblivion, but by having been ‘married to immortal verse.'
We have ventured already to express our opinion of the inferiority of the ’ ‘Temple of Nature,’ in poetical excellence, to the ‘Botanic Garden.’ In the choice of this subject, it does not appear to us that he laboured under any comparative disadvantage. In many respects it approaches very closely to that of the poem of Lucretius; and in point of interest, as well as capability of varied description and embellishment, it possesses obvious advantages over the metaphorical adventures of the vegetable kingdom. There is, however, a disadvantage of another kind, which, in perusing the ‘Temple of Nature,’ it is impossible for a moment to lose sight of; it is unhappily posterior in date, and both its beauties and blemishes are of a kind which constantly remind us of those of the ‘Botanic Garden,’ and as constantly suggest the idea of perfect imitation. Although the tendency to repetition is by no means confined to the poetry of the volume, it is not to the poverty or decay of genius that we are disposed to impute this appearance of sameness; and we rather suspect that it is inseparably connected with the peculiar cast of Dr Darwin's poetical manner. In the language of painters, Dr Darwin is decidedly a mannerist; and mannerism is a quality which, to say the least of it, is easily exhaustible.
In analyzing the peculiar characters of Dr Darwin's poetry, we are fortunately assisted by the exposition he has given of his own poetical creed. In one of the critical ‘Interludes’ of the ‘Botanic Garden,’ he has informed his ‘Bookseller,’ that, ‘next to the measure of the language, the principal distinction’ between poetry and prose appears to consist in this, that poetry admits of but few words expressive of very abstracted ideas, whereas prose abounds with them. And as our ideas derived from visible objects are more distinct than those derived from the objects of our own senses, the works expressive of these ideas belonging to [501/502] to vision make up the principal part of poetic language. Mr Pope has written a bad verse in the Windsor Forest,
'And Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd.'
The word renown'd does not present the idea of a visible object fo the mind, and is thence prosaic. But change this line thus,
‘And Kennet swift, where silver graylings play,’
it becomes poetry, because the scenery is then brought before the eye.
In the hands of Dr Darwin this theory has not remained an idle speculation; it appears to have had a powerful influence on the formation of his poetical habits, and may be regarded as the grand source of the beauties and defects which most strongly characterise the whole of his poetry. In all his delineations of external nature, his skill is directed to produce, not an impressive but a picturesque effect; every circumstance is selected, and every epithet is sought for, which may bring out the object directly to the eye; and the most glowing tints are thrown over the whole which the language of vision can supply. Where his subject does not in itself strictly belong to external and visible nature, but presents itself in a general or abstracted state, he scrupulously avoids ever shewing it in its native metaphysical nakedness, and his imagination is instantly employed to embody it in a material and visible shape. Bold metaphors, personifications and allegories, are his constant and sole resources; and in pourtraying the scenery of this fairy kingdom of his own creation, he adheres strictly to the principle of addressing himself directly and only to the eye. Nor does his propensity to metamorphosis stop here; but even in delineating inanimated external nature, her own graceful and varied forms seem too tame to catch his fancy, till they have been transformed into the living monsters of his own brain.
Few readers will deny that, in following out his own views of poetical writing, Dr Darwin has displayed very splendid talents; yet we are inclined to think that his own practice affords the most ample illustration of the errors of his theory. Like most other theories, it contains a certain portion of truth without embracing the whole; and the little it contains is rendered mischievous by the exclusion of the remainder. Nobody will dispute that mere picturesque effect may often be extremely pleasing, independently of every other consideration; but it is surely a very unjust limitation of the natural range of poetry, to consider it as solely or ultimately employed in the production of such effects. Its general aim is to produce a strong and pleasing impression through the medium of the fancy or of the passions and feelings ; and among the most efficacious of the means that are so employed, the delineation [503/504] of visible forms may claim a very high, perhaps the highest rank. But it is equally certain, that in poetry very powerful impressions may be given by other means which cannot be reduced within the narrow rules which Dr Darwin has imposed upon himself in the exercise of the poetical art; and it appears to us, that by the proscription of abstract and general language, he has cast away an important instrument in exciting and interesting the feelings of his reader. It is true, indeed, that even in the representation and expression of the passions, a great deal may be borrowed from the language of vision; but, after very liberal allowance, a great deal will be found to remain, which is either of a different origin, or which, in its progress, has ceased to be felt as the vehicle of picturesque imagery.
As the greater part of Dr Darwin's poetry is properly descriptive, he has of course suffered the less from this limitation of the natural range of poetical composition, and from thus affecting always to present his ideas in a visible form. But there are other evils attending it, by which he appears to us to have been more essentially injured, and which mav be considered as directly counteracting and weakening even those picturesque effects he is ever ambitious of producing. The outlines of his figures are often drawn with astonishing strength and accuracy; but, by employing only the language of vision, he has given them a certain hardness and coldness of execution; and, by foregoing the use of that which is addressed to the feeling, rather than to the eye, he has neglected to avail himself of those fine and fleeting circumstances and associations which are beyond (he reach of the pencil, but which, in poetical painting, may be made to contribute powerfully towards the general impression. In the following wellknown lines of Pope, there is an artful and successful combination of the picturesque and the impressive.
‘But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
A death-like silence, and a dread repose:
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green;
Deepens the murmur of the fulling floods,
And breathes a browner horror on the woods.’
These lines have been happily imitated by Dr Darwin in his own manner; that is, with a view solely to the picturesque effect of a single isolated figure. There is perhaps little doubt from which of the two a statuary would choose to copy; yet, we will venture to affirm, that in general and impressive effect, the following lines fall short of their original: [503/504]
O'er the green floor, and round the dew-damp wall,
The slimy snail and bloated lizard crawl;
While on white heaps of intermingled bones
The muse of Melancholy sits and moans;
Showers her cold tears o'er Beauty's early wreck,
Spreads her pale arms, and bends her marble neck.'
[Canto I. 1. 119]
The limited system of Dr Darwin is productive of additional and still more unsurmountabie disadvantages in the delineation of those large and complicated groups which he labours so frequently to exhibit to the fancy of his reader. It seems impossible, merely by the language of vision, to give that due keeping or subordination of parts which is essential to true picturesque effect, and which on canvas is accomplished by those gradations of size and of colouring which the rules of perspective prescribe. The different parts are unavoidably presented, not in subordination, but in succession; and the effect would be nearly similar to that of an Indian screen, where all the figures are crowded into the fore ground, without symmetry or arrangement, in the full glare of colouring, and dignity of natural dimension. Of this evil Dr Darwin seems not to have been aware; and certainly in his own practice the most ample illustrations of it are afforded. It impairs, and sometimes destroys, the effect of his most elaborate descriptions, and leaves on the mind little else than a confused, dazzling, and painful sensation. The evil is perhaps inseparable from the nature of the medium employed in poetical description; but at least it admits of palliation by the skilful intermixture of those more indirect modes of suggestion which address the fancy through the feelings; and by thus bringing forward directly into view the principal figure, while the subordinate parts of the composition are suffered to remain, as it were, in the indistinctness and dimness of distance.
The most partial admirers of Dr Darwin's poetry will probably confess, that they experience a certain monotonous effect, which gradually fatigues and disgusts, and renders a continued perusal almost intolerable. The circumstance is extremely mortifying; but it is plainly connected in part with the limited and mistaken notions of poetry which we have been considering. By addressing himself to the mind only through the medium of one of the external senses, the poet obviously deprives himself of vast resources for varying and diversifying the entertainment of his reader, and must be contented to ring the changes on ideas and words of a single class. But this monotony of manner is prodigiously increased by the use which it brings along with it of metaphor, personification, and allegory, the perpetual recurrence of which can be atoned for by no individual excellence. The utmost [504/505] utmost fertility of poetical invention is circumscribed within limited bounds; and when every object, whether of the material or ideal world, is transmuted into some fantastical shape of the poet's brain, we need not be surprised, in this creation of monsters, to find the prodigal variety and beauty of nature lost in the poverty and formality of art.
A remark, somewhat analogous, may perhaps be applied to the diction of Dr Darwin's poetry. It often has the merit of great splendour and dignity; but it is always remote from simplicity, and too often in the opposite extreme of unnatural affectation. It aims at an uniform grandeur and stateliness of march; but is frequently sustained only by meretricious ornament and pedantic inversion. It is to this cause that may in part be imputed that monotonous and tiresome effect in the poetry of Dr Darwin, for which we have endeavoured to account. The style, which admits of the richest variety, is unquestionably that of which the primary and leading character is simplicity. Without suffering degradation, it admits of every diversity of becoming ornament; but where ornament is itself the primary and leading character, it is apt to disdain the association either of simplicity or variety. In attempting to lower its tone, it usually becomes groveling and ludicrous. — The following lines may perhaps afford an apt illustration: the unhappy mixture of prosaic flatness, and of figurative bombast, need not be particularly pointed out.
'Hear, O ye Sons of Time! your final doom,
And read the characters that mark your tomb:
The marble mountain, and the sparry steep,
Were built by myriad nations of the deep,—
Age after age, who form'd their spiral shells,
Their sea-fan gardens and their coral cells:
Till central fires with unextinguished sway
Raised the primeval islands into day.—
The sand-filled strata stretched from pole to pole
Unmeasured beds of clay, and marl, and coal,
Black ore of manganese, the zinky stone,
And dusky steel on his magnetic throne,
In deep morass or eminence superb,
Rose from the wrecks of animal or herb;
These from their elements by Life combined,
Form'd by digestion, and in glands refined,
Gave, by their just excitement of the sense,
The Bliss of Being to the vital End.'
[Canto IV. J. 429]
The adoption add recurrence of a few favourite images and phrases [505/506] may likewise contribute its influence to the painful uniformity of Dr Darwin's manner; but it is only of subordinate importance. When future critics shall think fit to bestow their labour in detecting the sources of his imitations, they will be at no loss to discover the very liberal use he has made of the ideas and phrases of former poets: yet it is fair to add, that in his plagiarism he has paid no greater respect to his own property than to that of his neighbours.
Among the peculiar characteristics of Dr Darwin's poetry, and the eauses of that monotonous feeling of which his readers complain, we have sometimes heard the system of his versification stated as the chief. In this, however, we cannot agree. It is in this point that we consider him as most invulnerable; and the musical cadences of his verses appear to us as beautiful and as various as their general nature admits of. We have not overlooked his partiality to the trochaic foot at the commencement of his lines, and to one or two favourite and prevailing subdivisions of his couplets: But, without stopping to justify him by the authority of his greatest predecessors, it may be enough to say, that their recurrence is rarely more frequent than to produce an agreeable variety. It is in the structure of his sentences, and in the selection of his thoughts, not in the measurement of syllables, that his characteristic blemishes are to be traced.
We are aware, that in our criticisms on the literary merits of Dr Darwin, we have been chiefly occupied in the invidious task of censure. Our apology will readily suggest itself. We are not insensible of the force of his claims to the praise of genius, and of various accomplishments; but his real deserts are not of a kind which lie hid from the general eye; while his blemishes are so intimately blended with his beauties, as often either to escape observation, or to attract injudicious applause. Perhaps few of his readers have, at all times, been on their guard against this dangerous fascination; and the mere caprice of fashion may have tended blindly to mislead a great many more. To have pointed out some of the characteristical faults of a writer who threatened at one time to establish a new sect in poetry, may not therefore be without its use. But though we would deprecate the adoption of his manner as a model for imitation, we should lament to see him robbed of his just portion of qualified praise; and we trust we shall be able often to recur with pleasure, certainly with pleasing recollections, to the ‘splendid page’ of Dr Darwin. [506/507]
Bibliography
“[Review of] Erasmus Darwin's Temple of Nature.’ Edinburgh Review. 2 (June 1803): 491-507. Hathi Trust Digital Library online version of a copy in the Unversity of California Library. Web. 22 August 2018.
Last modified 23 August 2018