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The scenic analogy

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Title:
The scenic analogy a study in seventeenth and eighteenth century landscape poetry.
Creator:
Ramsey, Clifford Earl, 1937-
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Language:
English
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ix, 241 leaves. : ; 28 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Analogies ( jstor )
Forests ( jstor )
Kings ( jstor )
Landscapes ( jstor )
Muses ( jstor )
Nature ( jstor )
Nuns ( jstor )
Peace ( jstor )
Poetry ( jstor )
Soul ( jstor )
Dissertations, Academic -- English -- UF
English poetry ( fast )
English poetry -- Early modern ( fast )
English poetry -- History and criticism -- 18th century ( lcsh )
English thesis Ph. D
Nature in literature ( fast )
Genre:
criticism ( aat )
bibliography ( marcgt )
theses ( marcgt )
non-fiction ( marcgt )
Criticism, interpretation, etc ( fast )

Notes

Thesis:
Thesis--University of Florida.
Bibliography:
Bibliography: leaves 232-241.
Additional Physical Form:
Also available online.
General Note:
Manuscript copy.
General Note:
Vita.
Statement of Responsibility:
by Clifford Earl Ramsey

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THE SCENIC ANALOGY:

A STUDY IN SEVENTEENTH AND

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

LANDSCAPE POETRY






By

CLIFFORD EARL RAMSEY III













A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE COUNCIL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA
IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY













UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA
December, 1966





















For Kathryn and Colin, and their Muse













Foreword


The subject of this study is a century's tradition in English landscape poetry, a tradition that begins with Ben Jonson's To Penshurst and culminates in Alexander Pope's Windsor-Forest. The study's title -- The Scenic Analo9y -- implies both my subject and my thesis; that is, the title refers to the landscape poems in this tradition and also to how I believe these poems work. These poems describe landscape scenes, and the general thesis of this study is that these scenes are suggestive of, figure forth, implications beyond their literal and physical dimension -- the description of particular scenes and prospects in these poems is designed to illuminate the human situation. These poems all seek, in their various ways, to locate man's place in nature.

"Nature," to these seventeenth century landscape poets, would certainly include the external phenomena of the physical world, the elements and contours and objects visible in a given landscape; but "nature," to these poets, would also include a good deal of the force of Milton's definition: "nature cannot possibly mean anything but the mysterious power and efficacy of that divine voice which went forth in the beginning, and to which, as to a iii








perpetual command, all things have since paid obedience" (The Christian Doctrine, I, viii). Indeed, to these poets, the two senses of "nature" were interdependent, for they shared the common thinking of their age that the Wisdom of God could be read in his Creation.

A bald way to put the matter would be to say that these seventeenth century poets read the landscape in a multiple and figurative way that partially resembles the way medieval exegetes read Scripture. As George Boas says in his introduction to The HieroQlynhics of Horapollo, the landscape was still a "parable" demanding interpretation. In a recent essay on Pope's estate at Twickenham, Maynard Mack has aptly summarized the way nature's scenes were figuratively interpreted in the seventeenth century:


Altogether, landscape and garden at this
period assume some of the functions of album
and commonplace book, philosophical vademecum
and memento mori. They serve as aids to
reflection -- or to recollection, introspection, and worship, giving us, says Addison,
"a great Insight into the Contrivance and
W isdom of Providence" and suggesting "innumerable Subjects for Meditation" -Spectator,
No. 477_/. They serve as memorials of friendship and Virtue, secular incitements to holy
living and holy dying. They present
themselves to be read as epitomes of recent
history, or psychological states, or human
life in general. .

The poems given systematic attention in this study evidence a vision of the landscape, of the whole natural setting of human activity, that is feudal and eucharistic. Yet at the same time these poems evidence, too, a stubborn


iv








literalness; the sites these poems describe are perceived, and rendered, concretely.

The fundamental feature of all landscape poetry is the c ascription of place. The production of a poem like To Penshurst or Windsor-Forest could be regarded as in a sense equivalent to making a whole poem out of the rhetorical figure tocograDhia. In Puttenham's Arte of English Poesie, one finds this definition: "if this description be of any true place, citie, castell, hill, valley or sea, & such like: we call it Tooqqraohia." The place described in a landscape poem can be more or less "true," or more or less "fictive." Rhetoricians from antiquity through the Renaissance, in fact, commonly distinguished toDooraphia from the figure toothesia. Thus Servius, in his commentary on the first book of the Aeneid, says that Virgil's description of the Libyan harbor where the ships of Aeneas take refuge ("Est in secessu lonqo locus .") is the figure topothesia ("a fictive place according to poetic license") not the figure topogranhia ("description of true places"). And in his Co.ia, Erasmus, concerning "DESCRIPTION OF PLACE," makes the same distinction; I cite the translation of the Copia by D. B. King and H. D. Rix (MilwauKee, 1963, pp. 54-55):


Speech is enriched also by descriptions of
places; the Greeks call these 'r-o 2r /pe$ .. .
It is an example of this type whenever the
whole appearance of a place is portrayed just

V








as if it were in sight, as for example, the
appearance of a river, a port, a villa, gardens, an amphitheatre, a fountain, a cavern, a temple,
a grove. And if these descriptions are of
actual places they are to be called tonoqgrahia,
but if fictional, tooothesia. Examples of the
former are the description of the Laurentine villa in Pliny's Letters, in Statius of the
Surrentine villa of Pollius and the Tiburtine
villa of Manlius. Of the latter, the abode of sleep in Ovid, the home of Rumor and the palace
of the sun; of the Lower Regions and the home of
Cacus in Vergil .


I observe this distinction and have restricted this study of the Scenic Analogy mainly to instances of top qraohia, to topographical poetry. For the most part, this study omits from any systematic consideration such instances of topothesia as pastoral poetry, the "houses" in The Faerie Queene, Pope's Temple of Fame, or the Cave of Spleen in The Rape of the Loci. On the whole, that is, this study is restricted to seventeenth century English poems that describe places with actual, topographically and historically documentable identities -- such as Penshurst Estate, Cooper's Hill, Nun Appleton House, St. James's Parl, Windsor Castle, and Windsor Forest. Of course it would not be wise to push this perhaps ultimately artificial distinction too far. How should one classify the landscapes in, for instance, Eloisa to Abelard or The E2istle to Burlington? Despite the fact that Pope and his contemporaries could visit, as we still can, an "actual" Windsor Forest, there is another "Windsor Forest" -- the one rendered by Pope's imagination and embodied in the universe of his poem -- that does not have the same lind

vi








of tangible existence as, but is perhaps no less "real" than, the Forest we can visit and walX through. Poetry always creates its own "reality" as well as reflecting, and illuminating, ours. Nevertheless, there do seem to be some significant differences between a poem such as The Temple of Fame and a poem such as Windsor-Forest, and the distinction between toothesia and tooooraphia provides some historical basis for what I hope are reasonable, and perhaps meaningful, limits in this study.

Because poems such as To Penshurst and Windsor-Forest do describe actual, particular places, I use Dr. Johnson's term throughout most of this study and call them "Local" poems. In this study, the terms "Local Poetry" and "Local Poem" always refer to those seventeenth century poems in the specific tradition that begins with To Penshurst and culminates a century later in Windsor-Forest.

My introductory chapter discusses some of the sources and backgrounds of this Local Poetry, and by means of these provides definitions and theses. The remaining chapters consist primarily of analyses of the main varieties and major examples of Local Poetry: Chapter Two deals with the Estate Poems of Jonson, Carew, HerricK, and Marvell; Chapter Three deals with the major example of the Prospect Poem, Denham's Cooper's Hill; Chapters Four and Five deal with the poems about royal places of Waller, Otway, and Pope.


vii









It is a pleasure to acknowledge here a few of the

many debts, both personal and intellectual, I have incurred since undertaking this study. Among my teachers who have, formally and informally, influenced my work in significant ways are Professors Floyd S. Lear, Alan D. McKillop, Jackson I. Cope, F. C. Haber, and Robert A. Bryan. Among my friends who have listened patiently, and sometimes talked, are John Fischer, J. Paul Hunter, Bob Kalmey, Michael O'Loughlin, Royal Roussel, Don Summerhayes, and David Walker. Among my scholarly predecessors who have deepened my understanding of landscape poetry are R. A. Aubin, Maynard Mack, and Earl Wasserman.

It is a particular pleasure to acknowledge two

special debts. The members of my supervisory committee -Professors Robert A. Bryan, E. Ashby Hammond, and Thomas R. Preston -- acted kindly and swiftly in my behalf at a time of great urgency. And my undergraduate assistant -David Tucker Scott -- made a generous contribution to the

final preparation of this study.

Professor Aubrey L. Williams has been teacher and friend and scholarly predecessor. His direction of this study has been humanly severe, and his personal Kindness to me has been incalculable. His work has been my great example.

The dedication suggests my deepest obligation,

that to my wife, whose early and persistent care has given value to all my efforts; she is my spur, and my bridle too.

viii














Contents

Foreword iii One "O'er Figur'd Worlds" 1 Two "The Wondrous Architecture of the World" 53 Three "The Amplest Reach of Prospect" 110 Four The "Sacred Genius" of "this Royal Place" 138 Five The Monarchs' and the Muses' Seats 172 Works Cited 232
























ix












One: "O'er Figur'd Worlds"

These holy Mathematicks can
In ev'ry Figure equal Man.
Upon ApDleton House


I


"The one Roman poem that ran perhaps deepest in the blood stream of Pope's age was Virgil's Georgics. .. .,,2 In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, especially in that style of English literature which we are accustomed to call Augustan, the prestige of Virgil's poem was enor3
mous, One of the main effects of this vogue of the Georaics was its influence on a new species of landscape poetry.4 During the seventeenth century, there emerged in England a species of poems in which the main design was to describe some particular landscape -- some actual, historically identifiable landscape. Such a design had not been common before, especially not in whole poems, and was particularly unfamiliar to English poetry prior to the Stuart era. These seventeenth century English landscape poems are the subject of the present study. The tradition begins with Jonson's To Penshurst; it includes poems by Carew, HerricK, Marvell, Denham, Waller, and Otway; and it culminates in Pope's Windsor-Forest. Together these poems constitute a new sub-species of the more general and

1





2

inclusive descriptive-didactic mode, a mode derived essentially from the Georics.5

What these seventeenth century English landscape poets might have found in Virgil's poem is suggested by the period's best known essay on the Georgics, the essay of Joseph Addison that prefaced most early editions of Drydenis Virgil; Addison writes:


this kind of poetry addresses itself wholly to the imagination: it is altogether conversant among the fields and woods and has the
most delightful part of nature for its province.
It raises in our minds a pleasing variety of
scenes and landscapes, whilst it teaches us; and
makes the dryest of its precepts look like a
description. This way of writing is
everywhere much in use among the poets, and is particularly practised by Virgil, who loves to suggest a truth indirectly, and without giving
us a full and open view of it, to let us see
just so much as will naturally lead the imagination into all the parts that lie concealed. .


E. K. Rand has a similar view of the "method" of the Georgics; Rand comments several times upon Virgil's "customary 'reticence,' which does not tolerate explicitness when suggestion can tell the story; it is the principle of the enthymeme applied to description."6 The characteristic method of the Georqics, and of English poems of the same mode, is the oblique one of indirection or reticence.

The Georgics, and the poems of its mode, is

obliquely, yet continuously, multi-dimensional; almost any statement or image in the poem will be found, if looked at steadily, to suggest immensely. In Book II, for instance,





3

shortly after the soaring passage on the "Praises of Italy" (11. 136-176), Virgil appears to shift away from myth -- salve_, maqna carens fruqgum, Saturnia tellus./ magna virum -- back to an uncomplicated didactic realism: "Now shall I teach you to distinguish soils" (1. 226). He proceeds to describe how a farmer should lay out his fields (11. 273-287), and, in the midst of this instruction, in the midst of these fields, we encounter Mars! The farmer is told to lay out the rows of his field like battle lines, and the whole passage is shot through with military language and images drawn from warfare (this is especially clear in Dryden's version, 11. 368-394). But a little later (11. 420-425), in contrast to the figure of Mars, we are told of the easily cultivated olives, and what they figure:

Soft Peace they figure, and sweet Plenty bring:
Then Olives plant, and Hymns to Pallas sing.
(Dryden, 11. 586-594)

The olive figures peace and plenty, one learns, in the life of the nation as well as that of the husbandman. This passage from Mars to the olive, from a figure of war to a figure of peace, connects us with the real subject of the whole poem, for throughout the Georqics "Virgil's animating purpose is the need of his country for peace, well typified by the simplicity of.rural life. He would
,17
recall his country from war. .





4

The Georaics insists that the achievement of peace requires constant effort -- especially since there are so many kinds of war, in the life of man and in the life of nature, to be overcome or assimilated. For instance, the battle of the bulls in Book III (11. 209-244) suggests that love, to which all creatures submit, can become a destructive force, that lust, though not inherently wrong, can become an internal war. The violent storm in Book I (11. 322-334) images still another Kind of war; the whole natural world seems caught in the violence of a war of the elements. The conclusion of this same book (I, 11. 461514; 11. 624-end in Dryden, whose language I use here), a famous set piece, draws these several kinds of war together in a scene of uncontrollable violence stretching throughout the whole universe. The human world, upon the fall of Julius Caesar, fell into the disorder of civil war; and we find nature seconding man's chaos. Both the "great" and "little" worlds, in all their aspects, are like a chariot gone completely out of control as "Perfidious Mars" rides "o're the wasted World in Triumph."

It is not that Virgil tacks on a moral to his landscape descriptions or his farming instructions, or that he adorns a concept with sensuous coloring; it is rather that the percept is the precept! What Virgil achieves in the Geosraic is a constant mingling, an interfusion, of the descriptive and the didactic, of the rural and the national, of horticulture and panegyric. But because Virgil's





5

fundamental concern is "with the whole problem of man's relation to nature,"8 all the diverse elements of the poem -- all its "worlds" great and small -- are really only different species of horti-culture. What unites all of the poem',s issues and images, what makes its vision single, is its theme, a theme that is concerned with the relationship of man to his environment, with how man can bring actual harmony out of potential chaos, how he can achieve peace and plenty, in sum how he can achieve Order.
This theme of the Georaics is cultivation. The

poem focuses on that cultivation of the earth, that transformation of the landscape, that will make it habitable and productive. Thus all the verbs in the poem's introduction (I, 11. 1-5) describe activities that can be called cultivation, activities that relate to the farmer's, or the poet's, art. Thus in his Dedication of the GeorQics, Dryden compliments the Earl of Chesterfield for having "cultivated Nature," and in his own translation of the second Georqic (11. 44ff.), Dryden, especially by means of his figurative language (something for which he often commended Virgil), gives us a sense of the range of implication suggested by Virgil's art of cultivation:

Then let the Learned Gard'ner mark with care
The Kinds of Stocks, and what those Kinds will bear:
Explore the Nature of each sev'ral Tree; And known, improve with artful Industry:
And let no spot of idle Earth be found,
But cultivate the Genius of the Ground. ..





6

The "vigour of the Native Earth" maintains the strength and beauty of its plants and trees, and thus "makes a Manly Birth." But their nurture is up to man. Man's art, his cultivation and labor, is essential for the achievement of a productive order within nature: the "barren kinds" of trees,


receiving Graffs of other Kind,
Or thence transplanted, change their salvage Mind:
Their Wildness lose, and quitting Nature's part,
Obey the Rules and Discipline of Art.

"Much labour" is required by trees "to tame/ Their wild disorder"; once tamed and nurtured, they "bear their Fruits." Such a vision of husbandry, of art and nature, has rich implications for ethics and for poetry and even for politics. It is a vision of husbandry that recalls Polixines's speech on gardening and Odysseus' account of the secret of his complicated bed and its construction, a vision that suggests, finally, that the art of cultivation, at every level, is the art of civilization itself.

That this art of cultivation applies to every level of man's existence, to every aspect of his relationship to nature, is indicated by the general "upward" movement from one book of the Georgics to the next. As. Dryden says in his foreword to the fourth Geo9qic: "Virgil has taken care to raise the Subject of each Georgic: In the First he has only dead Matter on which to work, In the second he just steps on the World of Life, and describes that degree of it which is to be found in Vegetables. In the third he





7

advances to Animals. And in the last, singles out the Bee, which may be reckon'd the most sagacious of 'em, for his Subject." So the poem moves from the soil, the elements that compose the landscape; to the landscape itself; to animals, the figures who inhabit the landscape; to the bees, a culture -- and thence to myth.9 Even the concluding myth has to do with cultivation, for Orpheus himself was regarded as an archetypal cultivator and civilizer.10 For Virgil the life of significant soil was perhaps the human life par excellence. So among his heroes, along with Orpheus and Augustus, is the "Old Corycian Swain" (IV, 11. 125-148), who "cultivated with his daily Care" his "little Spot of Ground" and was "richly" rewarded. This "Swain" through his cultivation achieved repose, adequate plenty, and a harmonious existence; he "wisely deem'd the Wealth of Monarchs less." Such a "Country King," happily and rightfully, "his peaceful Realm enjoys."

As this last sentence suggests, Virgil's poem is

concerned with the ruler's art too. Lines early in Book I imply the poem's political concern. Augustus Caesar ("Patron of the World" in Dryden's phrase, 1. 33) is asked by the poet to "share/ Concern with me for uninstructed farmers" (Bovie's translation, p. 5), and we sense that Virgil means "uninstructed farmers" of every type:

thou, propitious Caesar, guide my Course,
And to my bold Endeavors add thy Force.
Pity the Poet's and the Ploughman's Cares,






8

Int'rest thy Greatness in our mean Affairs, And use thy self betimes to hear and grant our Pray'rs.
(Dryden, 11. 59-63)

The poem seeks to establish a correlation between the poet's, the ploughman's, and Augustus's "cares"; such a correlation will illuminate the cultivation, the art, that is the task of each, for each can learn from all the others.

The fourth Georgic, in one of its dimensions, is a fable of man's political life, as the introductory lines suggest: Maecenas, Virgil says, "I shall portray for you a marvelous scene;/ A perfect model state" (IV, 11. 3-5; Bovie's translation, p. 85). So a good example of Virgil's indirection or reticence is his description of bee culture in this fourth Book, where, as Addison's Essay says, the poet informs "the actions of so trivial a creature with metaphors drawn from the most important concerns of mankind." A passage in Sir Thomas Elyot's Boake of the Gouernour shows what Christian humanism typically made of such bees:

For who can denie, but that all thynge in
heuen and erthe is gouerned by one god, by one perpetuall ordre, by one providence? and
to descende downe to the erthe, in a litell beest,
whiche of all other is moste to be marvayled at,
I meane the Bee, is lefte to man by nature, as
it semeth, a perpetuall figure of a iuste gouernance or rule; who hath amonge them one principall
Bee for theyr gouernour. .


Mayr.n: Mack has recently urged that Pope's poetry is animated from first to last by such a vision of community, of the arts of cultivation issuing in a "Just






9

governance," as one finds in a book like Elyot's or a poem like Virgil's.12 Such visions of community are "a species of true propaganda."13 The "patriotism" of a Virgil or a Pope would appear to be grounded in idealism, in myth, to be an anocalytic patriotism. (Thus not only the Georgics, but also the Poljio and BooKc VI of the Aeneid and Isaiah have a deep influence on Win rdsor-Forest and many poems of its kind.) In many poems of the georgic mode, and in much of the thought of the seventeenth century, the "husbandman" was an archetype that could figure almost any honorific role -- even the King's, even in a sense God's. We might recall, for example, Dryden's image of cultivation and gardening as synonymous with statecraft and the art of governing in Threnodia Au-ustalis (11. 346-398), where Charles II appears as the "Royal Husbandman." Or we might recall a passage from one of Donne's pair of sermons to the King at Court on Genesis 1:26 ("Let us make man in our image"), where Donne claims "fruitfulness" is a condition of the spirit, and where he insists that any "field" or any "crop" will be adequate for man's needs if "God will be the husbandman."14

A line in the fourth Georgic perhaps best defines the characteristic method of Virgil's poem, and of most poems in the descriptive-didactic mode: "si narva licet comnonere macnis" (1. 176). The line, rendered by Dryden (1. 256) as "If little things with great we may compare,"





10

has a long enough progeny15 in Western literature to be regarded as a commonplace verbal formula. It was a formula rich with implication, especially in the seventeenth century. Recently, John S. Coolidge has provocatively studied this "great things and small" formula, shown its relevance to the "Virgilian Progression" of genres (from pastoral to georgic to epic), and found it assimilated by Milton into the Christian pattern of typological revelation, "the Pauline principle of contrasting fulfillment.1l6 Coolidge's findings seem to accord well with John Donne's version of the formula: "O0 Eternal and most gracious God, who hast made little things to signify great, and conveyed the infinite merits of thy Son in the water of baptism, and in the bread and wine of thy other sacrament, unto us. .17 We shall find, moreover, that "great" things and "small" are frequently compared in poems like To Penshurst and Cooner's Hill and Windsor-Forest: the "small things" in the foreground of these poems -- their "scenes and landscapes" -are continually offering analogues to, and suggesting "truths" about, the "great" issues of human experience; such poems address themselves "wholly to the imagination" and present to their readers a simultaneous, even if reticent, view of "the great and little worlds." The last phrase comes from A Discourse on Pastoral Poetry, in which Pope says that Spenser in The Shepheardes Calender compares "human Life to the several Seasons, and at once






11

exposes to his readers a view of the great and little worlds, in their various changes and aspects." Pope's statement is not applicable to pastoral alone; it also suggests a typical pattern of movement in seventeenth century landscape poems -- a movement which oscillates between views of "the great and little worlds," which often juxtaposes those "worlds," and which on occasion can "view" either "world" in the other. This kind of movement can occur because these are "figur'd worlds," because ultimately the eternal and gracious God -- a literal and a metaphorical God -- "made little things to signify great."

The distinctive achievement of the Georgics, as

Maynard Mack and Sir Kenneth Clark have reminded us, "lies in combining an almost absolute degree of realism in its account of farming, with an almost absolute degree of myth in its identification of the life of husbandmen with the innocence and felicity, hardihood and piety of the lost Golden Age before Astraea left the earth. .18 This combination of myth and reality, of art and nature, perhaps finds its richest expression in the "Panegyric of a Country Life," the celebrated O fortunatos nimium, that concludes the second Georic (II, 11. 458-542). Rand has well described the movement into and through this "Panegyric of a Country Life": "Now we have the real crops and soils of nature in a land that boasts no miracles; now some little miracle appears and seems quite at home.






12

We are gradually aware that we are in an idealized Italy, in an idealized spring, and even that the country is Saturnian. .19 One might remark as an anonymous observer did in regard to what "Pope's poetic Genius" had done with his grotto: "Thus, by a fine Taste and happy Management of Nature, you are presented with an undistinguishable Mixture of Realities and Imagery."20 What one has, in this "Panegyric of a Country Life" and throughout the Georgics, is "a poet's generous vision of a possible true community"21 -- a true community of men, and a true community of man and nature.



Itself the heir of a significant tradition and followed by a rich tradition set in its pattern, the Georaics did more than any other poem to establish the themes and methods and popularity of the descriptive-didactic mode in European literature. Yet Virgil's poem, despite its frequent exploitation of the natural -- and the cultivated -- scene does not describe "some aarcular landscape." The Mosella of Ausonius does describe a "particular" landscape, and therefore it illustrates more precisely than the generalized landscapes of the GeorQics the specific poetic Kind with which the present study is concerned. That is, the Georqics defines the general mode of descriptive-didactic poetry, and within that general mode there exists a sub-species of landscape poetry. Perhaps better than any other poem of antiquity, the Mosella





13

illustrates this sub-species; Ausonius's poem offers a model of major importance for the English landscape poems between Jonson and Pope that describe actual, particular places -- places like the Moselle River that have historically and topographically documentable identities, such as Nun Appleton House or Cooper's Hill or Windsor Forest.

The M1.osella is composed wholly of "a pleasing

variety of scenes and landscapes." The poem is an account of Ausonius's journey down the Moselle, of what the poet sees on the river, in the river, and along its banks. The "whole gracious prospect" makes the poet behold a picture of his own "native land, the smiling and well-tended country of Bordeaux -- the roofs of country-houses, perched high upon the overhanging riverbanks, the hill-sides green with vines, and the pleasant stream of Moselle gliding below with subdued murmuring."23 Here and throughout the poem (11. 23ff., 152ff., and 298ff.) the villas and cultivated hillsides are primarily images of good "husbandry," of peace, plenty, and the arts of civilization.

Besides these cultivated "treasures" on the river's banks, there are creaturely "treasures" in its "crystal depths." In the river (11. 75-151), Ausonius sees "many kinds" (tot species) of fish, and he describes quite fully "their glistening hosts and legions manifold." This catalogue device of Ausonius appeared in most subsequent landscape poems, and seems to function -- in many





14

instances -- as an image of plenitude or, like Homer's catalogue of troops in Book II of the Iliad, to create a sense of inclusiveness. Something, at any rate, in such catalogues prompted Pope to regard the device as "a Landscaoe or Piece of Painting" ("Observations on the Catalogue" in the first volume of his Iliad).

The river's "crystal depths" (this phrase, vitreo profundo, is one of the poem's most persistent and significant images) aid the poet's seeing:


Thou through thy smooth surface showest
all the treasures of thy crystal depths -- a
river keeping naught concealed / Soectaris
vitreo ner levia teraarofudo,/ secret nihil
amrnis haens 7 ... thy waters limpid-gliding reveal in azure light shapes scattered here and
there lasus a uarum/ prodit caerulea dispersas
luce fiquras /. under the enriched waves mimic necklaces counterfeit our fashions. .
(11. 55-74)


In such a "crystal mirror," as Marvell possibly imitating Ausonius will say, "all things" can "gaze themselves, and doubt/ If they be in it or without" (Upon Apoleton House, 11. 636-638).

As Ausonius's lines quietly suggest, what the journeying poet "sees" is complicated and enriched by reflections; indeed, the Nosella is a poem of and about "reflections." We can observe, for instance, in another passage (11. 189-199, a passage echoed by Marvell and Pope) the blending of light and shadow, of hill and river. The "azure river mirrors the shady hill" and appears "all o'ergrown with shoots of vines." The boatman's skiff






15

floats out in mid-stream, "where the pictured hill blends with the river" and "where the river joins the edges of

the shadows." Such a "watry LandsKip" seems to be a "looking glass" that can "reflect" more than one aspect of
24
a scene.

Immediately after this passage come other, more obviously suggestive, "reflections" (11. 200-239). The skiffs at mid-stream join in "mimic battle," a "pageant" like "those games which Tiber beholds on the Cumaean tide" when Venus, "glad at Augustus' victory of Actium," bids enactment of "such fierce combats as the navies of the Nile and Roman triremes waged," or like those "when Euboean barks repeat upon the waters of echoing Avernus

the hazards of the strife at Mylae in the Pompeian War":


a The boys themselves delight in their own
counterfeits, wondering at the. illusive forms
which the river gives back -inpsa suo gaudet
simulamine nautica pubes,/ fallaces fluvio
mirata redir figuras7 even so, at sight
of the reflections which mock them, the lads
afloat amuse themselves with shapes which waver
between false and true talis ad umbrarum
ludibria nautica ubes/ ambiui fruitur veri
falsiaue figuris .

Such "reflections," though they are cast up from a "natural theatre" (naturali theatre, 1. 156) and though they constitute a "gracious prospect," seem to have "depths" of meaning for the human scene. Moreover, the "pleasing" (dulces) quality of this "pageant" and its "reflections" is a relevant part of the meaning, for the scene becomes, partly through its dulces, an image of a





16

potentially harmonious existence. Such a "gracious prospect" can be "freely enjoyed" (11. 189ff.) because it is presently free of discord, free of "ramparts" and "slaughtered hordes" (11. Iff.).

The Moselle's fiaurae are dulces, yet ambiguis;

this scene's "reflections" reticently remind us of other less "pleasing" scenes -- scenes of "fierce combats," of discord and death. The .Mosella, like the Georgics and like Windsor-Forest,25 is a poem about War and Peace. In this connection, we should remember that Ausonius wrote the Mosella while on Theodosius's German campaign of 368-369, or right after his return.26 We might also recall the poem's first paragraph, and how it effects a passage from "Nava's cloudy stream" to a place where the air is clear, from a scene of slaughter "through pathless forest" to a "gracious prospect," from moenia to villarum and virides Baccho col.les and amoena fluenta -- a passage, that is, from war to peace.

Thus the Mosella's landscapes can be said to be figurative: its "worlds," its scenes from nature's "theatre," exist not only or even primarily "for their own sake,"27 but also to figure forth other worlds, to make statements -- usually quite oblique -- about different and larger worlds; Ausonius's "Images" and "Descriptions of Places" tend to "some Hint," or lead into "some Reflection, upon moral Life or political Institution" (Pope on Cooer's Hill). Concerning "reflections," a





17



contemporary of Ausonius wrote: "Since, from the Supreme God Mind arises, and from Mind, Soul, and since this in turn creates all subsequent things and fills them all with life, and since this single radiance illumines all and is reflected in each, as a single face might be reflected in many mirrors placed in a series the attentive observer will discover a connection of parts, from the Supreme God down to the last dreg of things, mutually linked together and without a break. And this is Homer's golden chain" (Macrobius, Comment, in Somnium Sciionis, I, 14, 15). A. O. Lovejoy regards this passage in Macrobius, particularly because of its figures of the chain and the series of mirrors, as one of the chief vehicles by which the central assumptions of Neoplatonism were transmitted to later ages. How much of this weight Ausonius's "reflections" can bear, how rooted this figurative quality of the Mosella is in any Kind of metaphysic of analogy, seems somewhat uncertain. E. K. Rand says that Ausonius is "of exceeding importance" to any treatment of "Christian humanism";29 and it seems at least possible that Ausonius, who was first a professor of rhetoric, then tutor to the imperial family, and then consul before leaving public life, and who was a contemporary of thinkers like Macrobius, Servius, Claudian, Prudentius, Ambrose, Jerome, Chrysostom, and Augustine (Augustine's conversion came only eight years after Ausonius's consulship in 379),





18

at least possible that such a man in such an age could be familiar with some of the kinds of philosophical and cosmological assumptions described in Part III of this chapter.30 But it seems quite certain that Ausonius's poem uses lace to talkc about the concerns of men; its "natural theatre" is also ultimately a human theater.



II


The definition that Samuel Johnson gives the seventeenth century English species of landscape poetry emphasizes .ace and suggests, despite a relatively limited critical terminology, that such poetry uses place in more than literal ways; in his "Life of Denham," Dr. Johnson speaks of the poet of Coooer's Hill as "the author of a species of composition that may be denominated local Doetry, of which the fundamental subject is some particular landscape to be poetically described, with the addition of such embellishments as may be supplied by historical retrospection or incidental meditation."31 Because of the emphasis on Dlace in this species of poetry, Dr. Johnson's name for it -- "Local Poetry" -- seems the most suggestive, and it is the name used throughout the rest of this study.
Pope's definition of the "Art" of Cooer's Hill, somewhat fuller and subtler than Johnson's, similarly refers to "Descriptions of Places." Speaing, in the notes





19

to his translation of the Iliad, of Homer's "indirect and oblique manner of introducing moral Sentences and Instructions even in Descriptions and poetical Parts, where one naturally expects only Painting and Amusement," Pope goes on: "I must do a noble English Poet the justice to observe, that it is this particular Art that is the very distinguishing Excellence of Cooper's Hill: throughout which, the Descriptions of Places, and Images rais'd by the Poet, are still tending to some Hint, or leading into some Reflection, upon moral Life or political Institution: Much in the same manner as the real Sight of such Scenes and Prospects is apt to give the Mind a compos'd Turn, and incline it to Thoughts and Contemplations that have a Relation to the Object."32 Pope's notion of scenes and prospects giving the mind "a compos'd Turn" should perhaps be compared with the general point of Henry V. S. Ogden and Margaret S. Ogden that the dominant effect of seventeenth century English landscape painting was to produce a "sense of well-being."33 More important, Pope's total definition of Denham's art directs us to an awareness that seventeenth century Local Poets used olace for more than mere description -- to an awareness, that is, that the achievement of such an art is likely to be a "fusion of the scenic, the moral, and the political,"34 Such a fusion, such an "interpenetration of meaning and image,35 is the distinguishing excellence of not only Cooner's Hill, but also of Windsor-Forest, and of all poems of their species.





20

The statements of Johnson and especially of Pope

on the "art" of Denham, and of Addison on that of Virgil, together with the examples of the Georqics and the Mosell, seem to support directly the main theses that the rest of this study will attempt to illustrate and confirm: English Local Poetry from Ben Jonson to Alexander Pope constitutes a tradition which can be best understood in terms of what I have chosen to call the "Scenic Analogy"; this Local

Poetry is descriptive, didactic, and figurative; the aim of this poetry is to locate man's blace in nature. Poems that belong to the "Scenic Analogy" tradition are descriptive in that they describe some particular landscape or image some specific place; they are didactic in that they comment upon or illuminate the human "situation"; and they are figurative in that they fulfill their didactic purpose in and through a primarily descriptive surface. These Local Poems seek to explore, analyze, and define man's complex relationships to the several "worlds" he inhabits; they seek to do so through the "figure" of a "particular" place that functions as an epitome of these several
"world S"

The terms "figure" and "figurative" are inclusive

enough to invoke the whole range of extra-literal meanings possible in poetry -- from the simplest figure of speech, such as pun or simile, to something as profound as Erich Auerbach's conception of the figura.36 Perhaps because of their inclusiveness, the terms were habitually used by





21

poets and critics throughout the period of Local Poetry.37 Thus Puttenham, in The Arte of Enqlish Poesie (I, iv), defines poetry as "figurative conveyance." Thus Pope, in the "Postscript" to the Oadssev, claims that the "great point of judgment is to distinguish when to speak simply, and when figuratively": "I believe that the low actions of life cannot be put into a figurative style without being ridiculous, but things natural can. Metaphors raise the latter into dignity, as we see in the Georgics. ."
In the figurative aspect of Local Poetry, at the

most basic level, we are dealing with something common to a great deal of poetry, perhaps to all poetry; the tendencies of modern poetics seem to affirm a tenet like that of W. K. Wimsatt and Monroe Beardsley that "analogy and metaphor are not only in a broad sense the principle of all poetry but are also inevitable in practical criticism."38 Yet at a more subtle level, we are dealing with something, with a habit of mind, that has not always been present in the mainstream of poetry since the death of Pope -- a habit of mind, one might hazard, that is common to classical poetry, and which encouraged the "belief that the smallest particular is significant of ideas as large as the mind can inclose," and which saw "the universe thus."39 But at a still more subtle level, we are dealing with something more specifically relevant to the Scenic Analogy, with a vision of things which insisted that to describe nature was to comment on man.






22

Besides the inclusive value of the term "figure," and besides its value as a common term in seventeenth century critical vocabularies, it also has the value of suggesting the human figure. This last value is particularly important, because we are dealing with poems that consistently focus on a natural landscape dotted with human figures, poems that figure forth man-in-nature. This kind of "figuring" was not uncommon in Renaissance plastic art. Witness the comment of Otto Benesch on a panel by Altdorfer: "The figure seems to grow out of the earth like trees and plants. This is no metaphor.. ." Benesch relates this quality in painters like Altdorfer to a specific view of nature, such as the one he finds in Paracelsus: "Nature was to Paracelsus a spiritual total 40
which is reflected in every one of its parts. ." In such a view, the sum of nature could be figured in one of its parts, in man especially. Because of the long-standing vigor of such views of nature, Ernst Curtius can remark, "as in Homer, so in all the poetry of Antiquity nature is always inhabited nature. It makes no difference whether the inhabitants are gods or men,"41 and Marjorie Nicolson can say, "Man was so involved in Nature that no separation was possible -- nor would an Elizabethan have understood such separation."42 Nor, we can add, would an Augustan have understood such a separation between man and nature. At least not an Augustan like Alexander Pope, according to Geoffrey Tillotson: "everything for Pope is centralized in





23

man, in men, in human character and the visible instruments upon which human character orchestrates its fine or broken music."43 The poets who flourished in England between the reigns of Elizabeth and Anne were not often in the habit of thinking of any place apart from the human activity that occurred there.



Yet it is man's Place in nature that Local Poetry

seeks to discover and illuminate. Each Local Poem achieves, in one manner or another, a "composition of place." One can hardly think, of course, of a more basic category of human experience. Ernst Cassirer regards localizing as an inevitable and indispensable process of the human mind; he finds the same process at work in science, in language, and in myth -- the process of translating sensations and feelings into spatial images.44 One is tempted to say that all men -- not just lovers, lunatics, and poets -seek to give "a local habitation and a name" to their experience. We do know that in certain world views, "every reality occupies" its "definitely prescribed place."45 And there was, at least until the triumph of the Scientific Revolution was complete, a long habit in Western thought of viewing place as having a special potency or significance, and as being more than simply physical. A place could have a significance all its own. Or a place could acquire significance from its human, or divine, inhabitants.





24

Cassirer himself has amply documented the primacy of place in mythical thinking, in which spiritual forces are intimately bound up with some specific "material substratum"; "all mere properties or attributes" must ultimately "become bodies."46 The mythical form of thought leads to a "materialization" of spiritual qualities and relationships; but the process bends back upon itself, as it were, and there is a simultaneous drive by the mythical imagination toward a complete "spiritualization" of the cosmos (p. 55). Cassirer proceeds to argue that, "For mythical thinking the relation between what a thing 'is' and the place in which it is situated is never purely external and accidental; the place is itself a part of the thing's being, and the place confers very specific inner ties upon the thing" (pp. 91-92). So in mythical thinking, there is no separation of objects and qualities, of position and content; there is no distinction between something's being and its value, between physical and spiritual place.

Vestiges of a similar view of place -- that it can contain spirit as well as matter, that it has "valuedimensions as well as physical ones"47 -- were still available in the intellectual millieu of seventeenth century England, that milieu which nourished Local Poetry. For instance, Isabel MacCaffrey, invoking Cassirer's investigations of myth, has indicated the relevance for Paradise Lost of "the venerable habit of mind that equates






25

physical and moral place," and thus shown how Milton conceived his epic's structure "architecturally, in terms of mass and weight." In this "spatial" structure, "lace indicates at once spiritual and geographical estate": the "place inhabited by a creature gives the Key to its moral status, because moral values inhere in places; the

word itself comes to take on the suggestion of proper place,. .48 So Satan, having fallen, can say in Hell: "th'event was dire,/ As this place testifies."49

Local Poets and many of their contemporaries seemed to have believed that any place might provide a "center"
50
where "many lines" of force or meaning could meet. So John Donne, in his Devotions (Meditation II, italics mine), can say, "earth is the centre of my body, heaven is the centre of my soul; these two are the natural places of these two; but these go not to these two in an equal pace: my body falls down without pushing; my soul does not go up without pulling; ascension is my soul's pace and measure, but precipitation my body's. And even angels, whose home is heaven, and who are winged too, yet had a ladder to go to heaven by steps. ." And in one of his sermons, Donne can say: "He that stands in a lace and does not the duty of that place, is but a statue in that place. In nature the body frames and forms the place; for the place of the natural body is that proxima aeris superficies, that inward superficies of the air, that invests and clothes, and apparals that body, and





26

obeys, and follows, and succeeds to the dimensions thereof. In nature the body makes the place, but in grace the place males the body Citalics mine_7: The person must actuate it self according to the dimensions of the place, by filling it in the execution of the duties of it.'51 The relationships here -- of place, being, and value -- seem reciprocal. Such a view of place seems clearly figurative.

Pope seems to be working with a somewhat similar

view of place when he writes, of the soul of an "unfortunate lady,"

As into air the purer spirits flow,
And sep'rate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the soul to its congenial place
Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.62

Pope thus wrings from an old and traditional and perhaps outworn physical theory a precise moral effect. So does he again in a poem on "the Characters of Women": not all "spirits" are "pure"; some are "dross" and do not fly up:


Still round and round the Ghosts of Beauty glide,
And haunt the places where their Honour died.
(Epistle to a Lady, 11. 241-242) In this second passage, Pope appears to be exploiting -obliquely and playfully, yet poignantly too -- the venerable habit of invoking a genius loci, of associating with a physical place its own presiding "Locall power."

The Romans in particular attached such a "genius" or protecting deity to every locality, but the habit was widespread and very old, "for anciently both Jewes, Gentiles, &





27
Christians have supposed to every Countrey a singular Genius."53 The habit had not yet disappeared in the seventeenth century. So Michael Drayton, at the beginning of his "chorographicall" Poly-olbion, invokes

England's "Locall power":

Thou Genius of the place (this most
renowned Ile)
Direct my course so right, as with thy hand to
showe
Which way thy Forrests range, which way thy
Rivers flowe;
Wise Genius, by thy helpe that so I may discry
How thy faire Mountaines stand, and how thy 54 Valleys lie. .
(Song I, 11. 8-16)

Indeed, Sir Thomas Browne said he was so far from denying the existence of such spirits that he "could easily beleeve, that not onely whole Countries, but particular. persons, have their Tutelary, and Guardian Angels" (Religio Medici, I, 33). And close to the end of the century, John Dryden, near the opening of his Discourse concerninQ the Original and Progress of Satire, can still vigorously declare his belief in genii loci; he first urges their poetic value for "Christian Poets," and then asserts his faith in the reality of such tutelary spirits:

'Tis a Doctrine almost Universally receiv'd
by Christians, as well Protestants as Catholicks,
that there are Guardian Angels appointed by God
Almighty, as his Vicegerents, for the Protection
and Government of Cities, Provinces, Kingdoms,
and Monarchies; and those as well of Heathens, as of true Believers. All this is so plainly prov'd
from Texts of Daniel, that it admits of no farther
Controversie. These Tutelar Genii, who






28

presided over the several People and Regions
committed to their Charge, were watchful over
them for good. The General Purpose .
was certainly the Service of their Great
Creatour. .

It is out of the consciousness of a long and rich tradition, therefore, that Pope so emphatically urges us to "Consult the Genius of the Place in all. .. ." Maynard Mack aptly suggests that "genius of the place" is Pope's phrase for "the in-dwelling powers of nature," and notes "the extraordinary animism of nature" in Pope's poems, nature's continuing importance for Pope "as a book of truths to be read, as a mirror reflecting human character and institutions." The "genius of the place" motif does usually imply an animistic understanding of nature, a belief that nature is charged with life. The motif further implies that what once is done at a place never quite perishes, never completely departs from it. The motif can even imply that nature is filled with the authentic divine presence, that the world is charged with the grandeur of God. One might recall, for instance, Jacob's awakening at Bethel from his "vision of a ladder" (Genesis 28). One might even recall that in Palestinian Judaism of the first century "the term 'place' (Aakom)" was used "as a name for God."57

One of St. Francois de Sales's instructions for the devotional life indicates that in the period of Local Poetry "place" was regarded as anything but literal, or neutral:






29

As birds have their nests upon trees, to
retire themselves unto, when they stand in need;
and deers have bushes and thickets to hide and
shroude themselves, and to take coolenes and
shadowe in the summer heat: even so, my Philotheus, should our harts choose out everie day some olce. either uonth a e mount of Calvery,
or in the wounds of our redeemer, there to
maKe our spirituall retreat at every occasion; 5
there to recreate and refreshe our selves .


As John Donne, a few years later, will say, "Quasi locus QuidaM.n mig gM caoig Domginu%: though God be in no place, God is the place, in whom all good men are." Unquestionably, in the seventeenth century, the concept of place, or any specific place, could be made to figure meanings as large as the mind can enclose.



III


Local Poetry could be figurative because it was based on a figurative view of reality.60 Local Poets shared, to a greater or lesser extent, a view of reality which insisted that to describe nature was to comment on man and his condition: "The landscape was a parable which
,,61
demanded interpretation. .. The central cosmological assumption underlying Local Poetry was an intricate network of analogical correspondences. This "system of correspondences," as Earl Wasserman summarizes, "was accepted as 'scientific,' not fictitious, for it was assumed that God, expressing Himself in all creation, made the physical, moral, and spiritual levels analogous





30


to each other and to Himself. Therefore, object and subject, thing and value, matter and spirit, were related proportionately; for the divine architect made the universe like man, and man like angel, and all in the

image of Himself."62

As Wasserman says, there was a long tradition,

culminating in the age of Pope, that "the master key to the total scheme of creation is similitude." Wasserman's evidence clearly establishes that the idea of universal analogy forcefully persisted through the seventeenth and into the eighteenth century. As he concludes: the Augustans, like the Elizabethans, "grasped truth" by means of analogy.63 In addition to Wasserman, one could cite Lovejoy's argument that the eighteenth century was the age of the Chain of Being, an idea almost inseparable from -- though not identical with -- universal analogy. Or one could cite Maynard Mack's argument that Pope's Essay on Man establishes "contact with the collective religious and moral past," that the Renaissance is in many ways the context for Pope's poem, that Shakespeare and Milton and Pope all inhabit the same conceptual world.64 Or one could also cite Paul R. Baumgartner's argument that "the Analogy of Being" is the decisive force behind Jonathan Edwards's use of figurative language; thus even an American Puritan, younger than Pope, could still subscribe to the essentially uchasristic idea of universal analogy.65 Thus with regard to the idea of universal





31


analogy, as in so many things, Pope and some of his contemporaries more nearly represent the end of something old than the beginning of something new.

These analogical correspondences were felt to

exist at all levels of the chain of being; Donne writes, "This is nature's nest of boxes: the heavens contain the earth; the earth, cities; cities, men. And all these are concentric" (Devotions, Meditation X), Yet perhaps the most exploited correspondence was that between the macrocosm and the microcosm, for behind all these correspondences and analogies lay "one central conception: belief in the interrelationship of the little world of man and the great world of the universe.",66 "I am a little world made cunningly," says Donne, who returns again and again "to that meditation that man is a world" (Holy Sonnets and Devotions, Meditation VIII). Giles Fletcher renders the macrocosm-microcosm analogy as explicitly as one could ask:

For what had this All, which Man in one
Did not unite; the earth, aire, water, fire,
Life, sense, and spirit, nay, the powrefull throne
Of the divinest Essence, did retire,
And his owne Image into Clay inspire:
So that this Creature well might called be Of the great world, the small epitome, 67
Of the dead world, the live and quick anatomie.

An important corollary of the macrocosm-microcosm analogy was the idea that man's "middle nature" occupies the pivotal link in the chain of being, that man is a





32


horizon between the corporeal and the incorporeal, that he weds the corruptible and the incorruptible.68 Thus Sir Thomas Browne exclaims that man is "that great and true Amphibium," that "amphibious piece betweene a corporall and spirituall essence, that middle frame that linkes those two together, and makes good the method of God and nature, that jumps not from extreames, but unites the incompatible distances by some middle and participating natures" (Reliqio Medici, I, 34). Thus Donne proclaims that he is "a little world made cunningly/ Of Elements and an Anaelike scright." In man, "Plac'd on this isthmus of a middle state," all "Worlds do mingle and embrace."69
These analogies involved something far deeper than the making of similes or fanciful metaphors. Such analogies involved the very structure of the universe, and of its epitome man. As Sir Thomas Browne says, "Nature tels me I am the Image of God as well as Scripture; he that understands not thus much is yet to begin the Alphabet of man" (Reliqio Medici, II, 11). Thus Dr. George Cheyne, a fellow of the Royal Society as well as a Platonist, says these similitudes are "not Metaphorical only, but Real and Physical," because "Analogy is the only natural Language the Deity can speak to us at present."70 And according to Bishop Peter Browne, the divine analogy, unlike metaphor, is "an Actual Similitude and a Real Correspondency in the very Nature of Things."71 These were nature's metaphors, not the poets'. Indeed these





33

"metaphors," these similitudes, were felt to have a causal relationship to their analogues, as Romans 5:14 implies: "death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over them that had not sinned after the similitude of Adam's transgression, who is the figure of him that was to come."

Actually, one should say God's metaphors. As John Donne put it, "My God, my God, thou art a direct God, may I not say a literal God but thou art also a figurative, a metaphorical God too" (Devotions, Expostulation XIX). For Donne, and for many of his contemporaries, "almost everything in the world made by God is a word of God."72 Since God revealed Himself in His Work (the Book of Creation) as well as in His Word (the Book of Scriptures), the whole of nature is figurative, is "a kind of sacred Nature" comprehending "things as well Divine as Humane."73 Thus Henry Vaughan's "gazing soul" can spy

in the "weaker glories" of some cloud or flower "shadows of eternity," and so he instructs us to

Walk with thy fellow-creatures: note the hush
And ~812sL_ amongst them. There's not a Soring,
Or Leafe but hath his Morning-hymn; Each Bush
And Oak doth Know I AM. 14

The "shadows of eternity" are, of course, incarnate in the "weaker glories," not simply added to or imposed upon them; as Vaughan's lines quietly suggest, and Local Poetry splendidly affirms, earthly phenomena and their transcendent





34

significances were, analogically, consubstantial. The universal analogy of being involved, for one thing, a belief that the visible, the material, the natural could figure, could "contain" the invisible, the spiritual, the supernatural; yet this belief, this figuring never sacrificed any of the concrete reality, any of the integrity or immediacy, of the substance of things seen.

A passage in Paradise Lost (Book V, 11. 451ff., a passage that comes soon after Milton's "Morning Hymn") brings together many aspects of the vision of world order that we have been considering. Raphael, who will shortly delineate "what surmounts the reach/ Of human sense" by "lik'ning spiritual to corporal forms" in order to narrate the war in heaven, explicates the hierarchical and analogical structure of the vast creation. He explains to Adam that "All things proceed" from the one Almighty God and "up to him return,/ If not deprav'd from good." The "one first matter" is impressed with "various forms, various degrees/ Of substance, and in things that live, of life." Because all things derive their substance from God, their being from Being, each thing has its own "perfection." Yet Raphael goes on to explain that God is not present to all things equally, but in exact proportion to their degree of being; thus things are

more refin'd, more spiritous, and pure,
As nearer to him plac't or nearer tending
Each in thir several active Spheres assign'd,
Till body up to spirit work, in bounds
Proportion'd to each kind. .





35


Then Raphael provides a striking image for the whole scale of nature; he likens it to a tree or growing plant:

So from the root
Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves
More aery, last the bright consummate flow'r
Spirits odorous breathes: flow'rs and thir fruit
Man's nourishment, by gradual scale sublim'd
To vital spirits aspire, to animal,
To intellectual, give both life and sense,
Fancy and understanding whence the Soul
Reason receives, and reason is her being., .

To Merritt Hughes, this tree image is "a kind of microcosm" of Milton's whole epic, and an "emblem of man's potential divinity in obedience to God."75 Adam himself understands that Raphael has "taught the way that might direct/ Our

knowledge," and

the Scale of Nature set
From centre to circumference, whereon
In contemplation of created things
By steps we may ascend to God. ...

The stages through which God had "lived down" into His creation could become the "steps" by which man might reascend to Him.76 According to one of Milton's contemporaries, such a "contemplation" of created things, and of their Creator, is "the constant course of a pious soul travelling to and fro between heaven and earth, a motion like that of the angels ascending and descending upon the

ladder which Jacob saw in his dream."77 A universe that can be adequately imaged by Jacob's ladder, or a growing

plant, is likely to be one, though various; in motion and





36


alive, not static; and shot through with divinity, yet not pantheistic -- such a universe is likely to be pervaded by analogies.

In selecting a plant or tree to illustrate the

complete Chain of Being, Milton used a well-known image; in Mercator's Historia Mundi, for instance, one could have read the following version:


S In summe, if any man will search more
diligently the order of things, and consider the
communion and difference of Species, he will
perceive that the Creation of things (beginning
from the more base and ignoble Species) so
almost ascended upward, as a tree hath at first
but onely a trunce, wherein all things which
are from the roote to the very top, are but one
and the same thing by the Communion of
Species but when they beginne to have any difference among themselves, the first division of the truncke is made into branches -and then_7 the second division, and so consequently
untill we come to the last branches and
fruits. .78

Mercator's and Milton's images seem to illustrate the idea of universal analogy especially well, for a tree -- in the words of popular theologian William Ames -- shows how "all natural things tend to God."79

In some of its dimensions, such an image of the

"order of things," such a figurative conception of the life of nature and of man, was shared, at least to some degree, by Virgil and Ovid and Dante, by Spenser and Jonson and Pope; Milton's tree thus acquires further resonance because of its kinship with a long tradition of "humanized trees." 80 Such a tree appears in Marvell's Upon ADoleton House (11. 561ff.); the poet declares:





37


Thus I, Easie Philosooher,
Among the Birds and Trees confer: And little now to make me, wants
Or of the Fowles, or of the Plants.
Give me but Wings as they, and I
Streight floting on the Air shall fly:
Or turn me but, and you shall see
I was but an inverted Tree.

Marvell's "inverted tree" has been carefully glossed by A. B. Chambers, who finds its main origin in Plato's heavenly plant.81 Of the numerous analogues Chambers supplies for Marvell's tree, one from a seventeenth century compendium of alchemy may suggest the curious vigor of this traditional image: "Man hath within him the virtue and efficiency of all things, whence he is called a small world, and is compared to the large world. Hence man may be compared to an inverted tree: for he has his roots, or his hair, in the air, while other trees have their hairs, or their roots, in the earth."82 Such comparisons, trees like Milton's or Mercator's or Marvell's, show how a belief in universal analogy can function; they reveal a belief that the life of nature could be discerned in man, or the life of man read in a tree.83



Chambers says that almost every source he examined in his Marvell research connected these metaphoric and metamorphic trees to a passage in the first chapter of Genesis that is probably the primary source for the idea of divine analogy, "Let us make man in our image, after






38


our likeness. So God created man in his own image, 84
in the image of God." So we are dealing with something very old, with an idea that stretches from Genesis at least to Pope. We have seen that the idea is extremely potent in the seventeenth century, and we should recall -as has one of the idea's students -- that "the seventeenth

century is like a great prism in our culture through which medieval intellectual traditions received their final diffraction."85 It was in the Middle Ages that the idea of divine, or universal, analogy flourished most profoundly. For example, Etienne Gilson has written of St. Bonaventure's sacramental universe which is "sustained, controlled, and animated by the divine analogy."86

The universe of St. Thomas Aquinas is analogical too, as Gilson has shown: "All creatures come from one cause and move toward one end. We can expect, therefore, that the same principle will regulate both moral action and physical laws. It is the same deep cause which makes the stone fall, the flame rise, the heavens turn and men to will. Each of these beings is seeking by its operation to achieve its own perfection and, at the same time, to realize its end which is to represent God: 'Everything tending to its own perfection, tends to a divine likeness.'" However, "each being is clearly defined by its own essence and it will have its own way of realizing the end common to all."87 This last statement is particularly important, for in a Christian universe -- especially as codified by





39


St. Thomas -- there is a community of being, and a hierarchv of beings. So Mercator, in lilcening the creation to a tree, urged his reader to "consider the communion and difference of Species." So in the Thomistic system, according to Gilson, the "metaphysical explanation of a physical phenomenon must always be concerned with putting an essence in its place in a hierarchy." There is in a Christian universe, furthermore, an infinite Being, God, Who is the only cause and ground of all finite beings, His creatures. All these finite creatures participate in Being, each proportionately, but they are not commensurate with it. "If this is true," says Gilson, "it is analogy alone which enables our intelligence to arrive at a transcendent God from sensible things. It is analogy, too, which alone permits us to say that the universe has its existence from a transcendental principle and yet is neither confused with it nor added to it. ."88 So at the beginning of the Paradiso (I, 1-3), Dante says,


The glory of Him who moves all
penetrates the universe, and is reflected
in one place more, in another less.

In sum, for St. Thomas, "The best thing in creation is the perfection of the universe, which consists in the orderly variety of things."89

For St. Augustine, order is that disposition

whereby things similar yet different are assigned to their proper places.90 "By a strange paradox, the philosopher





40


,St. Augustine_7 who most completely identified God with the transcendent immutability of Essence was the Christian most aware of the immanence of divine efficacy in nature, in the universal history of humanity, in the individual conscience .,91 In St. Augustine too, then, "the fundamental tie linRing the world to God is a relationship of similarity."92 The similarity between God and the individual conscience is particularly significant in St. Augustine, whose whole philosophy has been called a "metaphysic of conversion." God is triune, and throughout nature there are analogous "trinities," the "traces" of His triune nature. But to see profounder analogies, one must look beyond these "traces," turn from external nature and the outer man to the inner man, in order to seek the "image" of God deep within the soul.93 So in his great and original treatise on The Trinity, St. Augustine says: "in my search of that highest Trinity which we seek when we seeK God, I first sought traces of it in the creature,. and proceeded, as it were, step by step through certain trinities of its own kind until I arrived at the mind of man."94 Following the precedent of St. Augustine, the Middle Ages never tired of dwelling on that most profound of all analogies, the proportionality between the Divine Trinity and the structure of the human soul, for the soul -- man's mental and spiritual faculties -- was regarded as "the most perfect created image of the most Blessed Trinity."95





41

Gilson therefore concludes that analogy is indispensable to the spirit of medieval philosophy:

S. For a Bonaventure, for instance, there is no joy liKe the joy of the contemplation of God as mirrored in the analogical structure of
beings; and even the more sober mind of St.
Thomas expresses, nevertheless, the same philosophy of nature when he reduces the efficacy of
second causes to nothing but an analogical
participation in the divine efficiency. Physical causality is to the act of creation what
beings are to Being, and time to eternity.
Thus, under whatever aspect we consider it,
there exists in reality but one mediaeval
vision of the world, whether it expresses itself now in works of art or now in defined
philosophical concepts: that, namely, which St.
Augustine drew with a master-hand in his De
Tinitate, and which is directly referable to
the words of the Book of Wisdom (xi. 21):
omnia in mensura, et numero, et pondere
disaosuisti.96

Andrew Marvell, in his poem On Paradise Lost,

seems to be in touch with the same vision of the world.

Marvell commends Milton's "vast Design" in words that

directly recall the Book of Wisdom:

Thy verse created like thy Theme sublime, In Number, Weight, and Measure, needs not Rhime.
(11. 53-54TIn Marvell's view, apparently, Milton's mode of building

is analogous to the "ways" of the Master Architect, the

Author of us all: the epic poem, like the created universe,

is built in terms of number, measure, and weight.

Marvell's lines are an example of the analogy between the
poem and the cosmos, and between the artist and God --






42


that fundamental motive, as Ernst Cassirer put it, of
97
the Renaissance. Marvell himself "read in Nature's mystic book," and believed that its "holy mathematics"

could "In every figure equal man" (UJon Apoleton House, 11. 584 and 47-48). Similarly, "every figure," every scene and prospect, of a poem in the Scenic Analogy tradition is likely to contain some "hint" about man's moral or political life, to maKe some comment, even if

oblique or submerged, on the human condition. These "figur'd worlds" are possible partly because the authors of seventeenth century Local Poems believed that everything in the creation bears some essential relationship -some resemblance -- to its Creator, some analogy to God's Being and to the order He ordains.

Thus seventeenth century Local Poetry had its foundations in a system of interlocking analogies, a system of analogies that established essential connections between the structure of a man's soul, the constitution of his body, the organization of his social environment, the composition of the earth on which he lived, the pattern of history, and the order of the cosmos: all these elements of and settings for human life were parts of the world's architecture, all were objects of human perception, all were concerns of the human arts of poetry and government. In the following chapters, I will attempt to show that there is a tradition in seventeenth century English Local Poetry which can be best conceived as the Scenic





43


Analogy, that in this poetry place is the key image and analoov the key concept, that landscape functions as natural emblem for human experience, that each of man's several situations "figures" a multitude of "worlds."















NOTES


1. This phrase occurs in Pope's Windsor-Forest, 1. 246.

2. Maynard Mack, "'The Shadowy Cave': Some Speculations
on a Twickenham Grotto," in Restoration and Eighteenth-Centur literature: Essays in Honor of ALan
Duald McKillon, ed. Carroll Camden TChicago, 1963),
p. 88.

3. See Marie Loretto Lilly, The Georgic: AContributio
to the Stud of the Verqilian Tyoge of Didactic Poetry
TBaltimore, 1919) and Dwight L. Durling, ggyoic Tradition in Enalish Poetry, Columbia University
Studies in English and Comparative Literature,
no. 121 (New York, 1935).

4. Cf. Smith Palmer Bovie's introduction to his Virrcijjs
"Georgics": A Modern Enqlish Verse Translation
TChicago, 1 p. xxv. Sir Kenneth Clark states
that the Geqsics provided "the inspiration of
landscape" for Renaissance painters, Landscgpe into
Art (Boston, 1961), pp. 54-55 and ff.

5. The fundamental influence of the G21eics on WigdsorForest, and on GCoopr's Hill, has been established by
Reuben A. Brower, Alexander Pope: The Poetry2of
Allusion (Oxford, 1959; Aubrey Williams, "Introduction" to Windsor-Forest, pp. 131-144 in Pastoral Poetry and An Essay on Criticism, ed. Emile Audra and Aubrey Williams ILondon and New Haven, 1961), vol. I of The Twickenham Edition of the Poems of
Alexander Pope; and Brendan 0 Hehir, "Vergil's First
Georic and Denham's Cooper's Hill," Q, XLII
(October, 1963), 542-5T-47.

6. The Ma2ical Art of Virail (Cambridge, Mass., 1931),
p. 276; see also pp. 229, 256, 303, and 305.
7. Rand, p. 220 and passim.

8. Bovie's introduction, p. xvi.

9. Cf. Smith Palmer Bovie, "The Imagery of Ascent-Descent
in Vergil's Georgcs," American Journal of Philology
LXXVII (1956, 353.

44






45


10. See W. K. C. Guthrie, Oroheus and Greek Relig
(London, 1935), pp. 40-41; cf. Bovie's article on
Virgil's imagery of ascent-descent, 355-358.

11. Dryden's version, IV, 11. 186-219; the phrases in the
last sentence are from Dryden's version of an earlier
passage, II, 11. 639ff. Pope himself celebrated the
Corycian gardener as a "heroic" figure only six
months after publication of Windsor-Forest, in
Guardian 173, 29 September 1713; the text can be
found in The Prose Works of Alexander Pone, ed.
Norman Ault, vol. I (Oxford, 1936), pp. 146-147.

12. "Speculations on a Twickenham Grotto," p. 83 and
Dassim.

13. Bovie, in the article on Virgil's imagery of ascentdescent, 340-341.

14. The Sermons of John Donne, ed. Evylyn M. Simpson and
G. R. Potter BerKeley and Los Angeles, 1956), vol. IX,
no. 1, pp. 62-63; cf. pp. 51-52.

15. Some of the analogues include: Herodotus, II, 10;
Thucydides, IV, 36; Cicero, de Re Publica, III, 23,
34; Ovid, Metamorphoses, V, 416-417; Statius, Silvae, V, 61-62; Castiglione, The Courtier, IV, xix; Jonson,
A_.p E iaram to the queene~ the~n n, 1630;
Sandys, %Metamorhoses, V, 417; Cowley, Ode Of Wit; Milton, Paradise Lost, II, 921-922 and VI, 310-311 and Paradise ReGained, IV, 563-564; Dryden's Metamorphoses, I, 727; and Windsor-Forest, 105. Many
of these analogues are given by John Coolidge in
the essay cited in my next note.

16. "Great Things and Small: The Virgilian Progression,"
Comparative Literature, XVII (Winter, 1965), 1-23.

17. Devotions UjgEmercent .Occasons (Ann Arbor, 1959),
Prayer XXI; cf. George Herbert's Providence: "Thou
fGod 7 are in small things great, not small in any"
1i. 41).

18. I am quoting Mack, "Speculations on a Twickenham
Grotto," p. 88; cf. Clark, Landscaei to.Art, p. 54.

19. The Magical Art ofVirgil, pp. 265-267.

20. "To Mr. P- T-, in Newcastle," The gwcast1e General
Ma9azie,_or Monthiv IntelliSencer, I T January,
1748), 26 (cited by Mack, "Speculations on a Twickenham Grotto," pp. 73 and 76).
21. MacK, speaking of Pope, "Speculations on a Twickenham
Grotto," p. 83.





46


22. For a contrary view, see Durling, Georgic Tradition
in Enalish Poetry, p. 194.

23. Lines 1-22; throughout I use the translation of the
Loeb editor, H. G. Evelyn White, pp. 224-263 in
vol. I of Ausonius (London, 1951), 2 vols.

24. This sentence appropriates language from Marvell's
and Pope's imitations of Ausonius's lines (Uoon
A~cleton House, 11. 457ff. and Windsor-Forest,
11. 2f1.7-.

25. See the discussions of Windsor-Forest by Aubrey
l:lians, ooo cit.; by Earl Wasserman, The Subtler Larc-uao (Baltimore, 1959); and in my last chapter.

26. See "White's discussion of the Mosella's occasion and
political context, pp. xvii, xvi, and x. From line 381 on, Ausonius makes the political dimensions of
the Mosella increasingly explicit.

27. See the essay of Adam Parry, "Landscape in Greek
Poetry," Yale Classical Studies, vol. XV (New
Haven, 195'77, pp. 3-29.

28. The Great Chain of Being (Cambridge, Mass., 1936),
p. 63; I quote the translation given by Lovejoy.

29. Founders of the Middle Aaes (Cambridge, Mass.,
1928), pp. 215-216.

30. For a discussion of some of the intellectual currents
of Ausonius's age, see T. R. Glover, Life and Letters
in the Fourth Century (New York, 1924).- .

31. Lives of the Poets, ed. G. B. Hill (Oxford, 1905), I,
p. 77. Johnson appears to have overlooked To Penshurst
and the other Estate Poems earlier than Coooer's Hill.

32. Iliad, Book XVI, 466n. Cf. Williams, "Introduction"
to Windsor-Forest, pp. 134-135.

33. English Taste in Landscape in the Seventeenth Century
(Ann Arbor, 1955).

34. Aubrey Williams, "Introduction" to Windsor-Forest,
p. 133. Williams specifies what he means by fusion:
"It is not simply that Windsor-Forest 7 offers
one a scene from nature and then injects into it a moral or ethical prescription; the two elements are rather fused in the one act of perception, for the
poet in this instance is discovering meanings
inherent in nature, not adding one thing to another."






47


35. The phrase is that of Rosemund Tuve Elizabethan and
Metaphysical Imagery (Chicago, 19471, p. 59.

36. Auerbach's fullest treatment is the essay "Figura"
in Scenes from the Drama of European Literature
(New York, 1959).

37. Cf. George Williamson, The Pr.per Wit_QfPeotry
(Chicago, 1961).

38. The Verbal Icon (New York, 1962), p. 49.

39. Tuve, p. 409.

40. The Art of the Renaissagae in ggrther_faLop (Cambridge, Mass., 1945), pp. 46-51.

41. Euro ean Literature a_nd the Latin Middle Ages, trans.
Willard R. TrasK (New York, 19537, p. 186.

42. The Breaking of the Circle, 2nd ed. (New York, 1960),
p. 128.

43. "Pope's Sense of Beauty," in Discussions of Alexander
Pope, ed. Rufus A. Blanshard TBoston, 1960), p. 75.
44. Mythical Thought, vol. II of The Philpsol ofo
Symbolic Forms, trans. Ralph Manheim (New Haven,
195b-, pp. 85-86.

45. Cassirer, Lythical Th:ouci, pp. 86-87.

46. Mythical Thougqht, p. 86 and pp. 55-56.

47. Isabel Gamble MacCaffrey, Paradige_L tas "lMy h"
(Cambridge, Mass., 1959), p. 59. Her whole book is
instructive in this connection, especially the discussion of "Structural Patterns in Paradise
Lost," pp. 44-81.

48. ParadiseL2s_ as "Myth, pp. 69, 76, and 68; cf. the
more intensive analysis of Jackson I. Cope, The
Meta horic Structure of Paradise_Lost (Baltimore,
1962).

49. Paradise Lost, I, 11. 624-625. Cf. the speech of the
magician Vandermast in Robert Greene's Friar Bacon
and Friar Bunaay (Scene viii, 11. 1169fT- : "when proud Lucipher fell from the heavens,/ The spirits
and angels that did sin with him,/ Retaind their
locall essence as their faults" (italics mine-T






48


50. These phrases are taken from the remarks of Bosola
concerning a "tricK" of "mathematics" in The Duchess
of Malfi (I ii 22ffo). Webster's play seems
extremely relevant to a discussion of physical and
spiritual place.

51. "A Sermon Preached a- White-Hall, February 29,
/r1627/87, Sernons, VIII, No. 7, p. 178

52. -E ncv -o the Memory of an Unfotunate Lar, 11. 2528; italics mine. The Twickenham editor, Geoffrey
Tillotson (vol. II, p. 342) cites as analogues
Spenser's Ruins o Time, 11i. 288ff. and The Dunciad
I, 11. 261-272, and says that the doctrine Pope is
expressing here "is that of Plato's Timaeuso"

53. John Selden in his "Illustration" to Song I of
ichael Drayton's Polv-1O.bion, in The Works of
M' cnael Draggon, ed. J. William Hebel et al. (Oxford,
1961), IV, p. 15. The phrase "Locall oover" is
Selden's.

54. A slightly different use of "Genius" occurs a few
lines later (Song I, 11. 10ffo) in a passage that
points forward to Pope's "laughing Ceres" (the last part of the Eoistle to Burlinoton) and the opening
paragraph of inrdsor-Fore st" 1. 33-42). For
Milton's use of the "genius of the place" motif,
see Arcades (11. 26ff,), Ii Penseroso (11. 154 and
136-!37, and especially Lycidas 7Tll 183ff.).

55. Eistle to Burlinptop, 11. 57ff.; cf. Pope's earlier
Sachoto Phaon, 1. 184.

56. "Speculations on a TwicKienham Grotto," pp. 79 and 72.
Cf. Mack's "A Poet in His Landscape: Pope at Twickenham," in From Sensibilitv to Romanticism, ed. F. W.
Hilles and Harold Bloom (Oxford, 196), pp. 10-11.

57. :ax Jammer, Conceots of SDace: The Histor of Theorie
of Soace in Phnsics Ne w Yor, 1960), pp. 25-29
italics mine).

58. An Introduction to a Devoute Life C-trans. John
Yakesley_/, 3rd ed. Rouen, 1614), p. 149 (italics
mine); as quoted by Louis L. Martz, The Poetry of
Meditation, rev. ed. (New Haven and London, 19627,
p. 253.

59. Sermons, X, No. 10, p. 225.






49


60. "Figurative view of reality" is the phrase of
?Maurice Charney, Shaespeare's Roman ys: The
Function of magery in the Drama t(ambridge, Mass.,
1961), pp. 196ff. Cf. the series of essays by
Joseph A. Mazzeo: "A Seventeenth-Century Theory of
Metaphysical Poetry," Romanic Review, XLII (December,
1951), 245-255; "A Critique of Some Modern Theories
of 1.:aaphysical Poetry," MP, L (November, 1952),
88-96; "Metaphysical Poetry and the Poetic of
Correspondence," 2JH, XIV (April, 1953), 221-234;
and "Universal Analogy and the Culture of the Renaissance," JHI, XV (April, 1954), 299-304.
M.azzeo's articles are summarized in his Medieval Cultural Traditions in Dante's "Comedy" TYthaca,
1960).

61. George Boas, in the introduction (p. 19) to his
translation of The Hieroalvohics of Horaollo
(New York, 1950).

62. Earl R. Wasserman, "Nature Moralized: The Divine
Analogy in the Eighteenth Century," ELH, XX (March, 1953), 40. Cf. Aubrey Williams, "Introduction" to
Winsor-Forest, pp. 133-134. Except for the studies
of Etienne Gilson cited below, Wasserman's essay has been much more helpful than anything else on
the subject of analogy.

63. "The Divine Analogy in the Eighteenth Century,"
41-42 and 67-68.

64. "Introduction" to the Twickenham Edition of An
Essay on Man, pp. xlvii, liii, lxxii, lxxiv, and
nassim.

65. "Jonathan Edwards: The Theory behind his Use of
Figurative Language," PMLA, LXXVIII (September,
1963), 321-325.

66. Nicolson, Breaking of the Circle, pp. 16-17.

67. Christs Victorie in Heaven, in Poetical Works of Giles
and Phineas Fletcher, ed. F. S. Boas (Cambridge,
1908), I, p. 20; quoted by Nicolson, p. 35. Phineas Fletcher's Purle Island is extremely rich in almost
every variety of analogical correspondence,

68. Famous and influential expressions of the idea occur
in St. Thomas, Summa contra Gentiles, II, 68; and in Dante, De Monarchia, III, XVI, 3. Cf. Lovejoy, Great
Chain of BeinQ, p. 79.





50


69. The first of these phrases is from the famous passage
on man's "middle" or "mixed" nature that opens
Epistle II of Pope's Essay on Man; the second phrase is quoted from Goethe by Curtius, Eurooean Literature
and the Latin Middle Ages, p. 189.

70. Philosophical Princinles of Relicion (London, 1715),
pp. 127-128 and An Essa on Reienon (London, 1740), p. 228; quoted by, Wasseran, 43, who says that six editions of Cheyne's Princioles appeared during the first half of the eighteenth century. Wasserman's
whole discussion (42-45) of Cheyne -- an apparent
disciple of Nicholas of Cusa -- is valuable.

71. Things Divine and Suiernatural Conceived by Analo~
with Things Natural and Human (London, 1733), p. 3;
quoted by Wasserman, 55.

72. Joan Webber, Contrary Music : The Prose Style of John
Donne (Madison, 1963), p. 123.

73. Michael Drayton, speaking of the "argument" of
Spenser's poetry, Works, II, pp. 517-518; Drayton
is quoted by A. C. Hamilton, The Structure of Allegory in "The Faerie Cueene" (Oxford, 19617, p. 44.

74. "The Retreate" and "Rules and Lessons" in Silex
Scintillans, 1650. Louis Martz discusses Vaughan's
lines in "Henry Vaughan: The Man Within," PLA, LXXVIII (March, 1963), 43 and 48-49. Vaughan's
"Each Bush/ And OaK doth know I AM" is an allusion
to Exodus 3:14.

75. "Introduction" to Paradise Lost in his John Milton:
Complete Poems and Major Prose (New York, 1957),
p. 194; see also pp. 192-195 and 201.
76. Cf. Lovejoy, Great Chain of Being, p. 89.

77. Robert Leighton, Lectures and Addresses, vol. VI in
Works, ed, and trans. William West cEdon, 1870),
p. 160; Leighton delivered these lectures before the
University of Edinburgh, of which he was Principal,
between 1653 and 1662.

78. Historic Mundi, pp. 34-35 (italics mine); as quoted
by Kester Svendsen, Milton and Science (Cambridge,
Mass., 1956), p. 115.

79. Ames is quoted, without citation, by Merritt Hughes,
p. 194.





51


80. See, for instance, Aeneid, III, 22ff.; Metamorehoses,
I, 527ff; Inferno, XIII and Purqatorio, XXXIIXXXIII; Faerie Queene, I, ii, 28-45; Jonson's
Eistle. To Katherin3 AdyAubin y, 11. 99ff.; and
Pope's Fable of Dryooe,

81. A. B. Chambers, "'I Was But an Inverted Tree': Notes
toward the History of an Idea," Studies in The
Renaissance, VIII (1961), 291-299, For Plato's
heavenly plant, see the Timaeus, 90 A.

82. Quoted by Chambers, 295, from The Glory of the World,
in The Hermetic Museum Restored and EnlarQed, trans.
A. E. Waite (London, 1893), I, pp. 217-218.

83. The best illustration of the implications of all
these "trees" is the striking cover of the paperback edition of Rolfe Humphries's translation of
the Metamorohoses (Bloomington, 1958).

84. Chambers, 293n.9. Man's upright form is the main
basis of the connection. Donne gave a pair of sermons
to the King at Court on Genesis 1:26 (Sermons, IX
Nos. 1 and 2).

85, Joseph A Mazzeo, medieval Cultural Traditions in
Dante's "Comedy", p. 142.

86. Gilson, The Philosohy _of St. Bonaventure, trans.
Dom Illtyd Trethowan and F. J. Sheed London, 1940),
pp. 479, 228, and passim.

87. The Christian Philosonhv of St. Thomas Aquinas, trans.
L. K. Shook (New YorI<, 919567, p. 351; cf. pp. 184-185.
The quotation is from Surnma contra Gentiles, III, 21.
See also Gerald B. Phelan, Saint Thomas and Analogy
(Milwaukee, 1948) and Joseph Owens, "Analogy as a
Thomistic Approach to Being," Medieval Studies,
XXIV (1962), 303-322.

88. PhilosMh_ of St. Thomas, pp. 360-361; cf. pp. 359
and 375.

89. Summa contra Gentiles, II, 45; cf, Lovejoy, Great
Chain of Being, pp. 75-76.

90. The City of God, XIX, 13; cf. Gilson, The Spirit of
Mediaeval Philosophy, trans. A. H. C. Downes (New
York, 194o), p. 215.

91. Gilson, Philosophy of St. Thomas, p. 134; italics mine.





52


92. Gilson, The Christian Philosorhy of Saint Augustine,
trans. L. E. M. Lynch (New York, 1960), p. 210;
cf. pp. 187-224.

93. Ibid., pp. 227-246 and 214-219.

94. The Trin (15.2.3), trans. Stephen McKenna (Washington, 1963), p. 453. St. Augustine's ninth book
is especially important. Cf. Gilson, The Spirit
of Mediaeval Philosonhy, p. 99.

95. The Trinity, McKenna's introduction, p. xi.

96. The Sgirit of Mediaeval Philosophy, p. 101; cf.
pp. 84-107.

97. The Individual and the Cosmos in Renaissance Philosoohy, trans. Mario Domandi (New York, 1963), pp. 159ff.














Two: "The Wondrous Architecture of the World"


Not magnitude, not lavishness
But form, the site;
Not innovating wilfulness
But reverence for the archetype.
Herman Melville, "GreeK Architecture"



George Herbert's poem an exploits the idea of

universal analogy quite extensively. In the poem's first

stanza, Herbert establishes its basic architectural

figure; he asks if there is any nobler "house" than man:


My God, I heard this day,
That none doth build a stately habitation,
But he that means to dwell therein.
What house more stately hath there been,
Or can be, then is Man? .


The rest of the poem, down to the last stanza, answers

this question with a sequence of analogical correspondences;

man is a "stately house" because he contains, analogically,

within himself the whole creation:


For Man is ev'ry thing,
And more: He is a tree, yet bears more fruit;
A beast, yet is, or should be more.
0 s 0 0 0 o 0 0 o 0
Man is all symmetrie,
Full of proportions, one limbe to another,
And all to all the world besides. .

Man "is in little all the sphere"; he is an epitome of the


53






54


vast creation, because all things intimately correspond to man's "fleshe" in their "descent and being" and to man's "minde" in their "ascent and cause." Thus man is "one world" and has another "to attend him." Then, in the poem's final stanza, Herbert petitions God to fulfill the purpose of building such a "stately habitation"; he asks God to dwell in man:


Since then, my God, thou hast
So brave a Palace built; 0 dwell in it,
That it may dwell with thee at last!
Till then, afford us so much wit;
That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee,
And both thy servants be.

The architectural figure that is the basis of

Herbert's Man is also the basis of a series of poems by Jonson, Carew, Herrick, and Marvell about English country houses and landed estates. I have chosen to call these poems, the subject of this chapter, "Estate Poems" since they contemplate and evaluate the human situation in and through the description of some "particular" country estate -- its land, its house, its inhabitants. The land and house are figured as emblems of their builder or owner, and he is figured as their "center" or animating presence. In each, estate and owner, "Things greater are in less contained" (Marvell's Upon Apoleton House, 1. 44). Thus the description of some particular physical estate becomes the "frame" of a general statement, usually oblique or reticent, about the human "estate" in the widest








possible sense. That is to say, each of these poems describes and celebrates a particular country estate as an epitome of nature's concentric "nest of boxes" (Donne's Devotions, Meditation X). These seventeenth century English Estate Poems comment, reticently but nonetheless

significantly, on man's various dwellings, physical and spiritual; by means of an architectural figure these

poems "locate" man as a physical creature, as a moral creature, as a social creature, as an historical creature, as a cosmic creature, and finally as the creature of God.



I

Ben Jonson's poem on the ancestral home of the Sidneys, To Penshurst,3 is the first English Estate Poem. The whole poem is simply a description of Penshurst Estate and its inhabitants, though Penshurst's features are so "faire" that description turns into praise. By means of a description of the place, the poem manages to

praise the Sidney family and traditions and, ultimately, to praise the cultivated way of life, the relationship to nature, that the family and their estate represent. The poem may finally appear to be a celebration of Penshurst's ethical and spiritual, as well as physical, architecture.

The poem first describes the estate's manor house, and then ascends from this beginning "upwards" as it were, from this inanimate to an animate landscape, thence to the






56


lower creatures that inhabit the landscape, thence to the human dwellers on the estate, thence to the family that governs the manor and their hospitable housekeeping, thence to the Iing and beyond. Thus Penshurst's fair "marKes" of praise include its house (11. lff.); its copses (11. 19ff.) that never fail to yield "season'd deere" for "feast, or exercise"; its "lower land" (11, 22-23) that feeds sheep, bullocks, kine, and calves; its "middle grounds" (1. 24) that breed mares and horses; and its fertile groves that to "crowne E-the place's7 open table, doth provide/ The purpled pheasant, with the speckled side" (11. 25ff.). Penshurst also has its tributary ponds (11. 31ff,), its ripe orchards, its healthy inhabitants and happy guests (11. 45ff,). Jonson's poem moves progressively up the Chain of Being; the Sidneys' estate seems to be conceived as a microcosm, as an eoitome of "nature's nest of boxes." Moreover, the creatures at each level of being are sustained by those below and nourish those above: the poem images, and appears to value, hierarchy and reciDrocity. Each level displays a higher degree of organization, yet there is spontaneity at each level. The movement is progressively upwards toward more "social" worlds. So the movement of To Penshurst, the poem's very structure, is founded in Local Poetry's root assumption, the principle of universal analogy, Perhaps a statement of Etienne Gilson's, taken from a somewhat different but by no means necessarily






57


irrelevant context, can serve to comment on how all levels of Penshurst Estate can participate, analogically, in a comprehensive order, an order at once abundant and harmonious: "To be order, as is God, is supreme perfection; to know order, as man does, is to imitate this perfection; but to receive order, as things do, is still to participate in the divine analogy, because they inscribe and realize in their substance a law which they do not comprehend, .114 As the poem's structure unfolds, we shall see that each level of existence at Penshurst Estate is perceived as making its contribution to such a total order, and we shall also see that each level has its human purpose and relevance, for each level provides man with a share of this abundant and harmonious order and instructs him in its proper use.

The poem's opening lines indicate that the Sidneys' country house is an "ancient pile" anchored solidly in nature:


Thou art not, PENSVRST, built to enuious show,
Of touch, or marble; nor canst boast a row
Of polish'd pillars, or a roofe of gold:
Thou hast no lantherne, whereof tales are told;
Or stayre, or courts; but stand'st an ancient pile,
And these grudg'd at, art reverenc'd the while. The "better marKes" Penshurst enjoys are nature's primal elements, "of soyle, or ayre,/ Of wood, or water: therein C-Penshurst is_7 faire" (11. 7-8). Such a dwelling seems "arisen, as it were, out of the earth it stands on."






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The physical description in these opening lines clearly makes an ethical point: the Sidney estate was not created for "envious show," but for man's real enjoyment and use.

Thus Penshurst, the poem goes on to say, has its "walkes for health, as well as sport" (11. 9ff.). The estate's fruitful and shady trees include


That taller tree, which of a nut was set,
At his great birth, where all the Muses met.
There, in the writhed bare, are cut the names
Of many a Svlvane, taken with his flames.


The "great birth" was that half a century before of the short, but brilliantly lived Sir Philip Sidney, whose genius -- at least in the sense of his memory -- still abides at his family home. It is not surprising, of course, that Philip Sidney be given prominence in a poem celebrating Penshurst; for not only had all the Sidneys made one of the most respected "houses" in England for generations, but Philip himself had achieved a personal symbolic status perhaps second only in the age to that of his Queen: a great many Englishmen believed that "all" the Muses converged in his career, that he had been the age's most notable student of the "mysteries of manners, armes, and arts" (1. 98). Moreover, Sidney had himself already indicated some of the ethical force of architectural figures such as Jonson's in his own description of Kalander's house: "The house it selfe was built of faire and strong stone, not affecting so much any extraordinarie kinde of finenes, as an honorable representing








of a firme statelines. The lightes, doores and staires, rather directed to the use of the guest, then to the eyes of the Artificer,"6 Like Sidney earlier, Jonson is figuring two kinds of "houses," one directly the other indirectly, that are utterly opposed in value: houses of the first Kind are designed for the use of their guests, and "praise" is heapedd" upon them (11. 82ff.); houses of the second Kind are contrived for ostentatious "show," and those "proud, ambitious heaps" (1. 101) are condemned,

Indeed, Penshurst is the Kind of place where, to

borrow lines from Herbert, "Each thing is full of dutie":

Nothing we see, but means our good, As our delight, or as our treasure:
The whole is, either our cupboard of food,
Or cabinet of pleasure.
(Ma, 11. 27ff.)

At Penshurst, all God's creatures minister to human needs; the "beasts say, Eat me" (Herbert's Providence, 1. 21). The "painted partrich" lies in every field, and for Penshurst's "messe" is "willing to be kill'd." The ponds

"pay" their "tribute" fish: "Fat, aged carps" run into the net; pikes, "now weary their owne kinde to eat," betray themselves; bright eels "emulate" them and "leape" onto the bank in front of the fisherman or even "into his hand" (11. 29-38). The catalogues of fowl, fish, and fruit in lines 25-60 appear to image nature's plenitude. Jonson seems to be saying that here is God's plenty, epitomized





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for man's use within the microcosm that is Penshurst Estate.

Certainly plenty, the ripeness and fruitfulness

so bountifully evident at Penshurst, is one of the poem's most important elements. The orchards of Penshurst, for instance, are richly laden:

Then hath thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers,
Fresh as the ayre, and new as are the houres.
The earely cherry, with the later plum,
Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time
doth come:
The blushing apricot, and woolly peach
Hang on thy walls, that every child may reach.
(11. 39-44)

Like God's "cupboard" that "serves the world" in Herbert's Providence (11. 49ff.), Penshurst's ripe and succulent fruit "is set, Where all may reach." Too, the estate's plenty has found an equivalent virtuous response (human virtue, as we shall see, is another of the poem's most important elements). The walls upon which these ripe fruit hang, though of "the countrey stone," were not raised by anyone's groan or ruin: "There's none, that dwell about them, wish them downe;/ But all come in .. ./ And no one empty-handed" (11. 45ff.). Moreover, at Penshurst nature's ripeness finds a correspondent human "ripeness," as is expressed in lines that are among the poem's most lovely: some of the estate's farmers send cheeses





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By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend
This way to husbands; and whose baskets beare
An embleme of themselves, in plum, or peare.
(11. 51ff.)

Such ripe and marriageable daughters figure the poem's most important elements; they are likely to be both "fruitfull" and "chaste" (as Lady Sidney is said to be in line 90). Jonson is figuring, it seems, a cluster of those reciprocal relationships that should exist between men, and between men and nature.

The presents brought to the manor house by the

country people add nothing but "their love" to the place's "free provisions" (11. 57ff.). For the inhabitants of Penshurst know the proper use of nature's riches; Sir Robert Sidney's generosity joins the place's natural plenty and ripeness to human virtue and righteousness: his "open table" (1. 27) provides all that "hospitalitie doth know" (1. 60). No guest comes to the Sidneys' "liberall boord,"


but is allow'd to eate,
Without his feare, and of thy lords owne meate:
Where the same beere, and bread, and selfe-same wine,
That is his Lordships, shall be also mine. .
(11. 59ff.)

We can see that it is man's social hospitality, and

perhaps God's creative generosity, that the poem evokes and celebrates. This "bread, and selfe-same wine" implies, to my mind at least, a sacramental valence, even though the "beere" seems to work against such an interpretation.





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Yet in the seventeenth century, even beer could contain a "taste" of Christ and heaven, if one granted as much to the "spiritual use of creatures" as Richard Baxter: "You can open your Bibles, and learn there of God and of Glory: O learn to open the creatures, and to open the several passages of providence, to reade of God and glory there. Certainly by such a sikilful industrious improvement, we might have a fuller taste of Christ and heaven, in every bit of bread that we eat, and in every draught of Beer that we drink, then most men have in the use of the Sacrament."7 Jonson's lines may not bear this much weight, but the method of his poem as a whole, moving analogically up the Chain of Being as it does, can not seem too removed from a "spiritual use of creatures" in some sense. Even if the Sidneys' beer and bread and wine is not seen to contain such a full "taste" as that sought by Baxter, it flows from a table, a habit of housekeeping, so generous and unrestrained that the poet, lodging there, proclaims: "all" is here, as if "I raign'd"; there's "nothing I can wish, for which I stay" (11. 74-75). Whether explicitly sacramental or not, Jonson's description of Penshurst Estate elicits a vision of nature, and of man in communion with nature, where "all the guests sit close" and nothing want, and where man, at least in some sense, appears to be "the world's high priest" (I am here appropriating the language of Herbert's Providence, 11. 13ff. and 11. 133ff.).





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To Penshurst moves on to the apex of man's social world. One of Penshurst's guests was King James I (11. 76-88).8 When the King and Prince Henry came hunting "this way," the estate's "good lady" reaped the "just reward of her high huswifery," for every room seemed "drest/ As if it had expected such a guest!" King James and his "brave sonne" saw Penshurst's fires


Shine bright on every harth as the desires
Of Cits_7 Penates had been set on flame,
To entertayne them; or the countrey came,
With all their zeale, to warm their welcome here.


These "flames" perhaps recall those of Sir Philip Sidney earlier in the poem that were said to inspire the local erotic "Sylvans" who cut their names into "his" tree (11. 13-16). Such "flames" pervade another poem in The Forrest (XIV), a poem Jonson is likely to have read at Penshurst, the ode To Sir William Sidnev, on His Birth-D ; the ode ends with the poet's wish that the young Sidney's twenty-first birthday be as "bright" with "the flame/ Of love" as with the light of bonfires, for "The Birth-day shines, when logs not burne, but men." As Jonson's "Muse" perceives the Sidney estate, such "flames" kindle and illuminate the whole scene. Estates such as Penshurst, and the liberal habit of housekeeping they enjoy, luminous in the vision of the poems that celebrate them, manifest nothing more clearly and resonantly perhaps than "a warm concern for corporateness."9 Could not one





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fairly say that To Penshurst, as all poetry should in Jonson's view, "offers to mankinde a certain rule, and Patterne of living well, and happily; disposing us to all Civill offices of Society"?10

The estate's "praises" are not yet exhausted. At

its close (11. 89ff.), To Penshurst moves beyond the natural and social worlds to the more interior "worlds" of virtue and religion. The Sidneys are not only generous housekeepers; they are civilized, virtuous, and reverent human beings. We learn that Lady Sidney is "fruitfull" and "chaste," that Sir Robert's children are his own, that these children have been taught religion whence their "gentler spirits have succ'd innocence,",l and that "the whole household" prays together, We also learn that one can read in the parents' "noble parts,/ The mysteries of manners, armes, and arts." What the Sidneys have studied are "the arts of life."12

To Penshurst ends with lines that John Hollander feels "resound at the tonal center of Jonson's highest commendatory mode." The lord of this place informs and animates the whole structure, and thus deserves the highest commendation:

Now, PENSHVRST, they that will proportion thee
With other edifices, when they see
Those proud, ambitious heaps, and nothing else,
May say, their lords haue built, but thy 14 lord dwells.






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Sir Robert Sidney is, of course, one "lord" who dwells at Penshurst and sustains, and is sustained by, its wellordered structure. But Jonson may also be commending -by analogy -- the in-dwelling Lord of all places. Perhaps it is not altogether rash to suggest the possibility that To Penshurst also praises God. In terms of the poem's total structure, which moves progressively up the Chain of Being, it would be appropriate for these final lines to figure God as well as Robert Sidney, for the poem at its end to rise to praise of the One Lord that Christian humanism felt to be the source of all ripeness and the end of all virtue. In this connection, we might recall that Jonson could praise Christ as, not only man's redeemer, but the "Repairer too" of "lapsed Nature" (EuDheme, Part 9, 11. 212-214). Or we might recall that Jonson's contemporary, John Donne, could preach that "though God be in no place, God is the place, in whom all good men are" (Sermons, X, No. 10, p. 225). Perhaps Jonson is partly implying that the Sidneys, in their own way, have heeded the command of Exodus 25:8: "And let them make me a sanctuary; that I may dwell among them." Perhaps not. Whatever the precise force of the final lines, we can now begin to understand what Kind of dwelling-place Penshurst Estate ultimately is; and we can now begin to understand what it was in this poetry that enabled Pope a century later to declare that "the Rural Scene" is a "Type of Paradise.





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II


These seventeenth century English Estate Poems can emphasize the harmonious profusion and fecund abundance of the landscape, or they can emphasize man's interior response to such abundance. Thomas Carew's Estate Poems tend to emphasize the abundance of the natural scene, whereas Robert Herrick's tend to emphasize man's interior response; but both poets, in their own respective emphases, are finally concerned with the proper human use of nature's riches.
16
Carew's To Saxham is a poem of winter. Carew

images the man-made Saxham House as well enough constructed to withstand winter's bitterest storms and, indeed, to sustain the estate's inhabitants -- creaturely and human -- in the midst of these storms. The frost and snow of winter prevent the poet from knowing all of the estate's "pleasures,"

.Yet (Saxham) thou within thy gate,
Art of thy selfe so delicate;
So full of native sweets, that blesse
Thy roofe with inward happinesse; As neither from, nor to thy store
Winter takes ought, or Spring addes more.
(11. 1-10)

Saxham's "native sweets" were presumably harvested in riper seasons from its gardens, orchards, fields, and woods. Yet the "inward happinesse" that Saxham is blessed





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with may also result from the values and virtues of its owner, who had the art to store up the place's abundance and, moreover, is willing to share it. We are told that the poor, if not by Crofts "preserv'd," would have starved, and that their thankful prayers in turn blessed his table with plenty:


The cold and frozen ayre had sterv'd Much poore, if not by thee preserv'd;
Whose prayers have made thy Table blest
With plenty, far above the rest.
(11. 11ff.)


The suggestion seems to be that good husbandry and unselfishness are the sources of true abundance.

Saxham's owner resembles a new Noah; all the beasts of the countryside bring themselves to him as offerings: "fearing the snow/ Might to another deluge grow,"

The Pheasant, Partiridge, and the Larke,
Flew to thy house, as to the Arke.
The willing Oxe, of himselfe came
Home to the slaughter, with the Lambe,
And every beast did thither bring
Himselfe, to be an offering.
(11. 19ff.)

We have here, as we had in To Penshurst, the vision of an English countryside "so profoundly oriented toward man" that its "living creatures are emulous to feed him."17

Even the four elements exist at Saxham, in an

unusual kind of concordia discors, only for the purposes of human warmth and illumination:









Water, Earth, Ayre, did all conspire,
To pay their tributes to thy fire,
Whose cherishing flames themselves divide
Through every roome, where they deride
The night, and cold abroad; whilst they
Like suns within, keepe endlesse day.
(11. 29ff.)

The "cherishing flames" of such an estate have their correspondence in the human ability to preserve and distill what is good and valuable in nature, an ability complete enough in this instance to shut out the "cold" and the "night."

The plenty of Crofts's table, which far outstrips

anything his neighbors can offer, is not used for conspicuous consumption. Rather, Saxham's "chearfull beames send forth their light" to all the "weary" pilgrims wandering in the night and beckon them, friends and strangers alike, to come in, where they shall find a "hearty" welcome from both master and servants (11. 35ff.). Here no grudging porters guard the doors, which have no locks on them and which stand "wide open all the yeare." Crofts "giv'st so much" that thieves find it impossible to steal from him (11. 57-58). Because of the artful economy and unstinting hospitality of its owner, Saxham provides a repository for nature's abundance, and thereby is a place of nourishment and repose for all its inhabitants, and all its guests, Even in the worst of winter, Saxham is a place of refuge from all sorts of deprivations. The whole scene is pervaded by a sense of





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reciprocity, generous self-giving, and mutual happiness -by a sense, that is, of community: a true community of men, and of men and nature. What has been built at Saxham is a sanctuary from winter.

If To Saxham is a poem of winter, Carew's To my

friend "G. N" from "Wrest"18 is a poem of spring. Unlike the virtual wilderness just beyond Saxham's gates, Wrest -outside the house as well as inside -- is a scene of warmth and mildness, of "temperate ayre" and "Vernall windes." The poet has just come from an utterly different scene, from a place "where everlasting Winter dwells":


I Breathe (sweet Ghib:) the temperate ayre of Wrest
Where I no more with raging stormes opprest,
Weare the cold nights out by the bankes of Tweed,
On the bleale Mountains, where fierce tempests
breed,
And everlasting Winter dwells; where milde
Favonius, and the Vernall windes exilde,
Did never spread their wings: but the wilde North
Brings sterill Fearne, Thistles, and Brambles forth.
(11. 1-8)


But at Wrest, the poet is joyous to find a "bounteous Nature" (as it is called later in line 70): here "the pregnant Earth," steeped in "balmie dew," sends forth "a flowrie birth" from "her teeming wombe" and, cherished by the warm sun's "quicKning heate," her "porous bosome" diffuses such "rich" perfumes that the residents need no "forraigne Gums," but at nature's "cheape expence" with "farre more genuine sweetes refresh the sense" (11. 9-18). The rest of the poem will continue to emphasize this lush





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and refreshing banquet of sense that nature has spread before the inhabitants and guests of Wrest Park.

To understand some of the possible implications of this two-phase opening, the poet's passage from a barren to a fecund scene, we might recall the similar opening of the Mosella where Ausonius describes his passage from a desolate and strife-ridden scene to the "smiling and welltended" country of his own native Bordeaux. Or we might recall that Carew himself had just returned from the expedition of 1639 which King Charles led against Scotland in the first Bishops' war; the King's forces got as far north as BerwicK-on-Tweed, near which they encamped in severe hardship.19 In such contexts, "raging stormes" may have political as well as climatic implications. One cannot be certain. But it does seem fairly certain that this "everlasting Winter" and this fecund "spring" are figurative in some sense, that the poet's movement from

the Tweed to Wrest has been a passage from discomfort and desolation and discord to pleasure and fertility and peace. As this opening suggests and the rest of the poem confirms, To my friend "G. N." from "Wrest" is fundamentally about peace and plenty; Carew's description of Wrest Park figures forth the plenty which exists in nature, at some times and in some places, and the peace which man can enjoy if he makes wise use of this plenty.

Thus Wrest is blessed because it is "fit for

service," as well as because of its beauty and abundance;





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the house, for example, is free of ostentation or artificiality: "pure and uncompounded" beauties "blesse/ This Mansion with an usefull comelinesse,"

For here the Architect
Did not with curious sKill a Pile erect
Of carved Marble, Touch, or Porpherie, But built a house for hospitalitie, .
(11. 19ff.)


The Lord and Lady of Wrest "delight' in hospitable action rather than empty display of wealth: instead of statues, they "adorne" their "merry Hall" with throngs of "living" men, who "freely sit/ At the Lords Table," which almost cracKs under its piles of "wholsome meates" (11. 25ff.). Such a place, though its mansion physically and its owners morally are humble, surely offers, and enjoys, more human riches than


prouder Piles, where the vaine builder spent
More cost in outward gay Embellishment
Then reall use: which was the sole designe Of our contriver, who made things not fine,
But fit for service. .
(11. 47ff.)


At Wrest, Amalthea's horn of "Plentie" is not "in

Effigie worne/ Without the gate," but "within the dore" she "Empties her free and unexhausted store" (11. 57ff.). In such a place, the gods themselves, not their stone images, become man's food: "not in Emblemes to the eyes,/ But to the taste those usefull Deities," Ceres and Bacchus, are offered (11. 61-68; italics mine). Indeed, this estate is






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so temperate and fertile, and has been so artfully cultivated (11. 69ff.), that beings such as Vertumnus and Pomona, and Zephyr and Flora can be happy here, and carefree:


With various Trees we fringe the waters brinke,
Whose thirstie rootes the soaking moysture drinke,
And whose extended boughes in equall ranges
Yield fruit, and shade, and beautie to the banks.
On this side young Vertumous sits, and courts
His ruddie-chee'd Pomona, Zenhyre sports
On th'other, with lov'd Flora, yeelding there
Sweetes for the smell, sweetes for the palate here.
(11. 89ff.)


These serene and ripe and loving presences are sheltered by, and mysteriously quicken, the landscape. One only has to "taste" the liquor that flows from Wrest's streams to be persuaded that

The God of Wine did his plumpe clusters bring,
And crush the Falerne grape into our spring;
Or else disguis'd in watery Robes did swim
To Ceres bed, and make her big of Him,
Begetting so himselfe on Her. .
(11. 97ff.)


The earth at Wrest is indeed "pregnant," It is, of course, the fecund "blessings" of these "usefull Deities" (figuratively, Wrest's genii loci) that the poet is celebrating; these deities appear here, not as objects of worship, but as figures of the in-dwelling potencies of nature: their

"blessings," if wisely used, represent human riches.

Such an "encrease" (1. 86) of blessings makes it possible for a Carew to find pleasure and peace at Wrest Park; at the end of the poem he writes to his friend "G. N.":





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Thus I enjoy my selfe, and taste the fruit
Of this blest Peace, whilst toyl'd in the pursuit
Of Bucks, and Stags, th'embleme of warre, you strive
To keepe the memory of our Armes alive.
(11ii 107-end)


The poet's peace seems complete and enviable, but there is no assurance that it will be permanent, or even longlasting. Traditionally the emblem of war, hunting may be a toilsome pursuit, but in 1639 or 1640 when Carew writes,20 keeping the memory of arms alive appears to be a necessary activity. Thus To my friend "G. N'" from "Wrest" ends with a remembrance of the strife and contentions which it had seemed to put behind it at the opening. What Wrest appears to have provided the poet, at least for a while, is a sanctuary from the threatening contentions of his own kind.



Robert Herrick's Estate Poems image "the Rural

Scene" as a "type of Paradise." Though HerricK's poetry is full of houses21 (their main function being to give poetic life to the familiar admonition "set your house in order"), his Estate Poems make less use of the physical aspects of the architectural figure than To Penshurst or To Saxham or T-o my friend "Go N." from "Wrest." Giving more explicit weight to man's interior response than to the physical scene, Herrick emphasizes the moral structure of human life.

Thus Herrick's A Country life: To his Brother, M, "Tho: Herrick"22 uses only modest architectural images:






74


Yet can thy humble roofe maintaine a Quire
Of singing Crickits by thy fire:
And the brisk Mouse may feast her selfe with
crums,
Till that the green-ey'd Kitling comes.
Then to her Cabbin, blest she can escape
The sudden danger of a Rape.
And thus thy little-well-kept-stock doth prove,
Wealth cannot make a life. but Love.
(11. 121-128)


Since he understands that man's true wealth consists in

humility and love, Thomas Herrick is the Horatian beats

ilje: he and his wife are thrice blest because they left

the city and came to the country; in the country, one can

learn simplicity and innocence, the true nature of virtue,

how to follow the dictates of conscience, how in sum "to

live well." Living well includes, of course, a proper use

of, and gratitude for, one's riches. Thomas Herrick is

content with what Heaven and nature provide; he knows

to give

Justice to soone-pleas'd nature; and to show
Wisdome and she together goe,
And keep one Centre: this with that conspires
To teach Man to confine desires:
And know, that Riches have their proper stint,
In the contented mind. .
(11. 1-30)


This poem praises the golden mean of conduct; its "Theame"
is


But to live round, and close, and wisely true
To thine owne selfe; and knowne to few
Thus let thy Rurall Sanctuary be
Elizium to thy wife and thee;
There to disport your selves with golden measure. .
(11. 129ff.)






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In that the Thomas Herricks' rural scene is Elizium, and

a sanctuary, it is a "type" of Paradise.

Herrick's other major Estate Poem, A Paneerick to Sir "Lewis Pemberton," has a roughly bipartite structure.

The first half of the poem deals with Pemberton's table, his housekeeping, and his hospitality. His kitchen is a

"fat-fed smoking Temple" (11. 5ff.). His table displays "Reverence" (1. 75). Pemberton entertains with free hand and open heart, "by the Armes-full" and "with a Brest unhid," as "the old Race of mankind did"; so he does "redeeme those times," and "what was lost" of "antient honesty" may boast it "keeps a growth" in him (11. 35ff.). Indeed, Pemberton is "like to that Hospitable God,/ Jove" (11. 61-62).

The second half of the poem focuses more explicitly

on Pemberton's house itself, but in terms that make it a metaphor (or series of metaphors) for its owner's various human excellences. We learn (11. 89ff.) that Pemberton "know'st order, Ethicks, and ha's read/ All Oeconomicks," and ethics is the crucial subject of this second part of

the poem. Besides Pemberton's hospitable and reverent table, his "house" has other means of "subsistance" (11. 95ff.); comeliness gives "proofe"

What Genii support thy roofe,
Goodnes and Greatnes; not the oaken Piles;
For these, and marbles have their whiles
To last, but not their ever: Vertues Hand
It is, which builds, 'gainst Fate to
stand.





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Such a human structure can achieve a kind of permanence:


Such is thy house, whose firme foundations trust
Is more in thee, then in her dust,
Or depth, these last may yeeld, .
(11. 102ff.)


But Pemberton's house stands "fixt," and will be able to withstand "the shock/ And Rame of time" (11. 108-111). "Safe stand" the house's walls and its master, "and so both will,/ Since neithers height was rais'd by th'ill/ Of others" (11. 115ff.). Not one plank is a curse, "but all things even/ Make for ,. -Pemberton's7 peace, and pace to heaven" (11. 127-130).

The function here of "all things" recalls some of Local Poetry's most important cosmological assumptions. For in the analogical vision of nature that underlies Local Poetry, all things are felt to display the Wisdom and to manifest the Glory of God. Thus a great medieval exponent of such a vision, Hugh of St. Victor, declares:


S. The whole sensible world is like a book
written by the hand of God, which is to say, created
by divine power, and the individual creatures are
like so many characters -- characters not arbitrarily devised by human will but instituted by divine will to manifest the wisdom of the invisible things of God. Consider the case of an
illiterate man who looks at an open book and sees
the characters but does not recognize them as
letters; such is the case of the stupid and brutish man who cannot see what is contained within God's creatures. He sees the outer appearances;
he does not grasp their inner meaning.23






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In Herrick's view, Pemberton does seem to grasp the "inner meaning" of his estate at Rushden and its creatures.

For as "all things" of this place testify, according to Herrick, Sir Lewis Pemberton knows, and helps maintain at Rushden, a comprehensive and similitudinous order. None too surprisingly, HerricK's panegyric moves along the Chain of Being, reticently and not at all systematically it must be granted, but in patterns that quietly intimate the correspondences between each level of being and all the others, those very correspondences that analogically connect all being. Thus the "perfection" of Pemberton's estate includes its stones, its plants, its lower animals, its men, its Lares and Genii, and even God. Once more an Estate Poem intimates that things receive, and man Knows, the perfection of the order God creates. Line 89 tells us that Pemberton "Know'st order," the whole poem figures the order he helps maintain within his estate, and the last four lines (133-136) explain why Pemberton can know and maintain such order -- he keeps a God in man:

This is that rin ceLv Pberton, who can
Teach man to Keepe a God in man:
And when wise Poets shall search out to see
Good men, They find them all in Thee.

Pemberton presents a pattern for all mankind because of his likeness to God, and we sense that Herrick's final concern is not with any temporal sanctuary, but with his own "eternall Mansion."24





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III


Joseph H. Summers finds Andrew Marvellts Uoon

Aprleton House, to my Lord "Fairfax" the "most interesting and entertaining long, non-dramatic poem between The Faerie Queene and Paradise Lost."25 Marvell's poem is undoubtedly the richest seventeenth century Estate Poem, mainly because it is the one that most variedly explores the phenomena of the natural scene and because it is the one that most suggestively relates these phenomena to the experiences of men: of all these Estate Poems, Marvell's is the one that most thoroughly locates and defines man's place in nature.

Marvell wrote Unon Apoleton House, and its shorter companion poem Upon the Hill and Grove at "Bill-borow." To the Lord "Fairfa," While living at these Yorlshire estates of the great Lord Fairfax as tutor to his daughter Mary (c, 1651-1653). Fairfax had been commander-in-chief

of the Parliamentary forces and had led the New Model Army to a great series of victories that determined the outcome of the civil war. Fairfax had thus ridden his horse "through conquer'd Britain" (Upon Apoleton House,

1. 246), yet he gave up this military and political power for the saKe of conscience: refusing to lead an offensive expedition into Scotland, and being greatly opposed to the





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King's execution, Fairfax resigned his command out of principle and retired to his Yorkshire estates, Hardly any other man in England at the time of these poems' composition was felt to have as impressive a combination of courage and conscience, of valor and piety,26 and Marvell exploits this widely acKnowledged judgment, In fact, the poet perceives an ideal balance of opposites in Fairfax's life: having achieved the "height" of human power, the great general has now retired to a "securer Glory" (Upon the Hill and Grove, 11. 15-16). The next to last stanza of Upon the Hill and Grove recalls Fairfax's military triumphs; then the poem concludes:


But Peace (if you his favour prize) That Courage its own Praises flies.
Therefore to your obscurer Seats
From his own Brightness he retreats: Nor he the Hills without the Groves,
Nor Height but with Retirement loves.

Where Fairfax now dwells, as Marvell perceives the man in his landscape, there is a -ocus amoenus: "Acclivis._lacidus, molli_ amoenus hic esto"27

The structure of Uoon A oleton House parallels the structure of Nun Appleton Estate; the poem follows the contours of the landscape and moves, in turn, from an introductory description of the manor house, to an account of the history of the nearby ruins of a nunnery, and then sweeps out to a full survey of the estate's surrounding grounds. First the house is described (11. 1-80) as a





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manifestation of the values and virtues of its owner and his family -- as a figure of Fairfacian naturalness, sense of proportion, humility, and piety. The poet next describes some of the "Quarries" whence the present dwelling arose. He turns from this "sacred" place (1. 35) to a once prouder pile, now "that Neighbour-Ruine" (1. 87), to a place where "vice" had infected "the very Wall" (1. 216); he turns, that is, to the episode (11. 81-280) in which he relates the relevant part of the history of the ruins of the nearby Cistercian nunnery. Several generations earlier, these "Suttle Nunns" (1. 94) tried to lure Isabel Thwaites (the great-great-grandmother of Marvell's Lord Fairfax) into joining their priory -- a "gloomy" and "wasting Cloister" in Marvell's view (11. 89 and 271) -- so that they could possess her adjacent properties (11. 221-222). But Sir William Fairfax intervened: he "rescued" and married "the blooming Virgin Thwates" (1. 90), and thus the "great" Fairfacian race was not "intercepted" (11. 241ff.). The nunnery on its dissolution in 1542 passed to the Fairfaxes, who built Nun Appleton House on its lands: "And what both Nuna and Founders will'd," Marvell concludes at the end of the episode, "'Tis likely better thus fulfill'd" (11. 275276).

Then after this historical episode, the poet

conducts the reader on a day-long "survey" of the estate's "fragrant" gardens (11. 281ff.), "deep" meadows (11. 369ff.),






81

"shady" woods (11. 481ff.), and "transparent" streams (11, 625ff.). Then the poet envisions himself, languidly fishing as evening comes on, joined at the river's edge by ,y-vun Maria," who is represented as a lovely embodiment of the whole estate's guiding principles and as the future hope of the House of Fairfax (11. 649ff,). Then at the end of the poem, at the end of the days survey of the estate, the poet invites his reader to return with him to the "house," and to all that it might mean (11. 761-776). By that point, I think we shall see that Nun Appleton (the well-proportioned manor house and the "pleasant" estate that encloses it) works figuratively in the poem in at least two ways: the first of these ways considers "the habitation of man" relative to "the whole system of universal being"; the second considers man "in his own habitation, in himself" relative to "his particular system."28

The first two lines of Upon Appleton House offer an important clue to the strategies and themes of the whole poem:

Within this sober Frame expect
Work of no Forrain Architect, *

The force of "frame" in these opening lines seems multiple and figurative. Clearly, the word signifies Lord Fairfax's house at Nun Appleton. But the word might also signify here, as it did pervasively throughout Marvell's century, the whole creation, what Shakespeare's Hamlet (II, ii, 310)






82


and Milton's Adam (VIII, 11. 15-16) call "this goodly Frame" of heaven and earth consisting, what Ben Jonson speaks of as "the frame/ Of all the universe" ("Song" from The New Inn, IV, iv). Marvell might also possibly mean here the human form, the "frame" of man, or possibly 29
even the "frame" of his poem2 If "frame" in these opening lines has some of this multiple force, it would perhaps suggest that Marvell is figuring Nun Appleton as a perfected replica or ideal epitome of nature's vast, yet concentric "nest of boxes." Marvell explicitly acknowledges such figuring when, at the end of the poem, he declares that the great world (the macrocosm) is not
"what once it was," that it is now "a rude heap," but that Nun's Appleton's microcosmic "lesser World contains" all the components of the great world, only in a "more decent Order"; the poet then addresses Nun Appleton, or the lovely young embodiment of its principles Maria, or perhaps both, in this wise:

You Heaven's Center, Nature's Lao.
And Paradice's only .Ma.
(11. 761ff.)

The Fairfaxes' estate is a paradigm of the whole creation.

Since the Fairfaxes' microcosm manifests a "more

decent Order" than the macrocosm, their behavior -- as it is embodied within their "sober Frame" -- would seem to represent a desirable norm of human conduct. So the






83

opening lines stress, as the rest of the poem will confirm, that Nun Appleton was not the work of any "Forrain" architect -- that the architect here was "native," that his design was English and traditional and fashioned according to nature's own harmonies. Thus we learn that "all things are composed here/ Like Nature, orderly and near" (11. 2526). We also learn that nature has been abundantly "free" here (11. 73-80), and that there is a corresponding proper and virtuous human use of nature's riches: at Nun Appleton, "ev'ry Thing does answer Use," there is no lack of "neatness," and


A Stately FrontisPiece of Poor
Adorns without the open Door:
Nor less the Rooms within commends
Daily new Furniture of Friends.
(11. 61ff.)

The opening lines also stress, as the rest of the poem will also confirm, that Nun Appleton is a "sober" frame -that the place is unpretentious and its owners devout. Thus at Nun Appleton one finds "the Dimensions"


Of that more sober Age and Mind, When larger sized Men did stoop
To enter at a narrow loop;
As practising, in doors so strait,
To strain themselves through Heavens Gate.
(11. 25ff.)

And we are told that "Humilitv alone" furnished the design of Fairfax's sober dwelling (11. 41ff.). In the poet's view, this is a "sacred" place (1. 35).





84


Marvell explicitly states that Nun Appleton's

modest, yet admirable "lines" conform to "holy" mathematics:

Humilit alone designs
Those short but admirable Lines,
By which, ungirt and unconstrain'd,
Things greater are in less contain'd.
Let others vainly strive t'immure
The Circle in the Quadraturel
These hol y Mathematicks can
In ev'ry Figure equal Man.
(11. 41-48)

Marvell here appears to condemn the vain efforts of some of his contemporaries (such as Hobbes) to square the circle. Donne, in the first lines of his poem ._Lte translation of the Psalmes by Sir Philip Sydney, and the Countesse of Pembroe, gives us some idea of how such vain efforts were viewed in the seventeenth century:


Eternall God, (for whom who ever dare
Seeke new expressions, doe the Circle square,
And thrust into strait corners of poore wit
Thee, who art cornerlesse and infinite). .


In contrast with such virtually blasphemous pseudo-mathematics is the behavior of Fairfax: "where he comes the swelling Hall/ Stirs, and the Souare grows Spherical" (11. 49ff.). Perhaps Marvell's "holy Mathematicks" retain a semblance of that vision of world order, that figurative habit of mind, which prompted Emile Male to evaluate one of its expressions -- medieval religious art -- as "a kind of sacred mathematics."30 It may be that, as Douglas Bush suggests, Unon Appleton House has "a touch of the old








symbolic and religious concept of nature as the art of God which appears in so many philosophic writers from Plato to Sir Thomas Browne."31

If Marvell does envision nature, as it is epitomized in the Fairfaxes' estate, to be ultimately the Art of God, he would also seem to affirm that this divine Art can be imitated or apprehended or intuited by human art; for the poet insists that Nun Appleton's "holy Mathematicks" can in "ev'ry Figure equal Man." In Unon Aoleton House, we seem to be dealing quite explicitly with "figur'd Worlds," with a vision of nature, and of man's potentially harmonious use of nature, that is analogical. For the poem's "lines," too, seem to employ a figurative method by which "Things greater are in less contain'd." Marvell appears to acknowledge such an analogical vision and figurative method when he implies, later in the poem, that he may be somewhat skilled in reading nature's mystick Book"; in the wood the poet says that he has contemplated the varied phenomena of Nun Appleton's landscape and that he has been able to "weave" the significances of these phenomena into one pattern of meaning, a pattern that he finds congruent with the "one History" of the accumulated traditions of European culture:


What Rome., Greece, Palestine, ere said
I in this light Mosaick read.
Thrice happy he who, not mistook,
Hath read in Natures mYstick Book.
(11. 577ff.)





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The civilized values of Rome, the philosophical learning of Greece, the religious mysteries of Palestine: are these what Marvell is reader, and tutor, in? and are these what

he discovers embodied in the "sober" and "admirable" and "sacred" frame of Nun Appleton? At any rate, Marvell would seem to be suggesting in the poem as a whole that if

a man can fathom "Nature's mysticK Book," or attune himself to these "holy MathematicKs," in some of the ways that Fairfax is seen to have done, such a man will have some chance of building a secure and well-proportioned and

perhaps even "happy" dwelling-place.

In some such wise, Marvell's second stanza indicates, to my mind, the fundamental subject of the whole poem:

Why should of all things Man unrul'd Such unproportion'd dwellings build?
The Beasts are by their Denns exprest:
And Birds contrive an equal Nest; The low-roof'd Tortoises do dwell
In cases fit of Tortoise-shell:
No Creature loves an empty space;
Their Bodies measure out their Place.

Man of all creatures, Marvell suggests, should not build "unproportion'd" dwellings. Rather, he should strive to locate his true place in nature and contrive to "dwell" there. The poem's subject, put most simply, is man's permanent task of accomodating himself to his environment, and to his condition -- of understanding himself in relationship to all the "worlds" he inhabits.






87


We shall encounter the tortoises of this second

stanza again in the final stanza of Upon Aopleton House, and framing the poem as they do, they can be regarded as, in a somewhat submerged and witty sense, one of its most important symbols. Their symbolic importance is mainly two-fold. First, tortoises are am hibians; they live in diverse elements. Second, tortoises can be taken to figure a perfectly adequate accomodation of a creature to its environment: their dwellings are humble ("low-roof'd") and well-proportioned ("cases fit of Tortoise-shell").

VWhatever "world" tortoises are thrust into, they "dwell" within themselves.

Creatures such as Marvell's tortoises had been

given similar symbolic interpretations in other seventeenth century worKs. Sir Thomas Browne, for instance, can call all "the effects of nature the works of God," and declare: "I hold there is a generall beauty in the works of God, and therefore no deformity in any Kind or species of creature whatsoever: I cannot tell by what Logick we call a Toad, a Beare, or an Elephant, ugly; they being created in those outward shapes and figures which best expresse the

actions of their inward formcs" (ReligioMe.dici, I, 17). And John Donne, in a verse epistle, can advise Sir Henry Wotton to emulate the snail that carries "his owne house" with him wherever he goes:








Be thou thine owne home, and in thy selfe dwell;

Follow (for he is easie pac'd) this snaile,
Be thine owne Palace, or the world's thy gaile.


And as Marjorie Nicolson says, Richard Lovelace can find "an epitome of the universe" in "the circle" of the snail.32 The tone of Lovelace's extravagantly witty, almost whimsically facetious The Snavl is somewhat problematical, but there is little doubt that the ostensible design of the poem is to wring almost every conceivable correspondence from the emblematic roles of this "analys'd King" (1. 37); Lovelace's beginning will serve to suggest how all through the course of the poem he figuratively exploits the "Compendious" snail's living within itself:


Wise Emblem of our Politick World,
Sage Snayl, within thine own self curl'd;
Instruct me softly to make hast,
Whilst these my Feet go slowly fast.

Like Donne's and Lovelace's "sage" snails, Marvell's "lowroof'd" tortoises emblematically suggest that man would

not be ill-advised to emulate such creatures and "fitly" dwell within himself.

Perhaps just as important a feature of tortoises, for Marvell's figurative purposes, is that they are amphibians. So, too, are men in the thinking of the seventeenth century and of all Christian humanism: men live simultaneously in two worlds, they have mixed natures, they are "rational Amphibii" (as Marvell phrases it in the





89


poem's final stanza). Indeed, man, according to a wellKnown passage in Sir.Thomas Browne, is "that great and true Amohibium, whose nature is disposed to live not onely like other creatures in divers elements, but in divided and distinguished worlds; for though there bee but one world to sense, there are two to reason, the one visible, the other invisible"; thus man is "that amphibious piece betweene a corporall and spirituall essence, that middle frame that lines those two together, and makes good the method of God and nature" (Religio Medici, I, 34). The early stanzas of Upon Aooleton House draw upon this idea of man's mixed, or "amphibious" nature. The stanza after the one with the tortoises describes how some men proudly reject their creatureliness, how they vainly forget that man's body "measures out" his place too. Such men "superfluously spread" for themselves immense "hollow" palaces,

and some even demand "more room alive than dead":


What need of all this Marble Crust
T'impark the wanton Mote of Dust. .
(11. 17ff.)

As we have already seen, Fairfax builds more humbly and more usefully and more commodiously; his designs take cognizance both of nature's "free" abundance and of "holy Mathematicks," both of his corporeal and his spiritual "essence": indeed, Nun Appleton House was built only as a mark of "grace," as both Marvell and Fairfax himself

tell us:






90


The House was built upon the Place
Only as for a Marki of Grace; And for an Inn to entertain
Its Lord a while, but not remain.
(Upon Aopleton House, 11. 69-72)

Thinke not o Man that dwells herein
This House's a Stay but as an Inne
Wch for Conuenience fittly stands In way to one nott made wt hands But if a time here thou take Rest Yett thinke Eternity's the Best33

The "native" and "sober" building of a Fairfax aspires to find some means of equally satisfying man's body and man's soul.

Upon Aooleton House thus begins with the image of a

good and proper art that enhances and gives shape to nature. Totally different is the nunnery, to which the poet next turns (11. 81-280). All critics of the poem seem to agree that Marvell's evaluation of this nunnery is uncompromisingly negative, that the poet disvalues and condemns the mode of "retirement" practised by these "Suttle" (1. 94) and "fraudulent" (1. 214) nuns. The "Neighbour-Ruine" (1. 87) of the "gloomy" (1. 89) and "wasting Cloister" (1. 271) of these "Hypocrite Witches" (1. 205) stands as a vivid anti-type to the truly "sacred Places" of the present Nun Appleton, where according to the poet future generations of men shall come in adoring "Pilgrimage" (11. 33ff.). Instead of a "Stately Frontispiece of Poor" adorning "the open Door" or "Daily new Furniture of Friends" (11. 65-68), this cloister "outward shuts its Gates"






91


against "the World" (11i. 97ff.). Moreover, these "Virgin Amazons" (1. 106) are stridently proud of their rejection of men: "What need is here of Man?" (1. 103), rhetorically asks the nun in her campaign to persuade the heiress Isabel Thwaites to join the priory:

"These Bars inclose that wider Den
Of those wild Creatures, called Men.
The Cloyster outward shuts its Gates,
And, from us, locks on them the Grates."
(11. 101-104)

"'Twere Sacriledge a Man t'admit To holy things, for Heaven fit."
(11. 139-140)

In fact, several critics find a strong hint of perversion in the nun's promise to appoint each night "a fresh and Virgin Bride" for Isabel's side:


"Where you may lye as chast in Bed,
As Pearls together billeted.
All Night embracing Arm in Arm,
LiKe Chrystal pure with Cotton warm."
(11. 185ff.)

Perhaps Sir William Fairfax (Isabel's suitor and greatgreat-grandfather of Marvell's Lord Fairfax) is accusing the nuns of some kind of perversion when he says he Knows
"what Fruit their Gardens yield,/ When they it think by Night conceal'd" (11. 219-220).

The pretended innocence of these "Suttle Nunns"

conceals an actual corruption -- even their "Relicks" are "false" (1. 261). Their "long conceiv'd" (1. 96)




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THE SCENIC ANALOGY: A STUDY IN SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURY LANDSCAPE POETRY By CLIFFORD EARL RAMSEY III A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE COUNCIL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA IN PABTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIKEMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA December, 1966

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For Kathrvn and Colin, and their Muse

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Foreword The subject of this study is a century's tradition in English landscape poetry, a tradition that begins with Ben Jonson's To Penshurst and culminates in Alexander Pope's V/indsor-Forest The study's title — The Scenic Analogy implies both my subject and my thesis; that is, the title refers to the landscape poems in this tradition and also to how I believe these poems work. These poems describe landscape scenes, and the general thesis of this study is that these scenes are suggestive of, figure forth, implications beyond their literal and physical dimension the description of particular scenes and prospects in these poems is designed to illuminate the human situation These poems all seek, in their various ways, to locate man's place in nature, "Nature," to these seventeenth century landscape poets, would certainly include the external phenomena of the physical world, the elements and contours and objects visible in a given landscape; but "nature," to these poets, would also include a good deal of the force of Milton's definition: "nature cannot possibly mean anything but the mysterious power and efficacy of that divine voice which went forth in the beginning, and to which, as to a iii

PAGE 4

perpetual command, all things have since paid obedience" ( The Christian Doctrine I, viii). Indeed, to these poets, the two senses of "nature" were interdependent, for thev shared the common thinking of their age that the Wisdom of God could be read in his Creation. A bald wav to put the matter would be to say that these seventeenth century poets read the landscape in a multiple and figurative way that partially resembles the way medieval exegetes read Scripture, As George Boas says in his introduction to The HieroQlvohics of Horapollo the landscape was still a "parable" demanding interpretation. In a recent essay on Pope's estate at Twickenham, Maynard Mack has aptly summarized the way nature's scenes were figuratively interpreted in the seventeenth century: Altogether, landscape and garden at this period assume some of the functions of album and commonplace book, philosophical vademecum and memento mori They serve as aids to reflection -or to recollection, introspection, and worship, giving us, says Addison, "a great Insight into the Contrivance and Wisdom of Providence" and suggesting "innumerable Subjects for Meditation" f Spectator No. ^lljj. They serve as memorials of friendship and Virtue, secular incitements to holy living and holy dying. They present themselves to be read as epitomes of recent history, or psychological states, or human life in general. The poems given systematic attention in this study evidence a vision of the landscape, of the whole natural setting of human activity, that is feudal and eucharistic. Yet at the same time these poems evidence, too, a stubborn iv

PAGE 5

literalness; the sites these poems describe are perceived, and rendered, concretelv. The fundamental feature of all landscape poetrv is the c3scription of place. The production of a poem like To Penshurst or Windsor-Forest could be regarded as in a sense equivalent to making a whole poem out of the rhetorical figure topographia In Puttenham's Arte of English Poesie one finds this definition: "if this description be of any true place, citie, castell, hill, vallev or sea, & such like: we call it Tooooraphia The place described in a landscape poem can be more or less "true," or more or less "fictive," Rhetoricians from antiquity through the Renaissance, in fact, commonly distinguished topographia from the figure topothesia Thus Servius, in his commentary on the first book of the Aeneid says that Virgil's description of the Libyan harbor where the ships of Aeneas take refuge (" Est in secessu lonqo locus ,") is the figure topothesia ("a fictive place according to poetic license") not the figure topographia ("description of true places"). And in his Copia Erasmus, concerning "DESCRIPTION OF PLACE," makes the same distinction; I cite the translation of the Copia by D. B. King and H. D. Rix (Milwaukee, 1963, pp. 54-55) : Speech is enriched also by descriptions of places; the Greeks call these 'yoT^d ffxc^CCL • It is an example of this type whenever the whole appearance of a place is portrayed just V

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as if it were in sight, as for example, the appearance of a river, a port, a villa, gardens, an amphitheatre, a fountain, a cavern, a temple, a grove. And if these descriptions are of actual places the-y are to be called tooographia but if fictional, topothesia Examples of the former are the description of the Laurentine villa in Plinv's Letters in Statius of the Surrentine villa of Pollius and the Tiburtine villa of Manlius. Of the latter, the abode of sleep in Ovid, the home of Rumor and the palace of the sun; of the Lower Regions and the home of Cacus in Vergil. I observe this distinction and have restricted this study of the Scenic Analogy mainly to instances of topo qraphia to topographical poetry. For the most part, this study omits from any systematic consideration such instances of topothesia as pastoral poetry, the "houses" in The Faerie Queene Pope's Temple of Fame or the Cave of Spleen in The. Rape of the Lock On the whole, that is, this study is restricted to seventeenth century English poems that describe places with actual, topographically and historically documentable identities such as Penshurst Estate, Cooper's Hill, Nun Appleton House, St. James's Park, Windsor Castle, and Windsor Forest, Of course it would not be wise to push this perhaps ultimately artificial distinction too far. How should one classify the landscapes in, for instance, Eloisa to Abelard or The Epistle to Burlington ? Despite the fact that Pope and his contemporaries could visit, as we still can, an "actual" V;indsor Forest, there is another "Windsor Forest" the one rendered by Pope's imagination and embodied in the universe of his poem — that does not have the same kind vi

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of tangible existence as, but is perhaps no less "real" than, the Forest we can visit and walk through, Poetrv alwavs creates its own "reality" as well as reflecting, and illuminating, ours. Nevertheless, there do seem to be some significant differences between a poem such as The Temple of Fame and a poem such as Windsor-Forest and the distinction between topothesia and topooraphia provides some historical basis for what I hope are reasonable, and perhaps meaningful, limits in this study. Because poems such as To Penshurst and Windsor-Forest do describe actual, particular places, I use Dr. Johnson's term throuQhout most of this study and call them "Local" poems. In this study, the terms "Local Poetry" and "Local Poem" always refer to those seventeenth century poems in the specific tradition that begins with To Penshurst and culminates a century later in Windsor-Forest My introductory chapter discusses some of the sources and backgrounds of this Local Poetry, and by means of these provides definitions and theses. The remaining chapters consist primarily of analyses of the main varieties and major examples of Local Poetry: Chapter Two deals with the Estate Poems of Jonson, Carew, Herrick, and Marvell; Chapter Three deals with the major example of the Prospect Poem, Denham*s Cooper's Hill ; Chapters Four and Five deal with the poems about royal places of Waller, Otway, and Pope. vii

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It is a pleasure to acKnowledge here a few of the many debts, both personal and intellectual, I have incurred since undertaking this studv. Among my teachers who have, formallY and informallv, influenced my worK in significant ways are Professors Floyd S. Lear, Alan D. McKillop, Jackson I. Cope, F. C. Haber, and Robert A, Bryan. Among my friends who have listened patiently, and sometimes talked, are John Fischer, J. Paul Hunter, Bob Kalmey, Michael O'Loughlin, Royal Roussel, Don Summerhayes, and David Walker. Among my scholarly predecessors who have deepened my understanding of landscape poetry are R. A. Aubin, Maynard Mack, and Earl Wasserman. It is a particular pleasure to acknowledge two special debts. The members of my supervisory committee Professors Robert A. Bryan, E. Ashby Hammond, and Thomas R. Preston acted kindly and swiftly in my behalf at a time of great urgency. And my undergraduate assistant — David Tucker Scott — made a generous contribution to the final preparation of this study. Professor Aubrey L. Vi/illiams has been teacher and friend and scholarly predecessor. His direction of this study has been humanly severe, and his personal kindness to me has been incalculable. His work has been my great example. The dedication suggests my deepest obligation, that to my wife, whose early and persistent care has given value to all my efforts; she is my spur, and my bridle too. viii

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Contents Forevjord iii One "O'er Figured Worlds" 1 Two "The V/ondrous Architecture of the V(/orld" 53 Three "The Amplest Reach of Prospect" 110 Four The "Sacred Genius" of "this Roval Place" 138 Five The Monarchs' and the Muses' Seats 172 VJorlcs Cited 232 ix

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One: "O'er Figur'd Worlds" These holy Mathematicks can In ev*rY Figure equal Man. Upon Appleton House I "The one Roman poem that ran perhaps deepest in the blood stream of Pope's age was Virgil's Georgics. ." In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, especially in that style of English literature which we are accustomed to call Augustan, the prestige of Virgil's poem was enor3 mous. One of the main effects of this vogue of the Georgics was its influence on a new species of landscape poetry.^ During the seventeenth century, there emerged in England a species of poems in which the main design was to describe some particular landscape — some actual, historically icentifiable landscape. Such a design had not been common before, especially not in whole poems, and was particularly unfamiliar to English poetry prior to the Stuart era. These seventeenth century English landscape poems are the subject of the present study. The tradition begins with Jonson's To Penshurst : it includes poems by Carew, Herrick, Marvell, Denham, V/aller, and Otway; and it culminates in Pope's Winds orForest Together these poems constitute a new sub-species of the more general and \ • \ V > 1

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inclusive descriptive-didactic mode, a mode derived essen5 tially from the Georqics What these seventeenth centurv English landscape poets might have found in Virgil's poem is suggested bv the period's best known essay on the Georqics the essay of Joseph Addison that prefaced most early editions of Dryden's Virgil ; Addison writes: o this Kind of poetry o addresses itself wholly to the imagination: it is altogether conversant among the fields and woods and has the most delightful part of nature for its province. It raises in our minds a pleasing variety of scenes and landscapes, whilst it teaches us; and makes the dryest of its precepts look like a description* ... This way of writing is everywhere much in use among the poets, and is particularly practised by Virgil, who loves to suggest a truth indirectly, and without giving us a full and open view of it, to let us see^ just so much as will naturally lead the imagination into all the parts that lie concealed. • • • E, K. Rand has a similar view of the "method" of the Georqics ; Rand comments several times upon Virgil's "customary 'reticence,' which does not tolerate explicitness when suggestion can tell the story; it is the principie of the enthymeme applied to description," The characteristic method of the Georqics and of English poems of the same mode, is the oblique one of indirection or reticence. The Georqics and the poems of its mode, is obliquely, yet continuously, multi-dimensional; almost any statement or image in the poem will be found, if looked at steadily, to suggest immensely. In Book II, for instance.

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shortlv after the soaring passage on the "Praises of Italv" (11. 136-176), Virgil appears to shift away from myth — ^alve. magna parens frugum. Saturnia tellus./ ma gna virum bacK to an uncomplicated didactic realism: "Now shall I teach you to distinguish soils" (l. 226), He proceeds to describe how a farmer should lay out his fields (llo 273-287), and, in the midst of this instruction, in the midst of these fields, we encounter Mars! The farmer is told to lay out the rows of his field like battle lines, and the whole passage is shot through with military language and images drawn from warfare (this is especially clear in Dryden's version, 11. 368-394). But a little later (11. 420-425), in contrast to the figure of Mars, we are told of the easily cultivated olives, and what they figure: Soft Peace they figure, and sweet Plenty bring: Then Olives plant, and Hymns to Pallas sing. (Dryden, 11. 586-594) The olive figures peace and plenty, one learns, in the life of the nation as well as that of the husbandman. This passage from Mars to the olive, from a figure of war to a figure of peace, connects us with the real subject of the whole poem, for throughout the Georqics "Virgil's animating purpose is the need of his country for peace, well typified by the simplicity of rural life. He would recall his country from war, ,"

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The Ge orgies insists that the achievement of peace requires constant effort -especially since there are so many Kinds of war, in the life of man and in the life of nature, to be overcome or assimilated. For instance, the battle of the bulls in Book III (llo 209-244) suggests that love, to which all creatures submit, can become a destructive force, that lust, though not inherently wrong, can become an internal war. The violent storm in Book I (11, 322-334) images still another kind of war; the whole natural world seems caught in the violence of a war of the elements. The conclusion of this same book (l, 11. 461514; 11, 624-end in Dryden, whose language I use here), a famous set piece, draws these several kinds of war together in a scene of uncontrollable violence stretching throughout the whole universe. The human world, upon the fall of Julius Caesar, fell into the disorder of civil war; and we find nature seconding man's chaos. Both the "great" and "little" worlds, in all their aspects, are like a chariot gone completely out of control as "Perfidious Mars rides "o're the wasted World in Triumph." It is not that Virgil tacks on a moral to his landscape descriptions or his farming instructions, or that he adorns a concept with sensuous coloring; it is rather that the percept is the precept! What Virgil achieves in the Geor_qics is a constant mingling, an interfusion, of the descriptive and the didactic, of the rural and the national, of horticulture and panegyric. But because Virgil's

PAGE 14

fundamental concern is "with the whole problem of man's relation to nature," all the diverse elements of the poem — all its "worlds" great and small — are reallv onlv different species of horti-culture What unites all of the poera*s issues and images, what makes its vision single, is its theme, a theme that is concerned with the relationship of man to his environment, with how man can bring actual harmonv out of potential chaos, how he can achieve peace and plentv* in sum how he can achieve Order, This theme of the Georaics is cultivation. The poem focuses on that cultivation of the earth, that transformation of the landscape, that will make it habitable and productive. Thus all the verbs in the poem's introduction (I, 11, 1-5) describe activities that can be called cultivation, activities that relate to the farmer's, or the poet's, art. Thus in his Dedication of th e Georoics Drvden compliments the Earl of Chesterfield for having "cultivated Nature," and in his own translation of the second Georgia (11. 44ff.), Dryden, especiallv by means of his figurative language (something for which he often commended Virgil), gives us a sense of the range of implication suggested by Virgil's art of cultivation: Then let the Learned Gard'ner mark with care The Kinds of Stocks, and what those Kinds will bear: Explore the Nature of each sev'ral Tree; And known, improve with artful Industry: And let no spot of idle Earth be found, But cultivate the Genius of the Ground, ...

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6 The "vigour of the Native Earth" maintains the strength and beautY of its plants and trees, and thus "maKes a Manly Birtho" But their nurture is up to man. Man's art, his cultivation and labor, is essential for the achievement of a productive order within nature: the "barren kinds" of trees, receiving Graffs of other Kind, Or thence transplanted, change their salvage Mind: Their VVildness lose, and quitting Nature's part. Obey the Rules and Discipline of Art, "Much labour" is required by trees "to tame/ Their wild disorder"; once tamed and nurtured, they "bear their Fruits." Such a vision of husbandry, of art and nature, has rich implications for ethics and for poetry and even for politics. It is a vision of husbandry that recalls Polixines's speech on gardening and Odysseus' account of the secret of his complicated bed and its construction, a vision that suggests, finally, that the art of cultivation, at every level, is the art of civilization itself. That this art of cultivation applies to every level of man's existence, to every aspect of his relationship to nature, is indicated by the general "upward" movement from one booK of the Ge orgies to the next. As Dryden says in his foreword to the fourth Georgic ; Virgil has taken care to raise the Subject of each Georgic: In the First he has only dead Matter on which to work. In the second he just steps on the World of Life, and describes that degree of it which is to be found in Vegetables, In the third he

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advances to Animals, And in the last, singles out the Bee, which raav be reckon'd the most sagacious of 'em, for his Subject," So the poem moves from the soil, the elements that compose the landscape; to the landscape itself; to animals, the figures who inhabit the landscape; to the bees, a culture and thence to myth. Even the concluding mvth has to do with cultivation, for Orpheus himself was regarded as an archetvpal cultivator and civilizer,^^ For Virgil the life of significant soil was perhaps the human life par excellence So among his heroes, along with Orpheus and Augustus, is the "Old Corycian Swain" (IV, 11, 125-148), who "cultivated with his daily Care" his "little Spot of Ground" and was "richly" rewarded. This "Swain" through his cultivation achieved repose, adequate plenty, and a harmonious existence; he "wisely deem'd the Wealth of Monarchs less," Such a "Country King," happily and rightfully, "his peaceful Realm enjoys. As this last sentence suggests, Virgil's poem is concerned with the ruler's art too. Lines early in Book I imply the poem's political concern, Augustus Caesar ("Patron of the World" in Dryden's phrase, 1. 33) is asked by the poet to "share/ Concern with me for uninstructed farmers" (Bovie's translation, p. 5), and we sense that Virgil means "uninstructed farmers" of every type : thou, propitious Caesar, guide my Course, And to my bold Endeavors add thy Force. Pity the Poet's and the Ploughman's Cares,

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8 Int'rest thy Greatness in our mean Affairs, And use thy self betimes to hear and grant our Pray'rs. (Dryden, 11. 59-63} The poem seeks to establish a correlation between the poet's, the ploughman's, and Augustus's "cares"; such a correlation will illuminate the cultivation, the art, that is the task of each, for each can learn from all the others The fourth Georgic in one of its dimensions, is a fable of man's political life, as the introductory lines suggest: Maecenas, Virgil says, "I shall portray for you a marvelous scene;/ A perfect model state" (IV, 11, 3-5; Bovie's translation, p. 85), So a good example of Virgil's indirection or reticence is his description of bee culture in this fourth Book, vjhere, as Addison's Essay says, the poet informs "the actions of so trivial a creature with metaphors drawn from the most important concerns of mankind A passage in Sir Thomas Elyot's Booke of the Gouernour shows what Christian humanism typically made of such bees: For who can denie, but that all thynge in heuen and erthe is gouerned by one god, by one perpetuall ordre, by one providence? and to descende downe to the erthe, in a litell beest, whiche of all other is moste to be marvayled at, I meane the Bee, is lefte to man by nature, as it semeth, a perpetuall figure of a iuste gouernance or rule; who hath amonge them one principall Bee for theyr gouernour. <. Maynci^.j Mack has recently urged that Pope's poetry is animated from first to last by such a vision of community, of the arts of cultivation issuing in a "just

PAGE 18

9 governance," as one finds in a booK like Elyot's or a 12 poem lilce Virgil* s. Such visions of community are "a 13 species of true propaganda." The "patriotism" of a Virgil or a Pope would appear to be grounded in idealism, in myth, to be an apocalyptic patriotism (Thus not only the Georoics but also the Pollio and Book VI of the Aeneid and Isaiah have a deep influence on WindsorForest and many poems of its kind.) In many poems of the georgic mode, and in much of the thought of the seventeenth century, the "husbandman" was an archetype that could figure almost any honorific role -even the King's, even in a sense God's. We might recall, for example, Dryden's image of cultivation and gardening as synonymous with statecraft and the art of governing in Threnodia Augu stalis (11, 346-398), where Charles II appears as the "Royal Husbandman," Or we might recall a passage from one of Donne's pair of sermons to the King at Court on Genesis 1:26 ("Let us make man in our image"), where Donne claims "f ruitf ulness" is a condition of the spirit, and where he insists that any "field" or any ,x "crop" will be adequate for man's needs if "God will be 14 the husbandman," A line in the fourth Georgic perhaps best defines the characteristic method of Virgil's poem, and of most poems in the descriptive-didactic mode: si parva licet componere magpis (l, 176). The line, rendered by Dryden (l. 256) as "If little things with great we may compare,"

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10 15 has a long enough progenv in Western literature to be regarded as a commonplace verbal formula. It was a formula rich with implication, especiallv in the seventeenth centurYo Recently, John S Coolidge has provocatively studied this "great things and small" formula, shown its relevance to the "Virgilian Progression" of genres (from pastoral to georgic to epic), and found it assimilated by Milton into the Christian pattern of typological revelation, "the Pauline principle of contrasting fulf illmento""^^ Coolidge' s findings seem to accord well with John Donne's version of the formula: "0 Eternal and most gracious God, who hast made little things to signify great, and conveyed the infinite merits of thy Son in the water of baptism, and in the bread and 17 wine of thy other sacrament, unto us. ..." We shall find, moreover, that "great" things and "small" are frequently compared in poems like To Penshurst and Cooper s Hill and Windsor-Forest ; the "small things" in the foreground of these poems -their "scenes and landscapes" — are continually offering analogues to, and suggesting "truths" about, the "great" issues of human experience; such poems address themselves "wholly to the imagination" and present to their readers a simultaneous, even if reticent, view of "the great and little worlds," The last phrase comes from A Discourse on P as toral Poetry in which Pope says that Spenser in The Shepheardes Calender compares "human Life to the several Seasons, and at once

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11 exposes to his readers a view of the great and little worlds, in their various changes and aspects." Pope's statement is not applicable to pastoral alone; it also suggests a typical pattern of movement in seventeenth century landscape poems — a movement which oscillates between views of "the great and little worlds," which often juxtaposes those "worlds," and which on occasion can "view" either "world" in the other. This kind of movement can occur because these are "figur'd worlds," because ultimately the eternal and gracious God — a literal and a metaphorical God -"made little things to signify greato" The distinctive achievement of the Georgic s as Maynard Mack and Sir Kenneth Clark have reminded us, "lies in combining an almost absolute degree of realism in its account of farming, with an almost absolute degree of myth in its identification of the life of husbandmen with the innocence and felicity, hardihood and piety of the lost 18 Golden Age before Astraea left the earth. • ," This combination of myth and reality, of art and nature, perhaps finds its richest expression in the "Panegyric of a Country Life," the celebrated 0 fortunatos nimium that concludes the second Georgic (II, 11, 458-542). Rand has well described the movement into and through this "Panegyric of a Country Life": "Now we have the real crops and soils of nature in a land that boasts no miracles; now some little miracle appears and seems quite at home.

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12 We are graduallv aware that we are in an idealized Italy, in an idealized spring, and • even • • that the country is Saturnian. ."^^ One might remarlc as an anonymous observer did in regard to what "Pope's poeticK Genius" had done with his grotto: "Thus, by a fine Taste and happy Management of Nature, you are presented with an 20 undistinguishable Mixture of Realities and Imagery." What one has, in this "Panegyrics of a Country Life" and throughout the Georgics is "a poet's generous vision Of a possible true community" — a true community of men, and a true community of man and nature. Itself the heir of a significant tradition and followed by a rich tradition set in its pattern, the Georgics did more than any other poem to establish the themes and methods and popularity of the descriptive-didactic mode in European literature. Yet Virgil's poem, despite its frequent exploitation of the natural — and the cultivated -scene does not describe "some particular landscape," The Mosella of Ausonius does describe a "particular" landscape, and therefore it illustrates more precisely than the generalized landscapes of the Georgics the specific poetic kind with which the present study is concerned. That is, the Georgics defines the general mode of descriptive-didactic poetry, and within that general mode there exists a sub-species of landscape poetry. Perhaps better than any other poem of antiquity, the Mosell

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13 illustrates this sub-species; Ausonius's poem offers a 22 model of major importance for the English landscape poems between Jonson and Pope that describe actual, particular places — places liKe the Moselle River that have historicallv and topographicallv documentable identities, such as Nun Appleton House or Cooper's Hill or Windsor Forest. The Mosella is composed wholly of "a pleasing variety of scenes and landscapes." The poem is an account of Ausonius's journeY down the Moselle, of what the poet sees on the river, in the river, and along its banKs, The "whole gracious prospect" makes the poet behold a picture of his own "native land, the smiling and well-tended country of Bordeaux — the roofs of country-houses, perched high upon the overhanging riverbanKs, the hill-sides green with vines, and the pleasant stream of Moselle gliding below with subdued murmuring. "^^ Here and throughout the poem (11. 23ff., 152ff., and 298ff.) the villas and cultivated hillsides are primarily images of good "husbandry," of peace, plenty, and the arts of civilization. Besides these cultivated "treasures" on the river's banks, there are creaturely "treasures" in its "crystal depths," In the river (11. 75-151), Ausonius sees "many Kinds" ( tot species ) of fish, and he describes quite fully "their glistening hosts and legions manifold." This catalogue device of Ausonius appeared rn most subsequent landscape poems, and seems to function — in many

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14 instances — as an image of plenitude or, liKe Homer*s catalogue of troops in Boole II of the Iliad to create a sense of inclusiveness. Something, at any rate, in such catalogues prompted Pope to regard the device as "a Landscape or Piece of Painting ("Observations on the Catalogue" in the first volume of his Iliad ) The river's "crystal depths" (this phrase, vitreo prof undo is one of the poem's most persistent and significant images) aid the poet's seeing: Thou through thy smooth surface showest all the treasures of thy crystal depths a river keeping naught concealed / "Spectaris vitreo per levia terga prof undo ../ secreti nihil amnis habeas /,,,, thy waters limpid-gliding reveal in azure light shapes scattered here and there / ~ lapsus aquarum / prodit caerulea dispersas luce figures /. launder the enriched waves mimic necklaces counterfeit our fashions, • (11. 55-74) In such a "crystal mirror," as Marvell possibly imitating Ausonius will say, "all things" can "gaze themselves, and doubt/ If they be in it or without" ( Upon Appleton House 11. 636-638). As Ausonius 's lines quietly suggest, what the journeying poet "sees" is complicated and enriched by reflections; indeed, the Mosella is a poem of and about "reflections." We can observe, for instance, in another passage (11. 189-199, a passage echoed by Marvell and Pope) the blending of light and shadow, of hill and river. The "azure river mirrors the shady hill" and appears "all o'ergrown with shoots of vines," The boatman's skiff

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15 floats out in mid-stream, "where the pictured hill blends with the river" and "where the river joins the edges of the shadows," Such a "watry LandsKip" seems to be a "looKing glass" that can "reflect" more than one aspect o 24 a scene, ImmediatelY after this passage come other, more obviously suggestive, "reflections" (11. 200-239), The sKiffs at mid-stream join in "mimic battle," a "pageant" liice "those games which Tiber beholds on the Cumaean tide when Venus, "glad at Augustus' victory of Actium," bids enactment of "such fierce combats as the navies of the Nile and Roman triremes waged," or like those "when Euboean barks repeat upon the waters of echoing Avernus the hazards of the strife at Mylae in the Pompeian War"; o o o • The boys themselves delight in their own counterfeits, wondering at the illusive forms which the river gives back / ip.sa suo qaudet simulamine nautica pubes, / fallaces fluvio jTiirata red ir e figures 7c even so, at sight of the reflections which mock them, the lads afloat amuse themselves with shapes which waver between false and true / "talis ad umbrarum .ludibria nautica pubes/ .ambiquis fruitur veri .falsique fiquris 7 ^ Such "reflections," though they are cast up from a "natural theatre" ( naturali theatro 1. 156) and though they constitute a "gracious prospect," seem to have "depths" of meaning for the human scene. Moreover, the "pleasing" ( dulces ) quality of this "pageant" and its "reflections" is a relevant part of the meaning, for the scene becomes, partly through its dulces an image of a

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16 potentially harmonious existence. Such a "gracious prospect" can be "freely enjoyed" (11. 189ffo) because it is presently free of discord, free of "ramparts" and "slaughtered hordes" (11. Iff.). The Moselle's f igurae are dulce.s yet ambiquis ; this scene's "reflections" reticently remind us of other less "pleasing" scenes scenes of "fierce combats," of discord and death. The Mosella like the Georgics and liKe 25 Winds or" Forest is a poem about War and Peace, In this connection, we should remember that Ausonius wrote the Mosella while on Theodosius's German campaign of 368-369, or right after his return, We might also recall the poem's first paragraph, and how it effects a passage from "Nava's cloudy stream" to a place where the air is clear, from a scene of slaughter "through pathless forest" to a "gracious prospect," from moenia to yillarum and virides Baccho colles and amoena fluenta a passage, that is, from war to peace. Thus the Mosella s landscapes can be said to be figurative: its "worlds," its scenes from nature's "theatre," exist not only or even primarily for their 27 own sake ." but also to figure forth other worlds, to make statements usually quite oblique -about different and larger worlds; Ausonius 's "Images" and "Descriptions of Places" tend to "some Hint," or lead into "some Reflection, upon moral Life or political Institution" (Pope on Cooper s Hill ) Concerning "reflections," a

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17 contemporary of Ausonius wrote: "Since, from the Supreme God Mind arises, and from Mind, Soul, and since this in turn creates all subsequent things and fills them all with life, and since this single radiance illumines all and is reflected in each, as a single face might be reflected in manv mirrors placed in a series the attentive observer will discover a connection of parts, from the Supreme God down to the last dreg of things, mutually linKed together and without a break And this is Homer's golden chain" (Macrobius, Comment, in ,Somnium Scipionis I, 14, 15). Ao 0, Love joy regards this passage in Macrobius, particularly because of its figures of the chain and the series of mirrors, as one of the chief vehicles by which the central assumptions of Neoplatonism 28 were transmitted to later ages. How much of this weight Ausonius's "reflections" can bear, how rooted this figurative quality of the Mosella is in any Kind of metaphysic of analogy, seems somewhat uncertain. E, K. Rand says that Ausonius is "of exceeding importance" to any treatment 29 of "Christian humanism"; and it seems at least possible that Ausonius, who was first a professor of rhetoric, then tutor to the imperial family, and then consul before leaving public life, and who was a contemporary of thinkers liKe Macrobius, Servius, Claudian, Prudentius, Ambrose, Jerome, Chrysostom, and Augustine (Augustine's conversion came only eight years after Ausonius's consulship in 379),

PAGE 27

18 at least possible that such a man in such an age could be familiar with some of the Kinds of philosophical and cosmological assumptions described in Part III of this chapter. But it seems quite certain that Ausonius's poem uses place to talk about the concerns of men; its "natural theatre" is also ultimately a human theater, II The definition that Samuel Johnson gives the seventeenth centurv English species of landscape poetrv emphasizes place and suggests, despite a relatively limited critical terminology, that such poetry uses place in more than literal ways; in his "Life of Denham," Dr. Johnson speaKs of the poet of Cooper's Hill as "the author of a species of composition that may be denominated local poetrv of which the fundamental subject is some particular landscape to be poetically described, with the addition of such embellishments as may be supplied by historical 31 retrospection or incidental meditation." Because of the emphasis on place in this species of poetry. Dr. Johnson's name for it — "Local Poetry" — seems the most suggestive, and it is the name used throughout the rest of this study. Pope's definition of the "Art" of Cooper's Hill somewhat fuller and subtler than Johnson's, similarly refers to "Descriptions of Places." Speaking, in the notes

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19 to his translation of the Iliad of Homer's "indirect and oblique manner of introducing moral Sentences and Instructions ... even in Descriptions and poetical Parts, where one naturally expects only Painting and Amusement," Pope goes on: "I must do a noble English Poet the justice to observe, that it is this particular Art that is the very distinguishing Excellence of Cooper's Hill ; throughout which, the Descriptions of Places, and Images rais'd by the Poet, are still tending to some Hint, or leading into some Reflection, upon moral Life or political Institution: Much in the same manner as the real Sight of such Scenes and Prospects is apt to give the Mind a compos 'd Turn, and incline it to Thoughts and Contemplations that 32 have a Relation to the Object." Pope's notion of scenes and prospects giving the mind "a compos 'd Turn" should perhaps be compared with the general point of Henry V. S Ogden and Margaret S, Ogden that the dominant effect of seventeenth century English landscape painting was to produce a "sense of well-being, ""^"^ More important. Pope's \^ total definition of Denham's art directs us to an awareness that seventeenth century Local Poets used place for more than mere description — to an awareness, that is, that the achievement of such an art is likely to be a "fusion 34 of the scenic, the moral, and the politicals" Such a fusion, such an "interpenetration of meaning and image, "^^^ is the distinguishing excellence of not only Cooper's Hill but also of Windsor-Forest and of all poems of their species

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20 The statements of Johnson and especially of Pope on the "art" of Denham, and of Addison on that of Virgil, together with the examples of the Georoics and the Mose.lla seem to support directly the main theses that the rest of this study will attempt to illustrate and confirm: English Local Poetry from Ben Jonson to Alexander Pope constitutes a tradition which can be best understood in terms of what I have chosen to call the "Scenic Analogy"; this Local Poetry is descriptive didactic and figurative ; the aim of this poetry is to locate man's place in nature Poems that belong to the "Scenic Analogy" tradition are descrip tive in that they describe some particular landscape or image some specific place; they are didactic in that they comment upon or illuminate the human "situation"; and they are figurative in that they fulfill their didactic purpose in and through a primarily descriptive surface. These Local Poems seeic to explore, analyze, and define man's complex relationships to the several "worlds" he inhabits; they seek to do so through the "figure" of a "particular" place that functions as an epitome of these several "worlds," The terms "figure" and "figurative" are inclusive enough to invoke the whole range of extraliteral meanings possible in poetry — from the simplest figure of speech, such as pun or simile, to something as profound as Erich Auerbach's conception of the f igura Perhaps because of their inclusiveness, the terms were habitually used by

PAGE 30

21 37 poets and critics throughout the period of Local Poetry. Thus Puttenham, in The Arte of English Poesie (I, iv), defines poetry as "figurative conveyance," Thus Pope, in the "Postscript" to the Odyssey claims that the "great point of judgment is to distinguish when to spealc simply, and when figuratively": "I believe o that the low actions of life cannot be put into a figurative style without being ridiculous, but things natural can. Metaphors raise the latter into dignity, as we see in the Georgics. In the figurative aspect of Local Poetry, at the most basic level, we are dealing with something common to a great deal of poetry, perhaps to all poetry; the tendencies ox modern poetics seem to affirm a tenet like that of W. Ko Wimsatt and Monroe Beardsley that "analogy and metaphor are not only in a broad sense the principle of all poetry but are also inevitable in practical criticism."^^ Yet at a more subtle level, we are dealing with something, with a habit of mind, that has not always been present in the mainstream of poetry since the death of Pope -a habit of mind, one might hazard, that is common to classical poetry, and which encouraged the "belief that the smallest particular is significant of ideas as large as the mind can inclose," and which saw 39 "the universe thus," But at a still more subtle level, we are dealing with something more specifically relevant to the Scenic Analogy, with a vision of things which insisted that to describe nature was to comment on man.

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22 Besides the inclusive value of the term "figure," and besides its value as a common term in seventeenth centurv critical vocabularies, it also has the value of suggesting the human figure This last value is particularly important, because we are dealing with poems that consistently focus on a natural landscape dotted with human figures, poems that figure forth man-in-nature This Kind of "figuring" was not uncommon in Renaissance plastic art. Witness the comment of Otto Benesch on a panel by Altdorfer: "The figure seems to grow out of the earth liKe trees and plants. This is no metaphor. Benesch relates this quality in painters like Altdorfer to a specific view of nature, such as the one he finds in Paracelsus: "Nature was to Paracelsus a spiritual total 40 which is reflected in every one of its parts. • ." In such a view, the sum of nature could be figured in one of its parts, in man especially. Because of the long-standing vigor of such views of nature, Ernst Curtius can remark. "as in Homer, so in all the poetry of Antiquity nature is always inhabited nature. It makes no difference whether 41 the inhabitants are gods or men," and Marjorie Nicolson can say, "Man was so involved in Nature that no separation was possible -nor would an Elizabethan have understood 42 such separation." Nor, we can add, would an Augustan have understood such a separation between man and nature. At least not an Augustan like Alexander Pope, according to Geoffrey Tillotson; "everything for Pope is centralized in

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23 man, in men, in human character and the visible instruments upon which human character orchestrates its fine or 43 broken music." The poets who flourished in England between the reigns of Elizabeth and Anne were not often in the habit of thinking of any place apart from the human activity that occurred there. Yet it is man's Place in nature that Local Poetry seeks to discover and illuminate. Each Local Poem achieves, in one manner or another, a "composition of place." One can hardly think, of course, of a more basic category of human experience, Ernst Cassirer regards localizing as an inevitable and indispensable process of the human mind; he finds the same process at work in science, in language, and in myth the process of translating sensations and feelings into spatial images,'^'* One is tempted to say that all men not just lovers, lunatics, and poets seek to give "a local habitation and a name" to their experience. We do know that in certain world views, "every reality occupies" its "definitely prescribed 45 place." And there was, at least until the triumph of the Scientific Revolution was complete, a long habit in Western thought of viewing place as having a special potency or significance, and as being more than simply physical, A place could have a significance all its own. Or a place could acquire significance from its human, or divine, inhabitants.

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24 Cassirer himself has amplv documented the primacy of place in mythical thinKing, in which spiritual forces are intimately bound up with some specific "material substratum"; "all mere properties or attributes" must 46 ultimately "become bodies." The mythical form of thought leads to a "materialization" of spiritual qualities and relationships; but the process bends back upon itself, as it were, and there is a simultaneous drive by the mythical imagination toward a complete "spiritualization" of the cosmos (p. 55). Cassirer proceeds to argue that, "For mythical thinking the relation between what a thing ^ 'is' and the place in which it is situated is never purely external and accidental; the place is itself a part of the thing's being, and the place confers very specific inner ties upon the thing" (pp. 91-92). So in mythical thinking, there is no separation of objects and qualities, of position and content; there is no distinction between something's being and its value, between physical and spiritual place. Vestiges of a similar view of place — that it can contain spirit as well as matter, that it has "valuedimensions as well as physical ones"^*^ -were still available in the intellectual millieu of seventeenth century England, that milieu which nourished Local Poetry. For instance, Isabel MacCaffrey, invoking Cassirer's investigations of myth, has indicated the relevance for Paradise Lost of "the venerable habit of mind that equates

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25 physical and moral place," and thus shown how Milton conceived his epic's structure "architecturally, in terms of mass and weight." In this "spatial" structure, place indicates at once spiritual and geographical estate": the "place inhabited by a creature gives the Key to its moral status, because moral values inhere in places; the word itself comes to take on the suggestion of proper place, ." So Satan, having fallen, can say in Hell: / 49 "th'event was dire,/ As this place testifies." Local Poets and many of their contemporaries seemed to have believed that any place might provide a "center" 50 where "many lines" of force or meaning could meet. So John Donne, in his Devotions (Meditation II, italics mine), can say, "earth is the centre of my body, heaven is the centre of my soul; these two are the natural places of these two; but these go not to these two in an equal pace: my body falls down without pushing; my soul does not go up without pulling; ascension is my soul's pace and measure, but precipitation my body's. And even angels, whose home is heaven, and who are winged too, yet had a ladder to go to heaven by steps, ..." And in one of his sermons, Donne can say: "He that stands in a place and does not the duty of that place, is but a statue in that place, In nature the body frames and forms the place; for the place of the natural body is that proxima aeris superficies, that inward superficies of the air, that invests and clothes, and apparals that body, and

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26 obeys, and follows, and succeeds to the dimensions thereof. In nature the body maKes the place, but in grace the place ma ices the body /"italics mine__7: The person must actuate it self according to the dimensions of the place, by 51 filling it in the execution of the duties of it." The relationships here of place, being, and value seem reciprocal. Such a view of place seems clearly figurative. Pope seems to be working with a somewhat similar view of place when he writes, of the soul of an "unfortunate lady." As into air the purer spirits flow. And sep'rate from their kindred dregs below; So flew the soul to its congenial place Nor left one virtue to redeem her race, ^2 Pope thus wrings from an old and traditional and perhaps outworn physical theory a precise moral effect. So does he again in a poem on "the Characters of Women": not all "spirits" are "pure"; some are "dross" and do not fly up; Still round and round the Ghosts of Beauty glide. And haunt the places where their Honour died, ( Epistle to a Ladv 11, 241-242) In this second passage. Pope appears to be exploiting -obliquely and playfully, yet poignantly too — the venerable habit of invoking a genius loci of associating ^ with a physical place its own presiding Locall power ." The Romans in particular attached such a "genius" or protecting deity to every locality, but the habit was widespread and very old, "for anciently both Jewes Gentiles &

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27 Christians have supposed to everv CountreY a singular 53 Genius." The habit had not yet disappeared in the seventeenth century. So Michael Drayton, at the beginning of his "chorographicall" Polv-olbion invokes England's Lo.call power "; Thou Genius of the place (this most renowned lie) Direct my course so right, as with thy hand to showe Vi/hich way thy Forrest s range, which way thy Rivers flowe; Wise Genius by thy helpe that so I may discry How thy faire Mountaines stand, and how thy Valleys lie, (Song I, 11. 8-16) Indeed, Sir Thomas Browne said he was so far from denying the existence of such spirits that he "could easily beleeve, that not onely whole Countries, but particular., persons, have their Tutelary, and Guardian Angels" ( Reliqio Medici I, 33). And close to the end of the century, John Dryden, near the opening of his Discourse concerning the Original and Progress of Satire can still vigorously declare his belief in genii loci ; he first urges their poetic value for Christian Poets," and then asserts his faith in the reality of such tutelary spirits 'Tis a Doctrine almost Universally receiv'd by Christians, as well Protestants as Catholicks, that there are Guardian Angels appointed by God Almighty, as his Vicegerents, for the Protection and Government of Cities, Provinces, Kingdoms, and Monarchies; and those as well of Heathens, as of true Believers. All this is so plainly prov'd from Texts of Daniel, that it admits of no farther Controversie. These Tutelar Genii who

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28 presided over the several People and Regions committed to their Charge, were watchful over them for good, The General Purpose was certainly the Service of their Great Creatour, • • • It is out of the consciousness of a long and rich tradition, therefore, that Pope so emphaticallv urges 55 us to "Consult the Genius of the Place in all. Maynard Made aptly suggests that "genius of the place" is Pope's phrase for "the in-dwelling powers of nature," and notes "the extraordinary animism of nature" in Pope's poems, nature's continuing importance for Pope "as a book of truths to be read, as a mirror reflecting human 56 character and institutions." The "genius of the place" motif does usually imply an animistic understanding of nature, a belief that nature is charged with life. The motif further implies that what once is done at a place never quite perishes, never completely departs from it. The motif can even imply that nature is filled with the authentic divine presence, that the world is charged with the grandeur of God. One might recall, for instance, Jacob's awakening at Bethel from his "vision of a ladder" (Genesis 28). One might even recall that in Palestinian Judaism of the first century "the term 'place' ( maKom ) 57 was used "as a name for God ." One of St. Francois de Sales 's instructions for the devotional life indicates that in the period of Local Poetry "place" was regarded as anything but literal, or neutral:

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29 As birds have their nests upon trees, to retire themselves unto, when they stand in need; and deers have bushes and thicKets to hide and shroude themselves, and to take coolenes and shadowe in the summer heat: even so, my Philotheus, should our harts choose out everie day some place, ei t her upon the mount of Calverv. or in the wounds of our redeemer there to maice our spirituall retreat at every occasion; there to recreate and refreshe our selveso o o As John Donne, a few years later, will say, Quasi locus quidam, '^ustorum capax est Dominus. ; though God be in no 59 place, God is the place, in whom all good men are," Unquestionably, in the seventeenth century, the concept of place, or any specific place, could be made to figure meanings as large as the mind can enclose. Ill Local Poetry could be figurative because it was based on a figurative view of reality. Local Poets shared, to a greater or lesser extent, a view of reality which insisted that to describe nature waj to comment on man and his condition: "The landscape was a parable which demanded interpretation, • • The central cosmological assumption underlying Local Poetry was an intricate network of analogical correspondences. This "system of correspondences," as Earl Vi/asserman summarizes, "was accepted as 'scientific,* not fictitious, for it was assumed that God, expressing Himself in all creation, made the physical, moral, and spiritual levels analogous

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30 to each other and to Himself o Therefore, object and subject, thing and value, matter and spirit, were related proportionately; for the divine architect made the universe like man, and man like angel, and all in the 62 image of Himself," As Wasserraan says, there was a long tradition, culminating in the age of Pope, that "the master key to the total scheme of creation is similitude," Wasserman*s evidence clearly establishes that the idea of universal analogy forcefully persisted through the seventeenth and into the eighteenth century. As he concludes: the Augustans, like the Elizabethans, "grasped truth" by means of analogy. In addition to Wasserman, one could cite Love joy* s argument that the eighteenth century was the age of the Chain of Being, an idea almost inseparable from — though not identical with — universal analogy. Or one could cite Maynard Mack's argument that Pope's Essay on Man establishes "contact with the collective religious and moral past," that the Renaissance is in many ways the context for Pope's poem, that Shakespeare and 64 Milton and Pope all inhabit the same conceptual world. Or one could also cite Paul R, Baumgartner 's argument that "the Analogy of Being" is the decisive force behind Jonathan Edwards's use of figurative language; thus even an American Puritan, younger than Pope, could still subscribe to the essentially eucharistic idea of universal 65 analogy. Thus with regard to the idea of universal

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31 analogy, as in so many things. Pope and some of his contemporaries more nearly represent the end of something old than the beginning of something new. These analogical correspondences were felt to exist at all levels of the chain of being; Donne writes, "This is nature's nest of boxes; the heavens contain the earth; the earth, cities; cities, men. And all these are concentric" ( Devotions Meditation X), Yet perhaps the most exploited correspondence was that between the macrocosm and the microcosm, for behind all these correspondences and analogies lay "one central conception: belief in the interrelationship of the little world of man and the great world of the universe," "I am a little world made cunningly," says Donne, who returns again and again "to that meditation that man is a world" ( Holy Sonnets and Devotions Meditation VIII), Giles Fletcher renders the macrocosm-microcosm analogy as explicitly as one could ask: For what had this All, which Man in one Did not unite; the earth, aire, water, fire. Life, sense, and spirit, nay, the powrefull throne Of the divinest Essence, did retire. And his owne Image into Clay inspire: So that this Creature well might called be Of the great world, the small epitome, Of the dead world, the live and quick anatomie. An important corollary of the macrocosm-microcosm analogy was the idea that man*s "middle nature" occupies the pivotal link in the chain of being, that man is a

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32 horizon between the corporeal and the incorporeal, that he weds the corruptible and the incorruptible,^^ Thus Sir Thomas Browne exclaims that man is "that great and true Amohibium ." that "amphibious piece betweene a corporall and spirituall essence, that middle frame that linkes those two together, and makes good the method of God and nature, that jumps not from extreames, but unites the incompatible distances by some middle and participating natures" ( Reliaio Medici I, 34). Thus Donne proclaims that he is "a little world made cunningly/ Of Elements anr f Anqelike soridht ," In man, "Plac 'd on this isthmus 69 of a middle state," all "Worlds do mingle and embrace," These analogies involved something far deeper than the making of similes or fanciful metaphors. Such analogies involved the very structure of the universe, and of its epitome man. As Sir Thomas Browne says, "Nature tels me I am the Image of God as well as Scripture; he that understands not thus much ... is yet to begin the Alphabet of man" ( Reliqio Medici II, 11). Thus Dr. George Cheyne, a fellow of the Royal Society as well as a Platonist, says these similitudes are "not Metaphorical only, but Real and Physical because "Analogy ... is the only natural Language the Deity can speak to us at 70 present." And according to Bishop Peter Browne, the divine analogy, unlike metaphor, is "an Actual Similitude 71 and a Real Correspondency in the very Nature of Things."'-^ These were nature's metaphors, not the poets'. Indeed these

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33 "metaphors," these similitudes, were felt to have a causal relationship to their analogues, as Romans 5:14 implies: "death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over them that had not sinned after the similitude of Adam's transgression, who is the figure of him that was to come, Actually, one should sav God's metaphors. As John Donne put it, "My God, ray God, thou art a direct God, may I not say a literal God but thou art also • • • a figurative, a metaphorical God too" ( Devotions Expostulation XIX), For Donne, and for many of his contemporaries, "almost everything in the world made by God is a word 72 of God." Since God revealed Himself in His Work (the Book of Creation) as well as in His Word (the Book of Scriptures), the whole of nature is figurative, is "a kind of sacred Nature" comprehending "things as well Divine 73 as Humane," Thus Henry Vaughan' s "gazing soul" can spy in the "weaker glories" of some cloud or flower "shadows of eternity," and so he instructs us to Walk with thy fellow-creatures: note the hush And whispers amongst them. There's not a Spring Or Leaf e but hath his Morninq-hvmn ; Each Bush And Oak doth know I AM .T4 The "shadows of eternity" are, of course, incarnate in the "weaker glories," not simply added to or imposed upon them; as Vaughan 's lines quietly suggest, and Local Poetry splendidly affirms, earthly phenomena and their transcendent

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34 significances were, analogicallv. consubstantial. The universal analogy of being involved, for one thing, a belief that the visible, the material, the natural could figure, could "contain" the invisible, the spiritual, the supernatural; yet this belief, this figuring never sacrificed any of the concrete realitv any of the integrity or immediacy, of the substance of things seeno A passage in Paradise Lost (Book V, 11, 451ffo, a passage that comes soon after Milton's "Morning Hymn") brings together many aspects of the vision of world order that we have been considering. Raphael, who will shortly delineate "what surmounts the reach/ Of human sense" by "lijc'ning spiritual to corporal forms" in order to narrate the war in heaven, explicates the hierarchical and analogical structure of the vast creation. He explains to Adam that "All things proceed" from the one Almighty God and "up to him return,/ If not deprav'd from good," The "one first matter" is impressed with "various forms, various degrees/ Of substance, and in things that live, of life," Because all things derive their substance from God, their being from Being, each thing has its own "perfection." Yet Raphael goes on to explain that God is not present to all things equally, but in exact proportion to their degree of being; thus things are more refin'd, more spiritous, and pure. As nearer to him plac't or nearer tending Each in thir several active Spheres assign'd. Till body up to spirit worK, in bounds Proportion'd to each kind, • •

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35 Then Raphael provides a striking image for the whole scale of nature; he likens it to a tree or growing plant: So from the root Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves More aerVt last the bright consummate flow'r Spirits odorous breathes: flow'rs and thir fruit Man's nourishment, by gradual scale sublim'd To vital spirits aspire, to animal. To intellectual, give both life and sense. Fancy and understanding whence the Soul Reason receives, and reason is her being. o To Merritt Hughes, this tree image is "a kind of microcosm of Milton's whole epic, and an "emblem of man's potential 75 divinity in obedience to God." Adam himself understands that Raphael has "taught the way that might direct/ Our knowledge," and the Scale of Nature set From centre to circumference, whereon In contemplation of created things By steps we may ascend to God, ... The stages through which God had "lived down" into His creation could become the "steps" by which man might 76 reascend to Him, According to one of Milton's contemporaries, such a "contemplation" of created things, and of their Creator, is "the constant course of a pious soul travelling to and fro between heaven and earth, a motion like that of the angels ascending and descending upon the 77 ladder which Jacob saw in his dream," A universe that can be adequately imaged by Jacob's ladder, or a growing plant, is likely to be one, though various; in motion and

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36 alive, not static; and shot through with divinity* vet not pantheistic — such a universe is likely to be pervaded by analogies. In selecting a plant or tree to illustrate the complete Chain of Being, Milton used a well-known image; in Mercator's His tori a Mundi for instance, one could have read the following version: c In summe, if any man will search more diligently the order of things, and consider the communion and difference of Species, he will perceive that the Creation of things (beginning from the more base and ignoble Species) so almost ascended upward, as a tree hath at first but onely a truncke, wherein all things which are from the roote to the very top, are but one and the same thing by the Communion of Species o but when they beginne to have any difference among themselves, the first division of the truncke is made into branches • /^and then_7 the second division, and so consequently untill we come to the last branches and fruits. .78 Mercator's and Milton's images seem to illustrate the idea of universal analogy especially well, for a tree — in the words of popular theologian William Ames -shows how "all 79 natural things tend to God," In some of its dimensions, such an image of the "order of things," such a figurative conception of the life of nature and of man, was shared, at least to some degree, by Virgil and Ovid and Dante, by Spenser and Jonson and Pope; Milton's tree thus acquires further resonance because of its kinship with a long tradition of "humanized 80 trees." Such a tree appears in Marvell's Upon Appleton House (11. 561ff,); the poet declares:

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37 Thu s I Eas i e Philosopher Among the Birds and Trees confer: And little now to make me, wants Or of the Fovjles or of the Plants Give me but Wings as thev, and I Streight floting on the Air shall fly: Or turn me but, and you shall see I was but an inverted Tree, Marvell's "inverted tree" has been carefullv glossed by ..' A B, Chambers, who finds its main origin in Plato's 8 1 heavenly plant. Of the numerous analogues Chambers supplies for Marvell's tree, one from a seventeenth century compendium of alchemy may suggest the curious vigor of this traditional image: "Man hath within him the virtue and efficiency of all things, whence he is called a small world, and is compared to the large world. ... Hence man may be compared to an inverted tree: for he has his roots, or his hair, in the air, while other trees 82 have their hairs, or their roots, in the earth." Such comparisons, trees like Milton's or Mercator's or Marvell' show how a belief in universal analogy can function; they reveal a belief that the life of nature could be discerned 83 in man, or the life of man read in a tree. Chambers says that almost every source he examined in his Marvell research connected these metaphoric and metamorphic trees to a passage in the first chapter of Genesis that is probably the primary source for the idea of divine analogy, "Let us make man in our image, after

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38 our likeness. ... So God created man in his own image. very old, with an idea that stretches from Genesis at least to Pope, We have seen that the idea is extremely potent in the seventeenth century, and we should recall -as has one of the idea's students — that "the seventeenth century is like a great prism in our culture through which medieval intellectual traditions received their 85 final diffraction." It was in the Middle Ages that the idea of divine, or universal, analogy flourished most profound lyo For example, Etienne Gilson has written of Sto Bonaventure s sacramental universe which is "sustained, 86 controlled, and animated by the divine analogy." The universe of St. Thomas Aquinas is analogical too, as Gilson has shown: "All creatures come from one cause and move toward one end. We can expect, therefore, that the same principle will regulate both moral action and physical laws. It is the same deep cause which makes the stone fall, the flame rise, the heavens turn and men to will. Each of these beings is seeking by its operation to achieve its own perfection and, at the same time, to realize its end which is to represent God: 'Everything tending to its own perfection, tends to a divine likeness.'" However, "each being is clearly defined by its own essence and it will have its own way of realizing the end common to 87 all." This last statement is particularly important, for in a Christian universe especially as codified by 84 So we are dealing with something in the image of God,"

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39 St. Thomas there is a community of being, and a hier archy of beings. So Mercator, in likening the creation to a tree, urged his reader to "consider the communion and difference of Species." So in the Thomistic system, according to Gilson, the "metaphysical explanation of a physical phenomenon must always be concerned with putting an essence in its place in a hierarchy." There is in a Christian universe, furthermore, an infinite Being, God, Who is the only cause and ground of all finite beings. His creatures. All these finite creatures participate in Being, each proportionately, but they are not commensurate with it. "If this is true," says Gilson, "it is analogy alone which enables our intelligence to arrive at a transcendent God from sensible things. It is analogy, too, which alone permits us to say that the universe has its existence from a transcendental principle and yet is 88 neither confused with it nor added to it. ..." So at the beginning of the Paradiso (l, 1-3), Dante says. The glory of Him who moves all penetrates the universe, and is reflected in one place more, in another less. In sum, for St. Thomas, "The best thing in creation is the perfection of the universe, which consists in the orderly variety of things. "^^ For St. Augustine, order is that disposition whereby things similar yet different are assigned to their 90 proper places. "By a strange paradox, the philosopher

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40 /~St, Augustine_7 who most completely identified God with the transcendent immutability of Essence was the Christian most aware of the immanence of divine efficacy in nature. in the univfiTsa history of humanity, in the individual conscience "^"^ In St. Augustine too, then, "the fundamental tie linking the world to God is a relationship of 92 similarity." The similarity between God and the individual conscience is particularly significant in St. Augustine, whose whole philosophy has been called a "metaphysic of conversion." God is triune, and throughout nature there are analogous "trinities," the "traces" of His triune nature. But to see profounder analogies, one must looK beyond these "traces," turn from external nature and the outer man to the inner man, in order to seek the 93 "image" of God deep within the soul. So m his great and original treatise on The Trinity St. Augustine says: "in my search of that highest Trinity which we seek when we seek God, I first sought traces of it in the creature,, and proceeded, as it were, step by step through certain trinities of its own kind until I arrived at the mind of 94 man." Following the precedent of St. Augustine, the Middle Ages never tired of dwelling on that most profound of all analogies, the proportionality between the Divine Trinity and the structure of the human soul, for the soul man's mental and spiritual faculties was regarded as "the most perfect created image of the most 95 Blessed Trinity."

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41 Gilson therefore concludes that analogy is indispensable to the spirit of medieval philosophv: o o o For a Bonaventure, for instance, there is no jov liKe the joy of the contemplation of God as mirrored in the analogical^ structure of beings; and even the more sober mind of St,_ Thomas expresses, nevertheless, the same philosophy of nature when he reduces the efficacy of second causes to nothing but an analogical participation in the divine efficiencyo Physical causality is to the act of creation what beings are to Being, and time to eternity. Thus, under whatever aspect we consider it, there exists in reality but one mediaeval vision of the world, whether it expresses itself now in worKs of art or now in defined philosophical concepts: that, namely, which Sto Augustine drew with a master-hand in his De T rinitate and which is directly referable to the words of the Book of VJisdom (xi, 21): omnia in mensura. et. numero. et pondere disposuisti .96 Andrew Marvell, in his poem On Paradise Lost seems to be in touch with the same vision of the world. Marvell commends Milton's "vast Design" in words that directly recall the Book of Wisdom: Thy verse created like thy Theme sublime. In Number, Weight, and Measure, needs not Rhime. (11. 53-547"^ In Marvell' s view, apparently, Milton's mode of building is analogous to the "ways" of the Master Architect, the Author of us all: the epic poem, like the created universe, is built in terms of number, measure, and weight, Marvell 's lines are an example of the analogy betvjeen the poem and the cosmos, and between the artist and God --

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42 that fundamental motive, as Ernst Cassirer put it, of 97 the Renaissance. Marvell himself "read in Nature's mystic book," and believed that its "holy mathematics" could "In every figure equal man" ( Uoon Appleton House 11 584 and 47-48) Similarly, "every figure," every scene and prospect, of a poem in the Scenic Analogy tradition is likely to contain some "hint" about man's moral or political life, to make some comment, even if oblique or submerged, on the human condition. These "figur'd worlds" are possible partly because the authors of seventeenth century Local Poems believed that everything in the creation bears some essential relationship — some resemblance -to its Creator, some analogy to God's Being and to the order He ordains. Thus seventeenth century Local Poetry had its foundations in a system of interlocking analogies, a system of analogies that established essential connections between the structure of a man's soul, the constitution of his body, the organization of his social environment, the composition of the earth on which he lived, the pattern of history, and the order of the cosmos: all these elements of and settings for human life were parts of the world's architecture, all were objects of human perception all were concerns of the human arts of poetry and government. In the following chapters, I will attempt to show that there is a tradition in seventeenth century English Local Poetry which can be best conceived as the Scenic \

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43 Analogy, that in this poetry pla ce is the key image and analogy the key concept, that landscape functions as natural emblem for human experience, that each of man's several situations "figures" a multitude of "worlds."

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NOTES 1. This phrase occurs in Pope's Wi n dsor-Fore st 1. 246. 2. Maynard Mack, "'The Shadowy Cave : Some Speculations on a TwicKenham Grotto," in Res t orat ion a nd Eiqh teent h-Centurv Literatu r e; Ess a ys in Honor of Alan Du g a I d McKillop ed, Carroll CamdenTChicago, 1963), p. 88. 3. See Marie Loretto Lilly, The_ _Ge prg i c ; Con tj ib ut i oq to t he S tudy of. the Verg ili a n TyD e..pf Didact ic Poetr y TBaltimore 1919^ and Dwight L. Durling, Georqic Tradi ti on in Eng l ish Po etry. Columbia University Studies in English and Comparative Literature, no. 121 (New York, 1935). 4. Cf. Smith Palmer Bovie's introduction to his Vir gi 1^ ^ "Georqics"; A Modern. .English Ve rse T ran slation Tchicag^, 1956) p. xxv. Sir Kenneth Clark states that the Geor^ic^ provided "the inspiration of landscape" for Renaissance painters. Landscap e into Art (Boston, 1961), pp. 54-55 and ff. 5. The fundamental influence of the Georqics on WindsorFore st and on C ooper's Hill has been established by Reuben A. Brower, Ale.xander Pope.; Th e Poetry of All us ion (Oxford, 19597; Aubrey V/illiams, "Introduction" to \Vindspr-Fo rest pp. 131-144 in Pastoral Poetry and A n E ssay on Criticism, ed Emile Audra and Aubrey Vviliiams~T London and New Haven, 1961), vol. I of Th e Tw ickenham ^Edition, of the ,P,oems..j3f Alexander Pope ; and Brendan 0 Hehir, "Vergil's First Georqic and Denham's Coo per's Hill, PQ, XLII "(October, 1963), 542-54"?,' 6 The Magical Ar t of Virgil (Cambridge, Mass., 1931), p. 276; see also pp. 229, 256, 303, and 305. 7. Rand, p. 220 and j^asjun. 8. Bovie's introduction, p. xvi. 9. Cf Smith Palmer Bovie, "The Imagery of Ascent-Descent in Vergil's Georq.ics," American Journal of P hi lo l ogy. LXXVII (1956)7353. 44

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45 10. See W, K. C. Guthrie, Orp heus en d Greek Religio n (London, 1935), pp. 40-41; cf. Bovie's article on Virgil's imagery of ascent-descent, 355-358. 11. Dryden's version, IV, 11. 186-219; the phrases in the last sentence are from Dryden's version of an earlier passage, II, 11. 639ff. Pope himself celebrated the Corycian gardener as a "heroic" figure only six months after publication of Wind s orFo r est in Guardian 173, 29 September 1713; the text can be found in The Prose V/orKs o f A lexan der Pone ed. Norman Ault, vol. I (Oxford, 19367, pp. 146-147. 12. "Speculations on a Twickenham Grotto," p, 83 and passim 13. Bovie, in the article on Virgil's imagery of ascentdescent, 340-341. 14. The Serm ons o f John Donne ed. Evylyn M. Simpson and G. R. Potter~lBerKeley and Los Angeles, 1956), vol. IX, no. 1, pp. 62-63; cf. pp. 51-52. 15. Some of the analogues include: Herodotus, II, 10; Thucydides, IV, 36; Cicero, de Re Publica. Ill, 23, 34; Ovid, Metamorphoses V, 416-417; Statius, Silyae. V, 61-62; Castiglione, The Courtier. IV, xix; Jonson, An Epigra m to the pu.eene,,_,theD_J.ying.^in 1630 ; SandysT Meta morphoses V, 417; Cowley, Ode Of Wit ; Milton, Paradise Lost. II, 921-922 and VI, 310-311 and Par adis e Regained. IV, 563-564; Dryden's Me tarn or phoses I, 727; and Windsp.rForest 105. Many of these analogues are given by John Coolidge in the essay cited in my next note. 16. "Great Things and Small: The Virgilian Progression," Comparative Literature. XVII (V/inter, 1965), 1-23. 17. Dey ot ion s^Upo n E rne rq en t, Pc.c^.s i on_s (Ann Arbor, 1959), Prayer XXiT cf. George Herbert's Pr ovidence ; "Thou {"God 7 are in small things great, not small in any" 1. 41). 18. I am quoting Mack, "Speculations on a Twickenham Grotto," p. 88; cf. Clark, Landscape in to Art, p. 54, 19. The Magical Art, of Virgil, pp, 265-267. 20. "To Mr. PT-, in Newcastle," The Newcastle General, !^9^^SB^.jL^P^^l^£ilh}CLj.QS:^lli3^DS3X TJanuary, 1748"), 26 (cited by Mack, "Speculations on a Twickenham Grotto," pp. 73 and 76). 21. Mack, speaking of Pope, "Speculations on a Tv/ickenham Grotto," p. 83.

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46 22. For a contrarv view, see Durling, G .eorgic Tradition in English Poetry p. 194. 23. Lines 1-22; throughout I use the translation of the Losb editor, H. Evelyn '//hite, pp. 224-263 in vol. I of Ausoniu s (London, 1951), 2 vols. 24. This sentence appropriates language from Marvell's and Pope's imitations of Ausonius 's lines ( Uoo a AoD'aton H ous e. 11. 457ff. and V/ind sor-Fore st 11. 2liffo")o 25. See the discussions of Win ds orFore s t bv Aubrey vVilliar;,s, oPo cit.; by Earl Wasserman, The Subtl er LBrcnsq':: (Baltimore, 1959); and in my last chapter. 26. See V.'hite's discussion of the M osella s occasion^and political context, pp. xvii, xvi, and x. From line 381 on, Ausonius makes the political dimensions of the rAosella increasingly explicit. 27. See the essay of Adam Parry, "Landscape in Greek Poetry," Yal e Class ic al Studies vol, XV (New Haven, 19577, pp. 3-29. 28. The Great Chain of Being (Cambridge, Mass., 1936), p. 63; I quote the translation given by Lovejoy. 29. Foun ders of the Middle Ages (Cambridge, Mass., 1928), pp. 215-216. 30. For a discussion of some of the intellectual currents of Ausonius' s age, see T, ft. Glover, Life and Letters in the Fourth Cent ury (New York, 192477 31. Lives of the Poets ed. G. B. Hill (Oxford, 1905), I, p. 77„ Johnson appears to have overlooked To Penshurst and the other Estate Poems earlier than Cooper s Hill 32. Iliad Book XVI, 466n. Cf. V/illiams, "Introduction" to Winds orForest pp. 134-135. 33. English Taste in Landscape in the Seventeenth Century "(Ann Arbor, 1955) 34. Aubrey William.s, "Introduction" to VJindgor-Forest p. 133, Williams specifies what he means by fusion: "It is not simply that / W^ind sor-Fore st 7 offers one a scene from nature and then injects into it a moral or ethical prescription; the two elements are rather fused in the one act of perception, for the poet in this instance is discovering meanings inherent in nature, not adding one thing to another."

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47 35. The phrase is that of Rosemund Tuve, Elizabethan and Met.aphysical ImsqerY (Chicago, 1947), p. 59. 36. Auerbach's fullest treatment is the essay "Figtira" in Scenes fro m t he Drama o f European Literature (New YorK, 1959]. 37. Cf. George Williamson, The Pr o per Wit of Poetry (Chicago, 1961). 38. The Verbal Icon (New YorK, 1962), p. 49. 39. Tuve, p. 409. 40. The Art of the Renaissance in No rth ern Europe (Cambridge, Mass., 1945)",' pp. 46-51. 41. Europe jDL^^. Q,?: y^-^.-j"^ "^^^ Latin Midd le Ages trans. Willard R. TrasK (New York, 19537, p. 186. 42. The Breaking of t he Circle. 2nd ed. (New York, 1960), p. 128. 43. "Pope's Sense of Beauty," in Pi s cu s s.ion s_ of A le^ander Pope ed. Rufus A. Blanshard TBoston, 1960), p. 75. 44. Mythica l Tho ught, vol. II of The Philoso phy of .Svmb o li^F^orrns trans. Ralph Manheim (New Haven, 195577 pp. "85-86. 45. Cassirer, Mythi c a 1 Thought pp. 86-87. 46. ?/.vthical Thought, p. 86 and pp. 55-56, 47. Isabel Gamble MacCaffrev, Paradise Lost as "Myth" (Camhridge, Mass., 1959), p. 59. Her whole book is instructive in this connection, especially the discussion of "Structural Patterns in Paradise Lost," pp. 44-81. 48. Paradise Lost as "Myth", pp. 69, 76, and 68; cf. the more intensive analysis of Jackson I. Cope, The Meta p hor.ic_,Structure of Para dise Lost (Baltimore, 1962) 49. Paradise .Lost I, 11. 624-625. Cf. the speech of the magician Vandermast in Robert Greene's Friar Bacon .§IH?_££i3£_BiJCLE§.2^ (Scene viii, 11. 1169fT77: "when proud Lucipher fell from the heavens,/ The spirits and angels that did sin with him,/ Retaind their Ipcall e ssence as their faults" (italics mine )

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48 50, These phrases are ta^en from the remarlcs of Bosola concerning a "tricic'^ of "mathematics" in The Duches s of :.^a .lfi. (ll, iij 22ffo)„ Y/ebster's plav seems exxremelv relevant to a discussion of physical and spiritual place. 51, "A Sermon Preached ax V^hite-Hall, February 29, /~1627/S_7, Se rmons VIII, No. 7, p. 178. 52, E.ia.q v -:o the .Memor_v of an Unfortunate Larjv, 11. 252bi italics mine. The Twickenham, editor^ Geoffrey Tiilotson (vol. II, p. 342) cites as analogues Spenser's Ruinc of Time 11. 288ff. and The Dunciad I, 11, 261-272, and says that the doctrine Pope is expressing here "is that of Plato's TimaeuS o 53, John Selden in his "Illustration" to Song I of Michael Drayton's Poly01b ion in The Wqric s o f Mi_chae 1 Drayt on ed. J. William Hebel et al, COxford, 1961), IV, p. 15, The phrase Local l power is Selden s. 54, A slightly different use of "Genius" occurs a few lines later (Song I, 11, lOOffT) in a passage that points forward to Pope's "laughing Ceres" (the last part of the E d i. s 1 1 e to Bur l.i n Q t o n ) and the opening paragraph of V/indsor-For est Qlo 33-42), For Milton's use of the "genius of the place" motif, see Arcade^ (ll, 26ff,), II Pense r oso (ll, 154 and 136-137], and especially Lycida s Til. 183ff,). 5S Eoist .le to Burlingto n. 11, 57ff,; cf. Pope's earlier Saoho to Phaon 1 184 56, "Speculations on a TwicRenham Grotto," pp. 79 and 72, Cf, Mack's "A Poet in His Landscape: Pope at Twickenham," in From Sensibility t o Romanticism ed, F. W, Hilles and Harold BioonTTOxf ord 1965 ) pp, 10-11. 57, .Max Jamm.er, Conce .ots of Space: The Histor y of. ThGories .of— Space.. in Phy sics (New York, 1960), pp. 25-29 (italics mine;, 58, An Introduction to a D evout e Life /"trans, John Yakesley_/7~3rd~ed, (Rouen, 1614)', p. 149 (italics mine); as quoted by Louis L, Martz, The Po et ry of Meditation rev. ed. (New Haven and London, 196^7, p. 253, 59, Sermons X, No. 10, p, 225.

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49 60o "Figurative view of realitv" is the phrase of Maurice Charnev, Shakespeare's Rom an Plays; The Functi on of Imagery in th e ^ Drama (Cambridge, Mass., 196T)'7 pp 196ffo Cfo the series of essays by Joseph Ao Mazzeo: "A Seventeenth-Century Theory of Metaphysical Poetry," Rom an ic Review XLII (December, 1951), 245-255; "A Critique of Some Modern Theories of Metaphysical Poetry," MP, L (November 1952), 88-95; "Metaphysical Poetry and the Poetic of Correspondence," JHI, XIV (April, 1953), 221-234; and "Universal Analogy and the Culture of the Renaissance," JHI, XV (April, 1954), 299-304o Mazzeo' s articles are summarized in his Medieval Cu ltural Traditions in Dante's "Comedy" (Ithaca, 1960)7^ 61, George Boas, in the introduction (p. 19) to his translation of The HieroQlynhics of Horapollo (New York, 195077 62, Earl R. V/asserman, "Nature Moralized: The Divine Analogy in the Eighteenth Century," ELK, XX (March, 1953), 40. Cf. Aubrey Williams, "Introduction" to WindsorFore St. pp, 133-134, Except for the studies of Etienne Gilson cited below, Wasserman's essay has been much more helpful than anything else on the subject of analogy, 63, "The Divine Analogy in the Eighteenth Century," 41-42 and 67-68. 64, "Introduction" to the Twickenham Edition of An Essay on Man pp, xlvii, liii, Ixxii, Ixxiv, and passim 65, "Jonathan Edwards: The Theory behind his Use of Figurative Language." PML A. LXXVIII (September, 1963), 321-325. 66, Nicolson, Breaking of the Circle pp, 16-17, 67, Chri s ts Victorie in Heaven in Poetical Works of Giles and Phineas Fletcher ed. F. S. Boas (Cambridge, 1908) I, p. 20; quoted by Nicolson, p. 35, Phineas ^.-^ Fletcher's Purple Island is extremely rich in almost every variety of analogical correspondence, 68, Famous and influential expressions of the idea occur in St, Thomas, Summa contra Gentiles II, 68; and in Dante, De Monarchia Ill, XVI, 3. Cf, Love joy. Great Chain of Being p, 79. 1

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50 69. The first of these phrases is from the famous passage cn man's "middle" or "mixed" nature that opens Epistle II of Pope's Essay on Man ; the second phrase is quoted from Goethe by Curtius, Euro p ean Literature and t he Latin_Middle Ages p. 189 70. Philoso phic al Principl es of Re lipion (London, 1715), pp. 127-128 and An Essay on Regimen (London, 1740), p. 228; quoted by, Vvasserman, 43, who says that six editions of Cheyne's Principles appeared during the first half of the eighteenth century. Wasserman's whole discussion (42-45) of Cheyne -an apparent disciple of Nicholas of Cusa is valuable. 7 1 Things Divine and S up ernatural Conceived by Analog _y with Things Natural and Human (London. 1733} p7 3; quoted by Wasserman, 55. 72. Joan Webber, Con tra ry Mus ic; The Prose Style of John Donne (Madison, 1963), p. 123. 73. Michael Drayton, speaKing of the "argument" of Spenser's poetry, Works, II, pp. 517-518; Drayton is quoted by A. C. Hamilton, The Structure of Alle gory in "The Faerie Queene" (Oxford, 196 1 ) p. 44, "The Retreate" and "Rules and Lessons" in Si lex Scintillans 1650. Louis Martz discusses Vaughan's lines in "Henry Vaughan; The Man Within," PMLA LXXVIII (March, 1963), 43 and 48-49, Vaughan's "Each Bush/ And Oa K doth know I_ AM" is an allusion to Exodus 3:14. 75, "Introduction" to Paradise Lost in his John Milton; Complete. Poems and Major Prose (New York, 1957) p. 194; see also pp. 192-195 and 201, 76, Cf, Lovejoy, Great Chain of Being p. 89, 77, Robert Leighton, Lectures .and_ Addresse s vol, VI in Works ed. and trans, William West (London, 1870), p. 160; Leighton delivered these lectures before the University of Edinburgh, of which he was Principal, between 1653 and 1662. 78, Historia Mundi pp. 34-35 (italics mine); as quoted by Kester Svendsen, Milton and Science (Cambridge, Mass., 1956), p. 115. 79, Ames is quoted, without citation, by Merritt Hughes, p. 194. I

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51 80. See, for instance, Aenei d Ill, 22ff,; Metam o rphoses I, 527ffo; Inferno. Xlll^and Purgatorio. XXXIIXXXIII; Fae rie Q u een e I, ii, 28-45; Jonson's E pistle, To Kathe.rine. Lady Aubiqny 11 99ff,; and Pope's Fable of Dryope o 81. Ao Bo Chambers, '"I Was But an Inverted Tree': Motes toward the History of an Idea," Studies in the Renaissance VIII (1961), 291-299. For Plato's heavenly plant, see the Timaeus 90 A. 82. Quoted by Chambers, 295, from The Glorv of the World in The Hermetic Museum R estored and Enlarged trans. A. E. Waite TTondon, 1893) I, pp. 217-218. 83. The best illustration of the implications of all these "trees" is the striking cover of the paperback edition of Rolfe Humphries's translation of the Metamorphoses (Bloomington 1958), 84. Chambers, 293n,9. Man's upright form is the main basis of the connection. Donne gave a pair of sermons to the King at Court on Genesis 1:26 ( Ser m ons IX Noso 1 and 2) 85. Joseph A ?^az2eo. Medieval Cultural Traditions in ^ Dante's "Comedy" p. 142, 86. Gilson, T he Philosophy of St. Bonave nt .ure trans. Dom Illtyd Trethowan and F. J, Sheed"TLondon 1940), pp. 479, 228, and passim 87. The Christ ian Philosophy of St o Thomas Aquinas trans, L, Ko ShooK (New York, 19567T~p. 351; cf pp.~184-185. The quotation is from Summa contra Gentiles Ill, 21 See also Gerald B. Phelan, Saint Thomas and Analogy (Milwaukee, 1948) and Joseph Owens, "Analogy as a Thomistic Approach to Being," Medieval Studies XXIV (1962), 303-322. 88. Philosophy of Sto Thomas pp. 360-361; cf. pp. 359 and 375. 89. Summa contra Gentiles II, 45; cf, Lovejoy, Great Chain of Being pp. 75-76. 90. The City of God. XIX, 13; cf, Gilson, The Spirit of Med iae y a 1 Ph ilosophy trans. A. H. C. Downes (New York, 1940T7 p. 215, 91. Gilson, Philosophy of St. Thomas p. 134; italics mine.

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52 92. Gilson, The Christian Philosophy of S aint Augustine trans. L. E. M. Lynch (New York, I960), p. 210; cf. pp. 187-224. 93. Ibid pp. 227-246 and 214-219. 94. The Trini ty (15,2.3), trans. Stephen McKenna (V/ash^ ington, 1963), p. 453. St. Augustine's ninth book is especially important. Cf. Gilson, The Spirit of Mediaeval Philosophy p. 99. 95. The Trinity McKenna 's introduction, p. xi. 96. The Spirit of Mediaeval Philosophy p. 101; cf, pp. 84-107. 97 The Individual and the Cos mo .s in. Renaissance Philos ophy trans, Mario Domand£~TMew York"] 1963), pp. 159ff,

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Two: "The Wondrous Architecture of the World"^ Not magnitude, not lavishness But form, the site; Not innovating wilfulness But reverence for the archetvpSo Herman Melville, "GreeK Architecture" George Herbert's poem Man exploits the idea of universal analogy quite extensively. In the poem's first stanza, Herbert establishes its basic architactural figure; he asks if there is any nobler "house" than mans My God, I heard this day. That none doth build a stately habitation. But he that means to dwell therein. What house more stately hath there been. Or can be, then is Man? • The rest of the poem, down to the last stanza, answers this question with a sequence of analogical correspondences man is a "stately house" because he contains, analogically, within himself the whole creation: For Man is ev'ry thing, And more: He is a tree, yet bears more fruit; A beast, yet is, or should be more, Man is all symmetrie. Full of proportions, one limbe to another. And all to all the world besides. Man "is in little all the sphere"; he is an epitome of the 53

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54 vast creation, because all things intimatelY correspond to man's "fleshe" in their "descent and being" and to man's "minde" in their "ascent and cause." Thus man is "one world" and has another "to attend him" Then, in the poem's final stanza, Herbert petitions God to fulfill the purpose of building such a "stately habitation"; he asKs God to dwell in man: Since then, mv God, thou hast So brave a Palace built; 0 dwell in it. That it may dv^ell with thee at lastl Till then, afford us so much wit; That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee. And both thy servants be. The architectural figure that is the basis of Herbert's jMan is also the basis of a series of poems by Jonson, Carew, Herrick, and Marvell about English country 2 houses and landed estates. I have chosen to call these poems, the subject of this chapter, "Estate Poems" since they contemplate and evaluate the human situation in and through the description of some "particular" country estate — its land, its house, its inhabitants. The land and house are figured as emblems of their builder or owner, and he is figured as their "center" or animating presence. In each, estate and owner, "Things greater are in less contain 'd" (Marvell' s Upon Appleton House 1, 44). Thus the description of some particular physical estate becomes the "frame" of a general statement, usually oblique or reticent, about the human "estate" in the widest

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55 possible sense. That is to sav each of these poems describes and celebrates a particular countrv estate as an epitome of nature *s concentric "nest of boxes" (Donne *s Devotions Meditation X)o These seventeenth century English Estate Poems comment, reticently but nonetheless significantly, on man's various dvjellings, physical and spiritual; by means of an architectural figure these poems "locate" man as a physical creature, as a moral creature, as a social creature, as an historical creature, as a cosmic creature, and finally as the creature of Godo I Ben Jonson's poem on the ancestral home of the Sidneys, To Penshurst .'^ is the first English Estate Poem, The whole poem is simply a description of Penshurst Estate and its inhabitants, though Penshurst 's features are so "faire" that description turns into praise. By means of a description of the place, the poem manages to praise the Sidney family and traditions and, ultimately, to praise the cultivated way of life, the relationship to nature, that the family and their estate represent. The poem may finally appear to be a celebration of Penshurst's ethical and spiritual, as well as physical, architecture. The poem first describes the estate's manor house, and then ascends from this beginning "upwards" as it were, from this inanimate to an animate landscape, thence to the

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56 lower creatures that inhabit the landscape, thence to the human dwellers on the estate, thence to the familY that governs the manor and their hospitable housekeeping, thence to the king and be-yond. Thus Penshurst's fair "markes" of praise include its house (ll Iff.); its copses (llo 19ffo) that never fail to yield "season 'd deere" for "feast, or exercise"; its "lower land" ^ (lie 22-23) that feeds sheep, bullocks, kine, and calves; its "middle grounds" (l 24) that breed mares and horses; and its fertile groves that to "crowne ^the place ^s_7 open table, doth provide/ The purpled pheasant, with the speckled side" (11. 25ffo), Penshurst also has its tributary ponds (11. 31ff.), its ripe orchards, its healthy inhabitants and happy guests (11, 45ff,). Jonson*s poem moves progressively up the Chain of Being; the Sidneys' estate seems to be conceived as a microcosm, as e.pit.ome of "nature's nest of boxes." Moreover, the creatures at each level of being are sustained by those below and nourish those above; the poem images, and appears to value, hierarch y and reciprocity Each level displays a higher degree of organization, yet there is spontaneity at each level. The movement is progressively upwards toward more "social" worlds. So the movement of To Penshurst the poem's very structure, is founded in Local Poetry's root assumption, the principle of universal analogy. Perhaps a statement of Etienne Gilson's, taken from a somewhat different but by no means necessarily

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57 irrelevant context, can serve to comment on how all levels of Penshurst Estate can participate, analogicallv. in a comprehensive order, an order at once abundant and harmonious: "To be order, as is God, is supreme perfection; to know order, as man does, is to imitate this perfection; but to receive order, as things do, is still to participate in the divine analogy, because the-y inscribe and realize in 4 their substance a law which thev do not comprehend. • As the poem's structure unfolds, we shall see that each ^ level of existence at Penshurst Estate is perceived as making its contribution to such a total order, and we shall also see that each level has its human purpose and relevance, for each level provides man with a share of this abundant and harmonious order and instructs him in its proper use. The poem's opening lines indicate that the Sidneys* country house is an "ancient pile" anchored solidly in nature : Thou art not, PENSHVRST, built to enuious show. Of touch, or marble; nor canst boast a row Of polish'd pillars, or a roofe of gold: Thou hast no lantherne, whereof tales are told; Or stayre, or courts; but stand 'st an ancient pile. And these grudg'd at, art reverenc 'd the while. The "better markes" Penshurst enjoys are nature's primal elements, "of soyle, or ayre,/ Of wood, or water: therein /"Penshurst is_7 faire" (11, 7-8). Such a dwelling seems 5 "arisen, as it were, out of the earth it stands on."

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58 The physical description in these opening lines clearly malces an ethical point: the Sidney estate was not created for "envious show," but for man's real enjoyment and use. Thus Penshurst, the poem goes on to say has its "wallces for health, as well as sport" (11, 9ff.), The estate's fruitful and shady trees include That taller tree, which of a nut was set. At his great birth, where all the Mu s e s. met. There, in the writhed barke, are cut the names Of many a Svlvane taken with his flames. The "great birth" was that half a century before of the short, but brilliantly lived Sir Philip Sidney, whose genius — at least in the sense of his memory — still abides at his family home. It is not surprising, of course, that Philip Sidney be given prominence in a poem celebrating Penshurst; for not only had all the Sidneys made one of the most respected "houses" in England for generations, but Philip himself had achieved a personal symbolic status perhaps second only in the age to that of his Queen: a great many Englishmen believed that "all" the Muses converged in his career, that he had been the age's most notable student of the "mysteries of manners, armes, and arts" (l. 98), Moreover, Sidney had himself already indicated some of the ethical force of architectural figures such as Jonson's in his own description of Kalander's house: "The house it selfe was built of faire and strong stone, not affecting so much any extraordinarie kinde of finenes, as an honorable representing

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59 of a firme statelines. The lightes, doores and staires, rather directed to the use of the guest, then to the eyes of the Artificero" LiKe Sidney earlier, Jonson is figuring two Kinds of "houses," one directly the other indirectly, that are utterly opposed in value: houses of the first Kind are designed for the use of their guests, and "praise" is "heapd" upon them (11. 82ff,); houses of the second Kind are contrived for ostentatious "show," and those "proud, ambitious heaps" (l, 101) are condemned. Indeed, Penshurst is the Kind of place where, to borrow lines from Herbert, "Each thing is full of dutie": Nothing we see, but means our good. As our delight, or as our treasure: The whole is, either our cupboard of food. Or cabinet of pleasure, ( Man 11, 27ff.) At Penshurst, all God's creatures minister to human needs; the "beasts say. Eat me" (Herbert's Providence 1. 21). The "painted partrich" lies in every field, and for Penshurst's "messe" is "willing to be Kill'd." The ponds "pay" their "tribute" fish: "Fat, aged carps" run into the net; piKes, "now weary their owne Kinde to eat," betray themselves; bright eels "emulate" them and "leape" onto the banK in front of the fisherman or even "into his hand" (11, 29-38). The catalogues of fowl, fish, and fruit in lines 25-60 appear to image nature's plenitude. Jonson seems to be saying that here is God's plenty, epitomized

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60 for man*s use within the microcosm that is Penshurst Estate, Certainlv plentv, the ripeness and fruitfulness so bountifully evident at Penshurst, is one of the poem' most important elementSo The orchards of Penshurst, for instance, are richly laden: Then hath thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers, Fresh as the ayre, and new as are the houres. The earely cherry, with the later plum. Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come: The blushing apricot, and woolly peach Hang on thy walls, that every child may reach, (11. 39-44) LiRe God's "cupboard" that "serves the world" in Herbert Providence (11, 49ffo), Penshurst 's ripe and succulent fruit "is set. Where all may reach." Too, the estate's plenty has found an equivalent virtuous response (human virtue, as we shall see, is another of the poem's most important elements). The walls upon which these ripe fruit hang, though of "the countrey stone," were not raised by anyone's groan or ruin: "There's none, that dwell about them, wish them downe;/ But all come in • And no one empty-handed" (11. 45ff.), Moreover, at Penshurst nature's ripeness finds a correspondent human "ripeness," as is expressed in lines that are among the poem's most lovely: some of the estate's farmers send cheeses

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61 By their ripe cJaughters, whom thev would commend This way to husbands; and whose baskets beare An embleme of themselves, in plum, or peare, (11. 51ff.) Such ripe and marriageable daughters figure the poem's most important elements; they are likely to be both "fruitfull" and "chaste" (as Lady Sidney is said to be in line 90). Jonson is figuring, it seems, a cluster of those reciprocal relationships that should exist between men, and between men and nature. The presents brought to the manor house by the country people add nothing but "their love" to the place's "free provisions" (11. 57ff,), For the inhabitants of Penshurst know the proper use of nature's riches; Sir Robert Sidney's generosity joins the place's natural plenty and ripeness to human virtue and righteousness: his "open table" (l. 27) provides all that "hospitalitie doth know" (l, 60), No guest comes to the Sidneys* "liberall boord," but is allow'd to eate. Without his feare, and of thy lords owne meate; V/here the same beere, and bread, and selfe-same wine. That is his Lordships, shall be also mine. (11, 59ff.) We can see that it is man's social hospitality, and ^ perhaps God's creative generosity, that the poem evokes and celebrates. This "bread, and selfe-same wine" implies, to my mind at least, a sacramental valence, even though the "beere" seems to work against such an interpretation.

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62 Yet in the seventeenth century* even beer could contain a "taste" of Christ and heaven, if one granted as much to the "spiritual use of creatures" as Richard Baxter: ^ "You can open your Bibles, and learn there of God and of Glory: 0 learn to open the creatures, and to open the several passages of providence, to reade of God and glory there. Certainly by such a skilful industrious improvement, we might have a fuller taste of Christ and heaven, in every bit of bread that we eat, and in every draught of Beer that we drink, then most men have in the use of 7 the Sacrament," Jonson's lines may not bear this much weight, but the method of his poem as a whole, moving analogically up the Chain of Being as it does, can not seem too removed from a "spiritual use of creatures" in some sense. Even if the Sidneys' beer and bread and wine is not seen to contain such a full "taste" as that sought by Baxter, it flows from a table, a habit of housekeeping, so generous and unrestrained that the poet, lodging there, proclaims: "all" is here, as if "I raign'd"; there's "nothing I can wish, for which I stay" (11, 74-75), Whether explicitly sacramental or not, Jonson's description of Penshurst Estate elicits a vision of nature, and of man in communion with nature, where "all the guests sit close" and nothing want, and where man, at least in some sense, appears to be "the world's high priest" (l am here appropriating the language of Herbert's Providence 11, 13ff. and 11. 133ff,).

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63 To Penshurst moves on to the apex of man's social world. One of Penshurst 's guests was King James I {11, 76-88). When the King and Prince HenrY came hunting "this way," the estate's "good lady" reaped the "just reward of her high huswifery," for every room seemed "drest/ As if it had expected such a guest J" King James and his "brave sonne" saw Penshurst 's fires Shine bright on every harth as the desires Of /~its_7 Penates had been set on flame. To entertayne them; or the countrey came. With all their zeale, to warm their welcome here. These "flames" perhaps recall those of Sir Philip Sidney earlier in the poem that were said to inspire the local erotic "Sylvans" who cut their names into "his" tree ^ (11. 13-16), Such "flames" pervade another poem in The Forrest (XIV), a poem Jonson is likely to have read at Penshurst, the ode To Sir IVilliam Sidney, on His Birth-Dav ; the ode ends with the poet's wish that the young Sidney's twenty-first birthday be as "bright" with "the flame/ Of love" as with the light of bonfires, for "The Birth-day shines, when logs not burne, but men," As Jonson' s "Muse" perceives the Sidney estate, such "flames" kindle and illuminate the whole scene. Estates such as Penshurst, and the liberal habit of housekeeping they enjoy, luminous in the vision of the poems that celebrate them, manifest nothing more clearly and resonantly perhaps 9 than "a warm concern for corporateness," Could not one

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64 fairlv sav that To Pe ns hurst as all poetry should in Jonson's view, "offers to mankinde a certaine rule, and Patterne of living well, and happily; disposing us to all Civill offices of Society"?"^^ The estate's "praises" are not yet exhausted* At its close (llo 89ffo), To Penshurst moves beyond the natural and social worlds to the more interior "worlds" of virtue and religion. The Sidneys are not only generous housekeepers; they are civilized, virtuous, and reverent human beings. We learn that Lady Sidney is "fruitfull" and "chaste," that Sir Robert's children are his own, that these children have been taught religion whence their "gentler spirits have suck'd innocence "-^-^ and that "the whole household" prays together. We also learn that one can read in the parents' "noble parts,/ The mysteries of \ manners, armes, and arts," What the Sidneys have studied are "the arts of life."-^^ To Penshurst ends with lines that John Hollander feels "resound at the tonal center of Jonson's highest 13 commendatory mode." The lord of this place informs and animates the whole structure, and thus deserves the highest commendation: Now, PENSHVRST, they that will proportion thee With other edifices, when they see Those proud, ambitious heaps, and nothing else. May say, their lords haue built, but thy ^.4 lord dwells.

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65 Sir Robert Sidne-y is, of course, one "lord" who dwells at Penshurst and sustains, and is sustained bv, its wellordered structure. But Jonson mav also be commending — by analogv — the in-dwelling Lord of all places. Perhaps it is not altogether rash to suggest the possibility that To Penshurst also praises God. In terms of the poem's total structure, which moves progressively up the Chain of Being, it would be appropriate for these final lines to figure God as well as Robert Sidney, for the poem at its end to rise to praise of the One Lord that Christian humanism felt to be the source of all ripeness and the end of all virtue. In this connection, we might recall that Jonson could praise Christ as, not only man's redeemer but the "Repairer too" of "lapsed Nature" ( Eupheme Part 9, 11 212-214). Or we might recall that Jonson' s contemporary, John Donne, could preach that "though God be in no place, God is the place, in whom all good men are" ( Sermons X, No. 10, p. 225), Perhaps Jonson is partly implying that the Sidneys, in their own way, have heeded the command of Exodus 25:8: "And let them maKe me a sanctuary; that I may dwell among them," Perhaps not, V/hatever the precise force of the final lines, we can now begin to understand what Kind of dwelling-place Penshurst Estate ultimately is; and we can now begin to understand what it was in this poetry that enabled Pope a century later to 15 declare that "the Rural Scene" is a "Type of Paradise,"

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66 II These seventeenth centurv English Estate Poems can emphasize the harmonious profusion and fecund abundance of the landscape, or thev can emphasize man's interior response to such abundance, Thomas Carew's Estate Poems tend to emphasize the abundance of the natural scene, whereas Robert Herrick's tend to emphasize man's interior response; but both poets, in their own respective emphases are finally concerned with the proper human use of nature's riches. 16 Carew's To Saxham is a poem of winter. Carew images the man-made Saxham House as well enough constructed to withstand winter's bitterest storms and, indeed, to sustain the estate's inhabitants — creaturelv and human — in the midst of these storms. The frost and snow of winter prevent the poet from knowing all of the estate's "pleasures," .Yet ( Saxham ) thou within thy gate. Art of thy selfe so delicate; So full of native sweets, that blesse Thy roofe with inward happinesse; As neither from, nor to thy store Winter takes ought, or Spring addes more. (11. 1-10) Saxham's "native sweets" were presumably harvested in riper seasons from its gardens, orchards, fields, and woods. Yet the "inward happinesse" that Saxham is blessed

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I 67 with mav also result from the values and virtues of its owner, who had the art to store up the place's abundance and, moreover, is willing to share ito We are told that the poor, if not by Crofts "preserv'd," would have starved, and that their thanKful prayers in turn blessed his table with plenty: The cold and frozen ayre had sterv'd Much poore, if not by thee preserv'd; V\fhose prayers have made thy Table blest IVith plenty, far above the rest. (11. llff.) The suggestion seems to be that good husbandry and unselfishness are the sources of true abundance, Saxham's owner resembles a new Noah; all the beasts of the countryside bring themselves to him as offerings: "fearing the snow/ Might to another deluge grow," The Pheasant, Partiridge, and the Larlce, Flew to thy house, as to the Arke, The willing Oxe, of himself e came Home to the slaughter, with the Lambe, And every beast did thither bring Himselfe, to be an offering. (11. 19ff.) We have here, as we had in To Penshurst the vision of an English countryside "so profoundly oriented toward man" 17 that its "living creatures are emulous to feed him." Even the four elements exist at Saxham, in an unusual kind of concordia discors only for the purposes of human vjarmth and illumination:

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68 Water, Earth, Ayxe did all conspire. To pav their tributes to thy fire. Whose cherishing flames themselves divide Through every roome, where they deride The night, and cold abroad; whilst they Like suns within, Keepe endlesse day. (11. 29ff.) The "cherishing flames" of such an estate have their correspondence in the human ability to preserve and distill what is good and valuable in nature, an ability complete enough in this instance to shut out the "cold" and the "night." The plenty of Crofts *s table, which far outstrips anything his neighbors can offer, is not used for conspicuous consumption. Rather, Saxham's "chearfull beames send forth their light" to all the "weary" pilgrims wandering in the night and becKon them, friends and strangers alike, to come in, where they shall find a "hearty" welcome from both master and servants (11. 35ff,), Here no grudging porters guard the doors, which have no locks on them and which stand "wide open all the yeare." Crofts "giv'st so much" that thieves find it impossible to steal from him (11, 57-58). Because of the artful economy and unstinting hospitality of its owner, Saxham provides a repository for nature's abundance, and thereby is a place of nourishment and repose for all its inhabitants, and all its guests. Even in the worst of winter, Saxham is a place of refuge from all sorts of deprivations. The whole scene is pervaded by a sense of

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69 reciprocitv. generous se If-Qiving, and mutual happiness by a sense, that is, of community: a true community of men, and of men and natureo What has been built at Saxham is a sanctuary from winter. If To Saxham is a poem of winter, Carew's To my 1 o friend "G. N/' from "V<,'rest" is a poem of spring. Unlike the virtual wilderness just beyond Saxham' s gates, V/rest outside the house as well as inside is a scene of warmth and mildness, of "temperate ayre" and "Vernall windes." The poet has just come from an utterly different scene, from a place "where everlasting Winter dwells"; I Breathe (sweet Ghib ; ) the temperate ayre of V/rest Where I no more with raging stormes opprest, Weare the cold nights out by the bankes of Tweed, On the bleaKe Mountains, where fierce tempests breed. And everlasting Winter dwells; where milde Favonius and the Vernall windes exilde. Did never spread their wings: but the wilde North Brings sterill Fearne, Thistles, and Brambles forth. (11. 1-8) But at v;rest, the poet is joyous to find a "bounteous Nature" (as it is called later in line 70): here "the pregnant Earth," steeped in "balmie dew," sends forth "a flowrie birth" from "her teeming wombe" and, cherished by the warm sun's "quickning heate," her "porous bosome" diffuses such "rich" perfumes that the residents need no "forraigne Gums," but at nature's "cheape expence" with "farre more genuine sweetes refresh the sense" (11, 9-18), The rest of the poem will continue to emphasize this lush

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and refreshing banquet of sense that nature has spread before the inhabitants and guests of Wrest ParKo To understand some of the possible implications of this two-phase opening, the poet's passage from a barren to a fecund scene, we might recall the similar opening of the M.osella where Ausonius describes his passage from a desolate and strife-ridden scene to the "smiling and welltended" countrv of his own native Bordeaux. Or we might recall that Carew himself had just returned from the expedition of 1639 which King Charles led against Scotland in the first Bishops' war; the King's forces got as far north as Berwick-onTweed near which they encamped in 19 severe hardship. In such contexts, "raging stormes" may have political as well as climatic implications. One cannot be certain. But it does seem fairly certain that this "everlasting Winter" and this fecund "spring" are figurative in some sense, that the poet's movement from the Tweed to Wrest has been a passage from discomfort and desolation and discord to pleasure and fertility and peace. As this opening suggests and the rest of the poem confirms. To mv friend "G. N." from "Wrest" is fundamentally about peace and plenty; Carew 's description of Wrest Park figures forth the plenty which exists in nature, at some times and in some places, and the peace which man can enjoy if he makes wise use of this plenty. Thus Wrest is blessed because it is "fit for service," as well as because of its beauty and abundance;

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71 the house, for example, is free of ostentation or artificiality: "pure and uncompounded" beauties "blesse/ This Mansion with an usefull comelinesse, For here the Architect Did not with curious skill a Pile erect Of carved Marble, Touch, or Porpherie, But built a house for hospitalitie • (11. 19ff,) The Lord and Ladv of Wrest "delight?' in hospitable action rather than empty display of wealth: instead of statues, they "adorne" their "merry Hall" with throngs of "living" ^ men, who "freely sit/ At the Lords Table," which almost cracKs under its piles of "wholsome meates" (11. 25ff.). Such a place, though its mansion physically and its owners morally are humble, surely offers, and enjoys, more human riches than prouder Piles, where the vaine builder spent More cost in outward gay Embellishment Then reall use: vjhich was the sole designe Of our contriver, who made things not fine. But fit for service. (11. 47ff.) At Wrest, Amalthea's horn of "Plentie" is not "in Effigie worne/ Without the gate," but "within the dore" she "Empties her free and unexhausted store" (11, 57ff.), In such a place, the gods themselves, not their stone images, become man's food: "not in Emblemes to the eyes,/ But to the taste those usefull Deities," Ceres and Bacchus, are offered (11. 61-68; italics mine). Indeed, this estate is

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72 so temperate and fertile, and has been so artfully cultivated (11. 69ff.), that beings such as Vertumnus and Pomona, and Zephyr and Flora can be happy here, and carefree : Vi/ith various Trees we fringe the waters brinKe, Vvhose thirstie rootes the soaking moysture drinke. And whose extended boughes in equall rankes Yield fruit, and shade, and beautie to the bankes. On this side young V ertumnus sits, and courts His ruddia-cheek 'd Pomona Zephyre sports On th'other, with lov 'd Flora yeelding there Sweetes for the smell, sweetes for the palate hereo These serene and ripe and loving presences are sheltered by, and mysteriously quicken, the landscape^ One only has to "taste" the liquor that flows from V/rest's streams to be persuaded that The God of V^ine did his plumpe clusters bring. And crush the Falerne grape into our spring; Or else disguis'd in watery Robes did swim To Ceres bed, and make her big of Him, Begetting so himselfe on Her. o • The earth at Wrest is indeed "pregnanto" It is, of course, the fecund "blessings" of these "usefull Deities" (figuratively. Wrest 's genii loci ) that the poet is celebrating; these deities appear here, not as objects of worship, but as figures of the in-dwelling potencies of nature: their "blessings," if wisely used, represent human riches. Such an "encrease" (l, 86) of blessings makes it possible for a Carev; to find pleasure and peace at Wrest Park; at the end of the poem he writes to his friend "G. N.": (11. 89ff.) (11. 97ff.)

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73 Thus I enjoy my selfe, and taste the fruit Of this blest Peace, whilst toyl'd in the pursuit Of Bucks, and Stags, th'embleme of warre, you strive To keepe the memory of our Armes alive., (11, lOT-end) The poet's peace seems complete and enviable, but there is no assurance that it will be permanent, or even longlasting. Traditionally the emblem of war, hunting may be a toilsome pursuit, but in 1639 or 1640 when Carew 20 writes, keeping the memory of arms alive appears to be a necessary activity. Thus To mv friend "Go N^" from "V/rest" ends with a remembrance of the strife and contentions which it had seemed to put behind it at the opening. What Wrest appears to have provided the poet, at least for a while, is a sanctuary from the threatening contentions of his own kind. Robert Herrick's Estate Poems image "the Rural Scene" as a "type of Paradise." Though Herrick' s poetry is full of houses (their main function being to give poetic life to the familiar admonition "set your house in order"), his Estate Poems make less use of the physical aspects of the architectural figure than To Penshurst or To Saxham or To mv friend "Go N." from "Vi/rest ." Giving more explicit ^ weight to man's interior response than to the physical scene, Herrick emphasizes the moral structure of human life. Thus Herrick's A Country life; To his Brother. 22 "Tho: Herrick" uses only modest architectural images:

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74 Yet can thv humble roofe maintaine a Quire Of singing CricKits bv thy tire: And the brisk Mouse rnav feast her selfe with crums. Till that the green-ev'd Kitling comeso Than to her Cabbin, blest she can escape The sudden danger of a Rape. And thus thy little-well-Kept-stock doth prove. Wealth cannot make a life, but Love p (11. 121-128) Since he understands that man's true wealth consists in humility and love, Thomas Herrick is the Horatian beatus ille ; he and his wife are thrice blest because they left the city and came to the country; in the country, one can learn simplicity and innocence, the true nature of virtue, how to follow the dictates of conscience, how in sum "to live well," Living well includes, of course, a proper use /of, and gratitude for, one's riches, Thomas Herrick is content with what Heaven and nature provide; he knows to give Justice to soone-pleas 'd nature; and to show Wisdome and she together goe. And keep one Centre: this with that conspires To teach Man to confine desires: And know, that Riches have their proper stint. In the contented mind, (11. 1-30) This poem praises the golden mean of conduct; its "Thearae" But to live round, and close, and wisely true To thine owne selfe; and knowne to few Thus let thy Rurall Sanctuary be Elizium to thy wife and thee; There to disport your selves with golden measure. (11. 129ff.)

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75 In that the Thomas Herricks' rural scene is Elizium, and a sanctuary, it is a "tvpe" of Paradise. Herrick's other major Estate Poem, A Paneqerick to Sir "Lewis Pemberton ." has a roughly bipartite structure. The first half of the poem deals with Pemberton' s table, his housekeeping, and his hospitality. His kitchen is a "fat-fed smoking Temple" (11, 5ff.). His table displays "Reverence" (l, 75). Pemberton entertains with free hand and open heart, "by the Armes-full" and "with a Brest unhid," as "the old Race of mankind did"; so he does "rsdeeme those times," and "what was lost" of "antient honesty" may boast it "keeps a growth" in him (11, 35ffo). Indeed, Pemberton is "like to that Hospitable God ./ Jove (11, 61-62). The second half of the poem focuses more explicitly on Pemberton 's house itself, but in terms that make it a metaphor (or series of metaphors) for its owner's various human excellences. We learn (11, 89ff.) that Pemberton "know* St order, Ethicks, and ha s read/ All Oeconomicks, and ethics is the crucial subject of this second part of the poem. Besides Pemberton 's hospitable and reverent table, his "house" has other means of "subsistence" (11. 95ff,); comeliness gives "proofe" What Genii support thy roofe, Goodnes and Greatnes ; not the oaken Piles; For these, and, marbles have their while? To last, but not their ever ; Vertues Hand It is, which builds, 'gainst Fate to stand.

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76 Such a human structure can achieve a kind of permanence: Such is thv house, whose firme foundations trust Is more in thee, then in her dust. Or depth, these last may yeeldo (llo 102ff.) But Pemberton's house stands "fixt," and will be able to withstand "the shock/ And Ramme of time" (11, 108-111), "Safe stand" the house's walls and its master, "and so both will,/ Since neithers height was rais'd by th'ill/ Of others" (11, 115ff.). Not one plank is a curse, "but all things even/ Make for /~Pemberton s_7 peace, and pace to heaven" (11. 127-130), The function here of "all things" recalls some of Local Poetry's most important cosmological assumptions. For in the analogical vision of nature that underlies Local Poetry, all things are felt to display the V^isdom and to manifest the Glory of God, Thus a great medieval exponent of such a vision, Hugh of St. Victor, declares: The whole sensible world is like a book written by the hand of God, which is to say, created by divine power, and the individual creatures are like so many characters — characters not arbitrarily devised by human will but instituted by divine will to manifest the wisdom of the invisible things of God. Consider the case of an illiterate man who looks at an open book and sees the characters but does not recognize them as letters; such is the case of the stupid and brutish man who cannot see what is contained within God's creatures. He sees the outer appearances; he does not grasp their inner meaning, ^3

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77 In KerricK's view, Pemberton does seem to grasp the "inner meaning" of his estate at Rushden and its creatures. For as "all things" of this place testify, according to Kerrick, Sir Lewis Pemberton knows, and helps maintain at Rushden, a comprehensive and similitudinous order Hone too surprisingly, Herrick's panegyric moves along the Chain of Being, reticently and not at all systematically it must be granted, but in patterns that quietly intimate the correspondences between each level of being and all the others, those very correspondences that analogically connect all being. Thus the "perfection" of Pemberton's estate includes its stones, its plants, its lower animals, its men, its Lares and Genii, and even God, Once more an Estate Poem intimates that things receive, and man knows, the perfection of the order God creates. Line 89 tells us that Pemberton "know'st order," the whole poem figures the order he helps maintain within his estate, and the last four lines (133-136) explain why Pemberton can know and maintain such order — he keeps a God in man: Pemberton presents a pattern for all mankind because of his likeness to God, and we sense that Herrick's final concern is not with any temporal sanctuary, but with his own "eternall Mansion."^"* This is that Prin ce .lv Pemberton who can Teach man to keepe a God in man: And when wise Poets shall search out to see Good men. They find them all in Thee

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78 III Joseph Ho Summers finds Andrew Marvell's Upon Aopleton House, to mv Lord "Fairfax" the "most interesting and entertaining long, non-dramatic poem between The 25 Faerie Queene and Paradise Lost ," Marvell's poem is undoubtedly the richest seventeenth century Estate Poem, mainlv because it is the one that most variedly explores the phenomena of the natural scene and because it is the one that most suggestively relates these phenomena to the experiences of men: of all these Estate Poems, Marvell's is the one that most thoroughly locates and defines man's place in nature^ Marvell wrote Upon Appleton House and its shorter companion poem Upon the Hill and Grove at "Bill-borow. To the Lord "Fairfa x." While living at these Yorkshire estates of the great Lord Fairfax as tutor to his daughter Mary (co 1651-1653 )<, Fairfax had been commander-in-chief of the Parliamentary forces and had led the New Model Army to a great series of victories that determined the outcome of the civil war, Fairfax had thus ridden his horse "through conquer 'd Britain ( Upon Appleton House 1. 246), yet he gave up this military and political power for the sake of conscience: refusing to lead an offensive expedition into Scotland, and being greatly opposed to the

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79 King's execution, Fairfax resigned his command out of principle and retired to his YorKshire estateso Hardly any other man in England at the time of these poems* composition was felt to have as impressive a combination of courage and conscience, of valor and piety, and Marvell exploits this widely acknowledged judgment. In fact, the poet perceives an ideal balance of opposites in Fairfax's life: having achieved the "height" of human power, the great general has now retired to a "securer Glory" ( Upon the Hill and Grove 11. 15-16). The next to last stanza of Upon the Hill and Grove recalls Fairfax's military triumphs; then the poem concludes: But Peace (if you his favour prize) That Courage its own Praises flies. Therefore to your obscurer Seats From his own Brightness he retreats: Nor he the Hills without the Groves, Nor Height but with Retirement loves. Where Fairfax now dwells, as Marvell perceives the man in his landscape, there is a locus amoenu^ : Acclivis, placi 27 dus. mollis, amoenus hie est a The structure of Uoon A pole ton House parallels the structure of Nun Appleton Estate; the poem follows the contours of the landscape and moves, in turn, from an introductory description of the manor house, to an account of the history of the nearby ruins of a nunnery, and then sweeps out to a full survey of the estate's surrounding grounds. First the house is described (11, 1-80) as a

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80 manifestation of the values and virtues of its owner and his familv as a figure of Fairfacian naturalness, sense of proportion, humilitv, and piety. The poet next describes some of the "Quarries" whence the present dwelling arosGo Ke turns from this "sacred" place (lo 35) to a once prouder pile, now "that Neighbour-Ruine" (l. 87), to a place where "vice" had infected "the very Wall" (l 216); he turns, that is, to the episode (11. 81-280) in which he relates the relevant part of the history of the ruins of the nearby Cistercian nunnery. Several generations earlier, these "Suttle Nunns" (l, 94) tried to lure Isabel Thwaites (the great-great-grandmother of ^ Marvell's Lord Fairfax) into joining their priory -a "gloomy" and "wasting Cloister" in Marvell's view (11, 89 and 271) -so that they could possess her adjacent properties (11, 221-222). But Sir William Fairfax intervened: he "rescued" and married "the blooming Virgin Thwates (l, 90), and thus the "great" Fairfacian race was not "intercepted" (11. 241ff.). The nunnery on its dissolution in 1542 passed to the Fairfaxes, who built Nun Appleton House on its lands: "And what both Nun s and Founders will'd," Marvell concludes at the end of the episode, "Tis likely better thus fulfill'd" (11. 275276). Then after this historical episode, the poet conducts the reader on a day-long "survey" of the estate's "fragrant" gardens (11. 281ff.), "deep" meadows (11. 369ff,),

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81 "shadv" woods (ll, 481ffo), and "transparent" streams (11, 625ff.). Then the poet envisions himself, languidly fishing as evening comes on, joined at the river's edge bv young Mari^ who is represented as a lovelv embodiment of the whole estate's guiding principles and as the future hope of the House of Fairfax (llo 649ff.). Then at the end of the poem, at the end of the dav^s survey of the estate, the poet invites his reader to return with him to the "house," and to all that it might mean (ll. 761-776). By that point, I thinK we shall see that Nun Applet on (the well-proportioned manor house and the "pleasant" estate that encloses it) worScs figuratively in the poem in at least two ways: the first of these ways considers "the habitation of man" relative to "the whole system of universal being"; the second considers man "in his own habitation, in himself" relative to "his particular system.""^^ The first two lines of Upon Applet on House offer an important clue to the strategies and themes of the whole poem: Vv'ithin this sober Frame expect V/ork of no Forrain Architect The force of "frame" in these opening lines seems multiple and figurative. Clearly, the word signifies Lord Fairfax's house at Nun Appleton. But the word might also signify here, as it did pervasively throughout Marvell's century, the whole creation, what Shakespeare's Hamlet (II, ii, 310)

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82 and Milton's Adam (VIII, 11 15-16) call "this goodly Frame" of heaven and earth consisting, what Ben Jonson speaks of as "the frame/ Of all the universe" ("Song" from The New In n. IV, iv)o Marvell might also possibly mean here the human form, the "frame" of man, or possibly 29 even the "frame" of his poem If "frame" in these opening lines has some of this multiple force, it would perhaps suggest that Marvell is figuring Nun Appleton as a perfected replica or ideal epitome of nature's vast, yet concentric "nest of boxes." Marvell explicitly acknowledges such figuring when, at the end of the poem, he declares that the great world (the macrocosm) is not "what once it was," that it is now "a rude heap," but that Nun's Appleton' s microcosmic "lesser World contains" all the components of the great world, only in a "more decent Order"; the poet then addresses Nun Appleton, or the lovely young embodiment of its principles Maria, or perhaps both, in this wise: You Heaven's Center. Nature's Lao And Paradice's only MaP a l^ll. 761ff.) The Fairfaxes' estate is a paradigm of the whole creation. Since the Fairfaxes' microcosm manifests a "more decent Order" than the macrocosm, their behavior — as it is embodied within their "sober Frame" — would seem to represent a desirable norm of human conduct. So the

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83 opening lines stress, as the rest of the poem will confirm, that Nun Appleton was not the worK of anv "Forrain" architect — that the architect here was "native," that his design was English and traditional and fashioned according to nature's own harmonieso Thus we learn that "all things are composed here/ Like Nature, orderly and near" (11. 2526), We also learn that nature has been abundantly "free" here (llo 73-80), and that there is a corresponding proper and virtuous human use of nature's riches: at Nun Appleton, "ev'ry Thing does answer Use," there is no lacK of "neatness," and A Stately Frontispiece of Poor Adorns without the open Door: Nor less the Rooms within commends Daily new Furniture of Friends 111. 61ff.) The opening lines also stress, as the rest of the poem will also confirm, that Nun Appleton is a "sober" frame — that the place is unpretentious and its owners devout. Thus at Nun Appleton one finds "the Dimensions" Of that more sober Age and Mind, Vi/hen larger sized Men did stoop To enter at a narrow loop; As practising, in doors so strait. To strain themselves through Heavens Gate (11. 25ff7] And we are told that Humility alone" furnished the design of Fairfax's sober dwelling (11. 41ff.). In the poet's view, this is a "sacred" place (l. 35).

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84 Marvell explicitly states that Nun Appleton's modest, yet admirable "lines" conform to "holy" mathematics Humility alone designs Those short but admirable Lines, By which, ungirt and unconstrain 'd Things greater are in less contain 'd. Let others vainly strive t 'immure The Circ le in the Quadrature j These holy MathematicKs can In ev'ry Figure equal Mann (11. 41-48) Marvell here appears to condemn the vain efforts of some of his contemporaries (such as Hobbes) to square the circle. Donne, in the first. lines of his poem Upon th e t ranslation of the Psalmes by Sir Philip Sydney^ and the Countesse of Pembroke gives us some idea of how such vain efforts were viewed in the seventeenth century; Eternall God, (for whom who ever dare Seeke new expressions, doe the Circle square. And thrust into strait corners of poore wit Thee, who art cornerlesse and infinite). In contrast with such virtually blasphemous pseudo-mathematics is the behavior of Fairfax: "where he comes the swelling Hall/ Stirs, and the Souare grows Spherical" (11, 49ff,). Perhaps Marvell's "holy Mathematicks" retain a semblance of that vision of world order, that figurative habit of mind, which prompted Emile Male to evaluate one of its expressions -medieval religious art as "a kind 30 of sacred mathematics." It may be that, as Douglas Bush suggests. Upon Aooleton House has "a touch of the old

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85 svmbolic and religious concept of nature as the art of God which appears in so manv philosophic writers from Plato to 31 Sir Thomas Browne If Marvell does envision nature, as it is epitomized in the Fairfaxes' estate, to be ultimatelv the Art of God, he would also seem to affirm that this divine Art can be ^ imitated or apprehended or intuited bv human art; for the poet insists that Nun Appleton's "holy Mathematicks" can in "ev'rv Figure equal Man," In Upon Aooleton House we seem to be dealing quite explicitly with "figur'd Worlds," with a vision of nature, and of man's potentially harmonious use of nature, that is analogical. For the poem's "lines," too, seem to employ a figurative method by which "Things greater are in less contain'd," Marvell appears to acknowledge such an analogical vision and figurative method when he implies, later in the poem, that he may be somewhat skilled in reading nature's "mystick Book"; in the wood the poet says that he has contemplated the varied phenomena of Nun Appleton's landscape and that he has been able to "weave" the significances of these phenomena into one pattern of meaning, a pattern that he finds congruent with the "one History" of the accumulated traditions of European culture: What Rome. Greece. Palestine ere said I in this light Mosaick read. Thrice happy he who, not mistook, Kath read in Natures m :Ystick Book "Tll 577ff .)

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86 The civilized values of Rome, the philosophical learninQ of Greece, the religious mvsteries of Palestine: are these vjhat Marvell is reader, and tutor, in? and are these what he discovers embodied in the "sober" and "admirable" and "sacred" frame of Nun Appleton? At any rate, Marvell would seem to be suggesting in the poem as a whole that if a man can fathom "Nature's mvsticK Book," or attune himself to these "holv MathematicKs, in some of the ways that Fairfax is seen to have done, such a man will have some chance of building a secure and well-proportioned and perhaps even "happv" dwelling-place. In some such wise, Marvell's second stanza indicates to my mind, the fundamental subject of the whole poem; Why should of all things Man unruled Such unproportion'd dwellings build? The Beasts are by their Denns exprest: And Birds contrive an equal Nest; The low-roof 'd Tortoises do dwell In cases fit of Tortoise-shell: No Creature loves an empty space; Their Bodies measure out their Place. Man of all creatures, Marvell suggests, should not build "unproportion 'd" dwellings. Rather, he should strive to locate his true place in nature and contrive to "dwell" there. The poem's subject, put most simply, is man's permanent task of accomodating himself to his environment, and to his condition -of understanding himself in relationship to all the "worlds" he inhabits.

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87 We shall encounter the tortoises of this second stanza again in the final stanza of Upon Aopleton House and framing the poem as they do, they can be regarded as, in a somewhat submerged and witty sense, one of its most important symbols. Their symbolic importance is mainly two-fold. First, tortoises are amphibians : they live in diverse elements. Second, tortoises can be taken to figure a perfectly adequate accomodation of a creature to its environment: their dwellings are humble ( "low-roof *d ") and well-proportioned ("cases fit of Tortoise-shell"). IVhatever "world" tortoises are thrust into, they "dwell" v^ithin themselves. ^ Creatures such as Marvell's tortoises had been given similar symbolic interpretations in other seventeenth century worKs, Sir Thomas Browne, for instance, can call all "the effects of nature the worKs of God," and declare; "I hold there is a generall beauty in the works of God, and therefore no deformity in any kind or species of creature whatsoever: I cannot tell by what Logick we call a Toad, a Beare, or an Elephant, ugly; they being created in those outward shapes and figures which best expresse the actions of their inward formes" ( Religio Medici. I, 17). And John Donne, in a verse epistle, can advise Sir Henry Wotton to emulate the snail that carries "his owne house" with him wherever he goes:

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8S Be thou thine owne home, and in thy selfe dwell; Follow (for he is easie pac'd) this snaile, Be thine owne Palace, or the world's thy gaile And as Marjorie Nicolson says, Richard Lovelace can find "an epitome of the universe" in "the circle" of the 32 snail. The tone of Lovelace's extravagantly witty, almost whimsically facetious The Snavl is somewhat problematical, but there is little doubt that the ostensible design of the poem is to wring almost every conceivable correspondence from the emblematic roles of this "analys'd King" (l, 37); Lovelace's beginning will serve to suggest how all through the course of the poem he figuratively exploits the "Compendious" snail's living within itself: V/ise Emblem of our Politick World, Sage Snayl, within thine own self curl'd; Instruct me softly to make hast. Whilst these my Feet go slowly fast. Like Donne's and Lovelace's "sage" snails, Marvell's "lowroof 'd" tortoises emblematically suggest that man would not be ill-advised to emulate such creatures and "fitly" dwell within himself. Perhaps just as important a feature of tortoises, for Marvell's figurative purposes, is that they are amphibians. So, too, are men in the thinking of the seventeenth century and of all Christian humanism: men live simultaneously in two worlds, they have mixed natures, they are "rational Amphibii (as Marvell phrases it in the

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89 poem's final stanza). Indeed, man, according to a wellKnown passage in Sir. Thomas Browne, is "that great and true Amphibium whose nature is disposed to live not onelv like other creatures in divers elements, but in divided and distinguished worlds; for though there bee but one world to sense, there are two to reason, the one visible, the other invisible"; thus man is "that amphibious piece betweene a corporall and spirituall essence, that middle frame that linkes those two together, and makes good the method of God and nature" ( Reliqio .Medici I, 34). The early stanzas of Upon Appleton House draw upon this idea of man's mixed, or "amphibious" nature. The stanza after the one with the tortoises describes how some men proudly reject their creatureliness, how they vainly forget that man's body "measures out" his place too. Such men "superfluously spread" for themselves immense "hollow" palaces, and some even demand "more room alive than dead": What need of all this Marble Crust T 'impark the wanton Mote of Dust. (11. 17ff.) As we have already seen, Fairfax builds more humbly and more usefully and more commodiously ; his designs take cognizance both of nature's "free" abundance and of "holy Mathematicks, both of his corporeal and his spiritual "essence": indeed. Nun Appleton House was built only as a mark of "grace," as both Marvell and Fairfax himself tell us:

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90 The House was built upon the Place Only as for a Mark of Grace ; And for an Inn to entertain Its Lord a while, but not remain* (Up on Apoleton House 11. 69-72) Thinke not o Man that dwells herein This House's a Stay but as an Inne wch for Conuenience fittlv stands In way to one nott made w"*-^ hands But if a time here thou take Rest Yetx thinke Eternity's the Best^S The "native" and "sober" building of a Fairfax aspires to find some means of equally satisfying man's body and man's soul. Upon Apoleton House thus begins with the image of a good and proper art that enhances and gives shape to nature. Totally different is the nunnery, to which the poet next turns (11, 81-280). All critics of the poem seem to agree that Marvell's evaluation of this nunnery is uncompromisingly negative, that the poet disvalues and condemns the mode of "retirement" practised by these Suttle (1. 94) and "fraudulent" (l. 214) nuns. The "Neighbour-Ruine" (1. 87) of the "gloomy" (l, 89) and "wasting Cloister" (1, 271) of these "Hypocrite Witches" (l. 205) stands as a vivid anti-type to the truly "sacred Places" of the present Nun Appleton, where according to the poet future generations of men shall come in adoring "Pilgrimage" (11. 33ff.). Instead of a "Stately Frontispiece of Poor adorning "the open Door" or "Daily new Furniture of Friends (11. 65-68), this cloister "outward shuts its Gates"

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91 against "the World" (11, 97ff,). Moreover, these Virgin Amazons (l. 106) are stridentlv proud of their rejection of men: "VJhat need is here of Man?" (l. 103), rhetoricallv aslcs the nun in her campaign to persuade the heiress Isabel Thwaites to join the priorv: "These Ears inclose that wider Den Of those wild Creatures, called Men The Cloyster outward shuts its Gates, And, from us, locks on them the Grates." (11. 101-104) "'Twere Sacriledge a Man t 'admit To holy things, for Heaven fit." (11. 139-140) In fact, several critics find a strong hint of perversion in the nun's promise to appoint each night "a fresh and Virgin Bride" for Isabel's side: "Where vou may lye as chast in Bed, As Pearls together billeted. All Night embracing Arm in Arm, Like Chrystal pure with Cotton warm," (11. 185ff.) Perhaps Sir V/illiam Fairfax (Isabel's suitor and greatgreat-grandf axher of Marvell's Lord Fairfax) is accusing the nuns of some kind of perversion when he says he knows "what Fruit their Gardens yield,/ When they it think by Night conceal'd" (11. 219-220). The pretended innocence of these Suttl e Nunns conceals an actual corruption — even their Re licks are false (1. 261). Their "long conceiv'd" (l, 96)

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92 blandishments to Isabel are motivated, not by anv concern to gain a soul for God, but by a greedy desire to aggrandize her valuable properties; as Sir William Fairfax warns Isabel: it is her estate, not her soul, "that thev would consecrate" (11. 221-222) „ He "valiantly" complains (11, 201-224) that whatever of value or whoever of faith comes within the influence of these "Hypocrite V/itches" will "soon grow fraudulent: For like themselves they alter all. And vice infects the very VJall." Even someone as "guiltless" as the "truly bright and holy Thwaites (l* 263) might "perish" in such a "prison," in such a whited sepulchre. So William Fairfax urges Isabel to "Fly from their Vices," "Fly from their Ruine." It could be said that there are three Kinds of "art" in Upon Ap pleton House ; the Art of nature or of God, man's humble and reverent imitation of that in his own art, and the artificial constructions of some men that arrogantly 34 deny nature or God. The nunnery seems to exemplify the last kind: the Sanctity of these "fraudulent" and "vicious" nuns is only an "Art" by which they "finly'r cheat" (11. 203ff.). But "sure those Buildings last not long," Marvell says, which are "Founded by Folly, kept by Wrong" (11. 217-218). At the time the poet writes, the nunnery is "that Neighbour-Ruine

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The nun's "smooth Tongue" might have "suckt" the virgin heiress in (l. 200) — the nuns' "sharpest Weapons were their Tongues" (l. 256) — hacJ not Sir William Fairfax intervened, and in his manlv vigor rescued and married "the blooming Virgin Thwates (l. 90 and 11. 225ff,) Then the nunnerv on its dissolution passed to the House of Fairfax: "if the Virgin prov 'd not theirs,/ The Clovster vet remained hers" (11. 273-280). It appears that Marvell has little praise for the chastitv that "wastes" itself in "gloomv" cloisters; he values a chastity that is reminiscent of Spenser's conception, or of the "ripe" and marriageable rural daughters or the "fruitfull" and "chaste" Lady Sidney in To Penshurst — a chastity that finds its consummation in marriage. Rescued by the "glad Youth" (l. 265), the blooming virgin Thwaites is permitted to fulfill herself as a woman — in her marriage and in her children. And the Fairfacian OaK (l. 740) springs abundantly 35 fertile. Issuing from the union of Isabel Thwaites and Sir William Fairfax have come"fierce" offspring who have fought "through all the Universe "; the Fairfacian line has supplied a "great Race" of valorous military heroes and fair "virgin numphs" (11. 239-248, 301-302, and 737-744). Finally, from "that blest Bed" came an even greater "Heroe," the present Lord Fairfax, who has "retired here" to Nun Appleton, "to Peace": "'Twas no Religious House till now" (11. 279-283).

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94 The poet turns from the ruins of the nunnery to Lord Fairfax's "fragrant" gardens (11, 281-368). Except for the manor house, the gardens are the most organized and delightful, the most artful, part of the landscape at Nun Appleton. Once such fragrant gardens were ubiquitous, but that pristine glory has been lost; laments the poet: Oh Thou, that dear and happy Isle The Garden of the IVorld ere while. Thou Paradise of four Seas, V/hich Heaven planted us to please. But, to exclude the world, did guard VJith watry if not flaming Sv^ord ; V^hat lucKless Apple did we tast. To maKe us Mortal, and The Wast? (11. 321ff.) Marvell then claims that Fairfax could possibly have raised some facsimile of such a Paradise throughout England's waste wilderness: "had it pleased him and God," he "Might once have made our Gardens spring/ Fresh as his own and flourishing" (11. 345ff,). But Fairfax's destiny led him to retire to Nun Appleton, where he has been mainly concerned to cultivate the "garden" of his mind, and soul: For he did, with his utmost Skill, Ambition weed, but Conscience till. Conscience that Heaven-nursed Plant, Which most our Earthly Gardens want, A prickling leaf it bears, and such As that which shrinks at ev'ry touch; But Flowrs eternal, and divine. That in the Crowns of Saints do shine, (11. 353-360) These lines may owe something to Comus (the opening and closing speeches, or the "haemony" in lines 617-649,

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95 for instance). But one need not search out specific analogues, because "gardens" such as Fairfax's had for centuries been taken bv poets such as Warvell -to figure man's ability to mend and perfect nature (his own interior, as well as exterior, nature), and thus his ability to accomodate himself to his environment and to his condition. For the human creature, such an accomodation includes constructive self-knowledge: "To know his own condition and place, what he owes to things above him and beneath and to himself, to understand what he has been made, how he should conduct himself, what he should do 36 and not do ~ in this for man consists self-knowledge," In Marvell's vision of Nun Appleton, Fairfax's "fragrant" gardens, like his "native" and "sober" house, suggest that he has achieved some of this self-knowledge. Then the poet passes to "the Abbyss" of "that unfathomable Grass," to the meadows, where "Men like Grashoppers appear" and "Grashoppers are Gyants" (11. 369ff), The relationship of man to nature as imaged by these "deep" meadows (11. 369-480) — still a figure of cultivation, but less "artfully" so than the gardens — is more tenuous, more ambiguous, more contingent, more "unfathomable" than was the case with the house or the gardens. These meadows are certainly "native," but not very "sober." And their "fragrance" includes the smell of animal blood (11. 393ff.) and human sweat (11, 425ff.), Here the poet is constrained to wonder how men that "Dive" through this meadow are able

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96 to "rise alive" (11. 377), And here the poet witnesses the mowers "Massacre" birds as well as grass (11. 385ff.). One mower that "unknowing" carves a bird fears lest its "Flesh untimely mow'd/ To him a Fate as black forebode." The poet's advice to these unhappily threatened birds is to "sooner hatch or higher build," but he knows that neither "Lowness" nor "Right" can guarantee them any secure refuge (11. 409-424). In this scene as a whole there is a strong emphasis on nature's energies -the springing growth in "the Grassy Deeps" (l. 391), and a corresponding vitality in man. Thus after the haying comes a dance, where every mower's "wholesome Heat/ Smells like an Alexanders sweat ." and where their "Females" are as "fragrant as the Mead" which they tread in graceful circles: V\fhen at their Dances End they kiss. Their new-made Hay not sweeter is, (11, 425ff,) Yet nature's energies can surge out of control, or break the bounds of a decent order. Thus at the end of the poet's not-altogether-pleasant survey of the meadows, the river floods and makes the meadow (that unfathomable "Abbyss") "truly" what it but seemed before, "a Sea" (11. 465-470); the "River in it self is drown'd," and the whole place and all its creatures seem topsy-turvy:

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97 Let others tell the Paradox How Eels now bellow in the Ox; How Horses at their Tails do kick, Turn'd as they hang to Leeches quick; How Boats can over Bridges sail; And Fishes do the Stables scale. How Salmons trespassing are found; And Pikes are taken in the Pound. (11. 471-480) Here Marvell is making witty use of an old and well-known rhetorical topic: "the world upside down."^"^ His image of the flooding river drowning or inverting all the meadow's inhabitants, even if somewhat v>/himsical, contributes to the total sense that in the scene of these "deep" and "unfathomable" meadows, there is on the whole as much loss 38 and waste as gain and increase, as much disorder as order. Perhaps the meadows of Upon Appleton House invite comparison with Marvell's Mower Poems, where one can hear "My Mind was once the true survey/ Of all these Medows fresh and gay" (italics mine), or even "Death thou art a Mower too." Perhaps these "deep" meadows reticently suggest, as Marvell put it in another poem, that man is "Th' Amphibi um of Life and Death" ( The unfortunate Lover 1. 40). At this point in Up on Appleton House (ll. 481ff.), the poet retreats from the flood's disorder and takes "Sanctuary in the V.'ood," a green "growing Ark" that would have suited the purposes of "the first Carpenter. "-^^ Topographically the least cultivated part of the estate, the "shady" wood (11. 481-624) occasions for the poet a withdrawal deep into the self. The poet's experience in his "green"

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98 sanctuary is private, playful, and profound all at once; perhaps one example will suggest what the poet imagines himself to have discovered while in this "shady" wood; how "safe" and "strong," the poet thinKs, behind These trees have I incamp'd my Mind; Where Beauty, aiming at the Heart, Bends in some Tree its useless Dart; And where the World no certain Shot Can make, or me it toucheth not. But I on it securely play. And gaul its Horsemen all the Day., (11. 601ff,) "Behind" these trees, the poet may be safe from the world, but only at the expense of having withdrawn from it, and of being alone. One does not know quite how to assess a "useless" beauty. One does not know whether to read securely play" or "securely play ." Perhaps the poet's "play" in this green shade is an image of that "art" of the mind and heart which, even if prepared in privacy, when "aimed" at the world, can help make man's place i£i it more "safe" and "strong." It is in this "shady" wood that, as we noticed in the first chapter, the poet becomes an easie. ^Philosopher and confers among "the Birds and Trees" ; And little now to make me, wants Or of the Fowles or of the Plants Give me but Wings as they, and I Streight floting on the Air shall fly: Or turn me but, and you shall see I was but an inverted Tree. (11, 561ff.)

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99 Contemplating the "scatter'd" Sibvls' "Leaves" of nature's mvsticK Book and weaving them into "one Kistorv" this "easie Philosopher" lilce "some great Prelate of the Grove.," or perhaps liKe Adam before the fall -can see straight into the essences of nature's creatures; Alreadv I begin to call In their most learned Original: And where I language want, mv Signs The Bird upon the Bouqh divines. (11. 569-572) The poet appears to be in the process of regaining some 40 measure of pristine innocence. Soon after this, the poet moves to the now calm river where, as evening comes on, he is joined bv Maria (11. 625ff,). The poem's overall descriptive movement from the house to the gardens, then to the meadows, and then to the river and wood is in general one through a progressively less cultivated, less humanized landscape a movement steadily away from art and increasingly towards a raw, unadorned nature. But then as we approach the end of the poem, we witness an upswing, especially when Maria comes young Maria she that "already is the Law / Of all her Sex her Ages. Aw (ll, 649-656). With the entry into the poem of this youngest and freshest and lovliest Fairfax, there is a renewed emphasis on innocence; because of her, the landscape once more reflects an "organized innocence": See how loose Nature, in respect To her, it self doth recollect. ...

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100 Maria "so doth hush/ The World," and "by her Flames in Heaven try'd,/ Nature is wholly vitrif i 'd (11, 657-688) Maria is the genius of this place, the embodied principle of order and beauty who gives the landscape of Nun Appleton its excellence: *Tis She that to these Gardens gave That wondrous Beauty which they have; She streightness on the V/oods bestows; To Her the Meadow sweetness owes; Nothing could make the River be So Chrystalpure but only She; She yet more Pure, Sweet, Streight, and Fair, Then Gardens, VJoods, Meads, Rivers are. And the elements of the landscape reciprocate: what Maria "spent" on them, "They gratefully again present": the meadow provides "Carpets" for her, the garden "Flow'rs to Crown Her Head And for a Glass the limpid Brook, Vvhere She may all her Beautyes look; But, since She would not have them seen. The Wood about her draws a Skreen. (11. 689-704) Thus not only do we see that Maria has in some sense revivified nature, vje also catch a glimpse of the reciprocal 41 harmony that can exist between man and his environment, Maria also embodies the future hope of the House of Fairfax. For this "Blest Nymph" (11. 705-736) — nursed in "a Domestick Heaven under "the Discipline severe/ Of Fairfax and the starry Vere — shall marry, shall increase and multiply:

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101 Hence She with Graces more divine Supplies bevond her Sex the Line ; And, liKe a sori q of Misleto On the Fairfacian Oa K does grow; Whence, for some universal good. The Prie St shall cut the sacred Bud; While her glad Parents most rejoice. And make their Dest iny their Choice, Til. 737-7441 Maria is praised so highly, and receives so prominent a position in the poem, because she is perceived as Nun Appleton's noblest "frame," as the finest creation of the Fairfax "estate," Since Maria is perceived as the finest creation of this "estate," and since she is viewed as being able in some sense to revivify nature, she is justly celebrated in an Estate Poem about "creating" — about fertility and building and cultivation. Meantime, until Fate "worthily translates" her and finds "a Fairfax for our Thwaites ." all the elements of this landscape should strive to imitate her innocent perfection: "Mean time ye Fields, Springs, Bushes, Flow'rs," Employ the means you have by Her, And in your kind your selves preferr; That, as all Virgins She preceds. So you all VJoods. St re ams. Gardens .. Meads (11, 745ff.) "Meantime," as Summers says ( Marvell p. 25), is "one of Marvell 's most frequent and most significant words. The final stanza of Upon Appleton House reticently teases us into recalling that even the Fairfaxes inhabit a mean time world :

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102 But now the Salmon-Fishers moist Their Leathern Boats begin to hoist; And, like Ant i pod e s in Shoes, Have shod their H eads in their Canoos How Tortoise like but not so siovj. These rational Amphibii go? Let's in: for the dark Hemisphere Does now like one of them appear. Like Donne's and Lovelace's lines on the "easie pac'd" and "slowlv fast" snail, Marvell's couplet on the Tortoise lik e" though not so slow "rational Amphibii is a version of what has been called "the most cherished maxim of the Renaissance," its ideal of maturitas summed up hy the classical motto festina lent e. Edgar Wind has brilliantlY shown the currency in the Renaissance of this motto and traced its source to the A ttic Nights of Aulus Gellius: "In a chapter on the adverb mature in which he discussed at some length what is meant by 'ripening,' Gellius had introduced a motto of the emperor Augustus which recommended a combination of speed with patience, of daring abandon with prudent restraint. As Erasmus explained in the Adaqia festina lente ('make haste slowly') became the most widely cherished Renaissance maxim. ," Wind explains that innumerable emblematic combinations, including a tortoise carrying a sail, were adopted "to signify the rule of life that ripeness is achieved by a growth of strength in which quickness and steadiness are equally 42 developed." Yet one wonders whether these salmon-fishers, being men and not tortoises, will be able to "make haste slowlv." Marvell's variation of festina lente is a question.

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103 Then, in the poem's final couplet, the poet urges us to go inj, for now "the dark Hemisphere appears like one of the antipodal, tortoise-like salmon-fishers. Here, at the very end of the poem, vje leave the salmon-fishers to descend to their tasks, as we move on to ours. It is the end of our "survey" of the estate; it is the end of day. And as night comes down upon us like an inverted black bowl, we are urged to return to the house like a tortoise going back into its shell. Having come from "Within this sober Frame" of line 1 through the survey of the estate's landscape and history to the final admonition "Let's in," Upon Applet on House has located man's place in nature and found it to be multiple -to be extra nos. intra nos. supra nos The poem seems to suggest that man can find his "fit" place (or "places," they all have the same "center") and dwell secure there: none of man's "sober frames" need be the work of a "Forrain Architect Nun Appleton's "lesser Vvorld appears to demonstrate that it is possible for some men to construct a "native" and "sober" and wellordered dwelling-place: 'Tis not, what once it was, the World ; But a rude heap together hurl'd; All negligently overthrown, Gulfes, Deserts, Precipices, Stone. Your lesser World contains the same. But in more decent Order tame; You, Heaven's Center, Nature s Lap. And Paradice's only Ma p„ 11. 761-768)

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104 In its total structure, Marvell's poem reflects the ways of building human life: how man can accomodate himself to his environment, comprehend his condition, and ultimately assimilate himself to God. All these seventeenth century English Estate Poems seem finally to be about how man can repair the ruins of his first parents. In all these Estate Poems there are three builders: the owner, the poet, and God, Each gives shape to the world. I

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NOTES 1. This phrase occurs in a famous passage in Marlowe's Tambu rlai ne th e Great Part I (ll, vii, 18-29). 2. Erasmus, in the passage from his Copia quoted in my Foreword, cited as examples of topographia more villas than any other Kind of place. The main classical sources for this poetic tradition about estates and their owners are, besides the Mosella Martial III, 58, and Statius Silvae I, ii and iii and especially II, ii. These and some other antecedents of this tradition are cited and discussed in connection with Marvell's Upon Appleton House by Don Cameron Allen in Image and Meaning; Metaph oric Traditions in Renaissance Poetr^Baltimore, I960), "pp. 122-124. The English poems in the main line of this tradition have been carefully studied by G. R. Hibbard in "The Country House Poem of the Seventeenth Century," Journal of the Wa rburg and Courtauld In sti tutes. XIX (1956), 159-174. And recently Maynard Mack has argued that these poems have a deep influence on Pope, who incorporates within much of his best poetry "a notably seventeenth-century English sense of proprietorship and place": "Sec re turn Iter ; Some Uses of Retirement Literature in the Poetry of Pope," in Asp ect s of the E ighteen th Century ed. Earl WassermariTBaitimore, 1965), pp. 219ff. 3, The Forre st. II; all citations of Jonson's works refer to vol, VIII of Be n Jonson ed Herford and Simpson (Oxford, 1947). To Penshurst should be compared with the next poem in The,„ Forrest (ill. To Sir Ro bert VJroth). since Wroth was married to Lady Mary Sidney, and especially perhaps since Wroth's estate at Durrants in the parish of Enfield was, like the Sidneys' Kentish Penshurst, famous for its master's housekeeping. Besides Hibbard, the best discussions of To P enshurst are the essays of Paul M. Cubeta, "A Jonsonian Ideal: 'To Penshurst,'" PQ, XLII (January, 1963), 14-24; and Hugh Maclean, "Ben Jonson's Poems: Notes on the Ordered Society," in Essays, ip English Literature ,. j^, ed, Millar MacLure and F. W. Vi/att TToronto, 19647, pp. 60ff. 4, Gil son, The Philosophy of St. Bon.av.ent.u.re trans. Dom I lit yd Trethowan and F. j. "She'ed"TLondon 1940), p. 217; cf. p. 210. 105

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106 Hibbard, 164 The Countess o f PenbroKe r, Arcadia BKo I, in .V/orK.s edo Feuillerat (Cambridge, 1939"), I, po IS; ci. Mack, ''SefiT&tim Itey." pp. 221-222. J^'-^,. ,-,SgAr'I-,s 5v a ? t i n o _P. e s t, 4Th edo (London, 1653), Pt 4, ppo 135-126; quoted by Louis Martz, T he Po etr.V of \^?diTf"ion (New liaven and London), pp 173-174. Kerford and Simpson (vol. XI, p. 35) note, "There is still a room in the house called King James's room, cTid there are references to the King's lodging in seventeenth^centurv inventories. The quoted phrase is taken from M.avnard r/iacK's ''Introduction" to The Auqustans. vol. V of Engli sh VoSteraiece s p. 20. Ti r-'j_e r ,,.....or Pi s c oy e i e.s p 636; cf. p. 645, where Jonson compares the building of a poem to the building of a house. Cto To Sir Rob ert IVroth (l. 66), where Jonson urges: "S-crive, V.'ROTH, to live long innocent." The phrase "arts of life" is taken from Jonson*s epigram To_ the^ ^ ^ Lord Treasurer ( The Under-wood. LXXVII), 1. 17. Ben Jonson The Laurel Poetry Series (New York, 1961), Po 18. Herford and Simpson (XI, p. 35) compare Martial XII, 50, which has these lines: "Atri a lonq a patent; jged nec co enanT ibus us gu gm,/ Nec s omn o.. locus est: oua m bene._h =.hiT. a s See also the last couplet of Upon the. Dij. :-re .of Mar I bor ouoh s House at IVood stock Ta poem often attributed to Popejl These final lines of JP: -.J'-". ^'-g-bu rs t might also be compared with the following from the next poem in The Forrest (ill, To Si r Robert I'/joth 11. 93-96), where JOnson gives Sir Robert Sidney's son-in-law this advice: Thy peace is made; and, when man's state is well, 'tis better, if he there can dv;ell. God wisheth, none shou ld v^racke on a strange she If e: To him, man's dearer, then t'himselfe. "Lines on Solitude and Retirement," Minor Poems The Twickenham Edition, vol. VI, p. 58,

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107 16o All quotations from Carew are from The Poems of Thomas Carew ^ ed. Rhodes Dun lap (Oxford, 1949), I have made extensive use of Dunlap's noteso Little Saxham, near Bury, vvas the country seat of Sir John Crofts ( 1563-1628; o Carew vwotG another poem about him and his estate. To th e King at his Entrance into Saxhamo 17 o Mack, "Secretum.Iter." p. 223, 18. As Dunlap notes (po 257), Carew is writing from \Vrest Park, in Bedfordshire, an estate belonging to the de Greys, earls of Kent, for centuries* So far as I know, "G. No" has never been convincingly identifiedo 19. For Carew' s participation in this wintry expedition, and the possible damaging effects of its rigors on his health, see Dunlap, pp, xli-xlii and 256-257, 20. On the date of the poem, possibly Carew' s last, see Dunlap, pp. xli-xliii, who suggests that the hardships of the 1639 Scottish expedition may have hastened Carew' s death, which came a year later, 21 o Two of the finest instances occur in his Noble Num bers ; A Thanks g i y^i gg. t q G od f o r hi.s. _Hou s,e and To_hij S av i o u r 5 S e pu Ic { le r y, h i s De v ot ion ; see The Poetic a ]^ Works of R ob e r \ He r r i c k. ed<, Lo C, Martin~TOxf ord 19567, pp. 349 and"" 402. All my Herrick citations refer to this edition. 22. Herrick' s poem to his brother (pp. 34-38) should be compared with his poem to Endymion Porter, T hG_Cou ntrY Life (pp. 229-231) and the briefer poem about himself. His content in the Co untry (p. 200), 23. I quote the translation of Phillip Damon in his Mod e s of Analogy in An cien t and Medieval J/erse University of California Publications in Classical Philology, vol, XV, no. 6, pp. 261-334 (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1961), p. 318, 24. This phrase occurs in Herrick' s The ^ Transf iguj.ation (p, 270). 25. MarveJ.1., The Laurel Poetry Series (New York, 1961), p. 17, The scholarly-criticism of Marvell's poem is abundant and growing: besides Summers (whose reading though brief is in many respects the most perceptive), I am especially indebted to the studies of Hibbard and to those of Ruth Wallerstein in Studies in

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108 Se venteenth -Century Poetic (Madison, 1950) and MarenSof ie R?^stvig, "'Upon Appleton House' and the Universal History of Man," English Studies XLII (December, 1961), 337-351, One of the most recent, and most provocative, interpretations of the poem differs widely from mine, that of Harry Berger, Jr., "Marvell's 'Upon Appleton House': An Interpretation," S outher n Review: An Australian Journal o f Liter a ry S tudies. I, no. 4 (1965), 7-32, I have also made extensive use of the notes in The P oems end Le tters o f Andrew Mar vell ed H. M. Margoliouth TOxf ord 1952), vol. I; all quotations of Marvell' s poetry are from this volume of Margoliouth s edition. 26. See, for instance, Milton's "Sonnet XV," Second Defense of the English Peo ple and Edward Fnillips's Life of MiltorTTpD, 159-160, 833, and 1026 in Merritt Hughes's edition of C onip,lete_ Poems, and Ma jpr Prose ) Cf, the DNB, 27 See Ma rv e 1 1 s Epiqram.rna^ in^ Duos monte s Amosc livum Et Bi lb o re urn "Farf ac io 1 14 28. BolingbroKe, writing to Swift, uses this language to describe the structure of Pope's Essa v on Man ; as quoted by MacK, "Introduction" to An Es sav on Man: p. xiii. 29. Cf. The Coronet (l, 22), where Marvell uses "frame" to mean the human form, and A D.ialoque between the Soul and, Body (1. 15), where it^means man's fleshly body. In Bermuda s (l, 31), Marvell uses the word as a verb, meaning to construct a "temple." In The Fir s t A nniversary (l. 76^, the word is a complicated metaphor that signifies the commonv;ealth, 30. Thg..pott7ic Image, trans. Dora Nussey (New York, 1958), pp. 5-14. 31. En.g li sh Literature^^in^ .the_ ^cirj.i er^ Seventeent h Ce ntury TOxf ord7~l945")V" pp. 159-160. 32. The BreaKlnq of the Circle. 2nd ed, (New York, 1960), p 6 1 33. This is Lord Fairfax's poem Vpon the New-built, HQu,$e att Apleton. in The_ Poems ed Edward Bliss Reed (New Haven, 1909), p. 279." Fairfax's and Marvell' s lines may echo the phrasing ot a famous passage in Reliqio Med i c i (ll, 11): "for the world, I count it not an Inne, but an Hospitall, and a place, not to live, but to die in."

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109 34, Cf. Martin Price on Pope, To t he Palace of Wisdom: Stud ies in Orde r and. Energy from.Dryden to BlaK.e ^trden City, N. y". 196477 p. 155o 35, Frank J. WarnKe, "Sacred Plav: Baroque Poetic Style, Journal of A e sthetics and Art Criticism XXI I (Summer, 196Ty, 462 emphasizes the poem's celebration of "the principle of fertility." 36, Hugh of St. Victor, De Sa cramentis, I, 6, 15; as quoted by Gils on. The Spirit of Medi aeval PhilmOBliy, p. 216o 37, See Ernst Robert Curtius, Eur opean Lite rature and the Latin Middle Ag.es, trans. Willard R. TrasK TNew York, 195377 pp. 94-98. 38, The poem's frequent allusions to the civil war seem perhaps thickest in the section on the meadows; on the topical dimension of the poem, R/^stvig and especially Allen should be consulted, 39, The "first Carpenter" would presumably be Noah; on the typological implications of this "Sanctuary," see Allen (pp, 140ff.) and R/e^stvig (343-347). 40, Cf. R^'stvig, 346-347, 41, My discussion of Maria in this paragraph is indebted to Summers, pp. 23-25, 42, Pag an Mysteries in th e R_enaissance (New Haven, 1958), p, 90, Wind's whole chapter on festina lente VI: "Ripeness Is All," pp, 89-99 — is relevant to Marvell's couplet. One of the woodcuts from the H v_Dn e r o t o m a c hi a (plate 45) that Wind reproduces to illustrate fest ina lente seems particularly relevant to Marvell's coupTet~Tmy description closely follows that of Wind, p. 92). In this woodcut, we see the half-seated, half-rising figure of a girl who has one foot firmly on the gournd while lifting the other high in the air. On the side of the stationary foot she holds a pair of wings, on the side of the lifted foot a tortoise.. She rises on the side of the tortoise to counteract its slowness, and at the same time remains seated on the side of the wings to offset their speed. The inscription invites us to do the sam.e: "y_e_loc i t at em. .sed end o tjrd i tat em tempera sur-

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Three: "The Amplest Reach of Prospect" Nature design'd/ First a brave place, and then as brave a mind. • Cooper's Kill I Sir John Denham's Cooper's Hill the first and most influential "Prospect" Poem, also uses place figuratively. Like the Estate Poems we have just considered, Denham's Prospect Poem describes a particular landscape Cooper's Hill and its environs -as a "parable" which demands 2 interpretation. Yet Cooper's Hill differs somewhat from the earlier Estate Poems of Jonson, Carew, and Herrick ( Upon Appleton House comes a decade after Cooper's Hill ) in two major emphases emphases that we may call percep t tual and political Denham places. heavy emphasis on the perceiving poet's contribution to the discovery and interpretation of the landscape's latent meanings, and he appears to feel that the interpretation of the landscape is much more difficult in the middle of the seventeenth century than it might once have been. For Denham the landscape is still "a locus of invisible presences,"'^ but a "quick Poetick sight" is required to perceive them: This scene had some bold Greek, or Brittish Bard Beheld of old, what stories had we heard. Of Fairies, Satyrs, and the Nymphs their Dames, 110

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Ill Their feasts, their revels, S, their amorous flames: 'Tis still the same, although their aerv shape All but a quick PoeticK sight escape.^ What Denham says of the legendary building of Windsor can be taken, then, to provide a clue to the method of his whole poem: "Nature" first designed "a brave place" and then "as brave a mind" (11. 73-74). Furthermore, as Pope recognized, the images and descriptions in Cooper's Kill tend to some hint or lead into some reflection upon "political Institution."^ Professor Earl Wasserman has brilliantly elucidated Cooper's Hill in terms of its political dimension,^ Wasserman 's elucidation focuses almost exclusively on the doctrine of concordia discors and though he has made it impossible to deny the ideational relevance to the poem of this doctrine, especially as it shapes itself into the principle of England as a "mixed monarchy," it seems too much to say "political concordia discors ... is the theme" of the poem (p. 78). For the political dimension is caught by Denham in a webbing of landscape description resonant with more general symbolic, historical, and mythical valences. As Pope also recognized, the images and descriptions in Cooper's Hill tend to some hint or lead into some reflection upon "moral Life" as well as upon "political Institution." The poem is thoroughly political — more so than any earlier poem of its species but not simply or exclusively political. There seem to be

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112 things in the poem that political concordia discors cannot well account for. The principle of analogy understood in general terms may offer an approach to the poem as illuminating as, and perhaps more comprehensive than, concordia discors understood in political terms. The suggestion that analogy has as much comprehensive relevance to C ooper* s Hil l as concordia discors may help explain why Denham exerted such a decisive influence on the Augustans and why the Prospect Poem became so enormously popular. The very fact that analogy is a more general ideational frameworK than concordia discors made the former concept more appropriable for poets, Denham hit upon a mode that could, and did, provide the Augustans with a means of "sublimating the actual into the apocryphal" (the phrase is William Faulkner's). Such figurative means would become increasingly relevant to an age of neo-classicism which required both sense and wit as its poetic norms, an age committing itself to an ideal of perspicuity, but which was totally unwilling to give up any of the powers traditionally represented by the poet's Muse — the imaginative power of immense suggestiveness, the power even to touch the heart of a mystery. Because the Augustans came to conceive poetry as a public utterance, their poems reflect an urgent pressure for a topical surface, yet no less urgent was the pressure to preserve this topical surface in the amber of universal significance; for "public," to the

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113 Augustans, included the communal and mythical as well as the topical and occasional. This is the context that explains why Cooper's Hill though not the first Local Poem, appears to have been the most influential, and in a sense to have crystallized the species — to have fixed the shape of the Scenic Analogy — for nearly three quarters of a century. It was not simply numbers that Dryden and Pope learned from Denham and Waller. Indeed, it can be said that Denham' s generic innovation — the idea of making a whole poem out of a single view from a lofty place is the very quintessence of his poem's appeal to the Augustans: Denham' s innovation, the generic idea or central metaphor — of a Prospect Poem, exploits, insists upon, gives concrete poetic body to the notion that a man, and especially a poet, "must have, literally and figuratively, a place to stand, an angle of 7 Vision." That is to say, there must be for that man and for his nation a firm, stable, fixed standing ground; survival requires a clear vantage point. What Denham urges all through his poem, then, is that what is needed — at • almost all levels of life is an a djustment of perspec tive ; Cooper's Hill appears to suggest that only such an adjustment, such an accomodation by man to the truths of his existence as embodied in and revealed by the landscapes that contain him and that record his passage, can save England, In a sense the whole poem might be construed as the search by "a quick PoeticK sight" for the meaning of

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114 the view from Cooper's Hill. So at the beginning of the poem, Denham savs that if he can bring enough imagination to the scene, the scene will "yield him a richlv suggestive vision: "if I can be to thee/ A Poex, thou Parnassus art to me" (11. 7-8). The hill's "auspicious height" first yields the poet the sight of a "sacred pile"; "swift as thought," the poet's eye "contracts the space" that "lies between" him and his object, St. Paul's Cathedral, "the late theme" of the soaring Muse of Edmund Waller (11. 9-24). Denham is reminding his reader that this "sacred pile" had been celebrated in Waller's poem Upon His Majesty's Repairing of Paul's Denham appears, furthermore, to draw upon some important aspects of Waller's poem. Waller had celebrated Charles I's repair of Paul's as representative of a comprehensive art worthy of comparison with that of an Amphion: He, like Amphion, makes those quarries leap Into fair figures from a confused heap; For in his art of regiment is found A power like that of harmony in sound. Those antique minstrels sure were Charles-like kings. Cities their lutes, and subjects' hearts their strings. ... (11. 11-16) Charles's "building," according to Waller, is an emblem of "a heart/ Large both in magnanimity and art" (11. 27 ff.). Moreover, Charles's "work of cost and piety" (1. 7) has some "propitious" assistance:

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115 While the propitious heavens this work attend Long-wanted showers thev forget to send; As if they meant to make it understood Of more importance than our vital food. (11. 47-50) We seem to have a glimpse in this "propitious" assistance of an Art more comprehensive than any that is simplv human. Waller, and Denham following him, seem to have taken the pinnacle of the repaired Paul's as a figure of a meeting point, a place of convergence, of the best human effort and pervasive divine care: thus from the "auspicious height" of Denham' s hill, it is uncertain whether "that sacred pile" — "so vast, so high" — is "a part of Earth, or skv," whether it is an "Aspiring mountain, or descending cloud." Paul's seems to figure a means of a spiring without overreaching Denham' s vantage point provides him with the conviction that this "sacred pile" will stand secure, because it is preserved bv the efforts of poet, king, and perhaps implicit ly God : "now" Paul's shall stand though sword, or time, or fire. Or zeal more fierce than they, thy fall conspire. Secure, whilst thee the best of Poets sings, Preserv'd from ruine by the best of Kings. (11. 21-24) This "best of Kings," Denham next suggests, appears to enjoy a good vantage point and an undistorted perspective: under Charles's "survey" the City lies.

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116 And like a mist beneath a hill doth rise; Whose state and wealth the business and the c r owd Seems at this distance but a darker cloud: And is to him who rightly things esteems. No other in effect than what it seems. (11. 25 ff.) The zealous and greedy inhabitants of the City have no such clear perspective: with like hast, though several ways, they run Some to undo, and some to be undone; While luxury and v^/ealth, like war and peace. Are each the others ruine, and increase. (11. 31 ff.) The Citizens' lack of clear perspective is even more explicit in these lines from a 1642 version of the poem: ^ Some study plots, and some those plots t' undoe. Others to make 'em, and undoe 'em too. False to their hopes, afraid to be secure Those mischiefes onely which they make, endure. Blinded with light, and sicke of being well. In tumults seeke their peace, their heaven in hell. (Banks's edition, p. 64) It seems fairly evident that, in Denham's judgment, a man's politics have a great deal to do with his perspective. The difference in the perspectives of the King and the Citizens, moreover, seems to figure a profound difference in values: the values of the King help preserve something "sacred"; the values of the Citizens threaten "ruine Next a royal place, Windsor, "so brave a pile" (l. 66), enters the poet's view; the way Windsor comes

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117 into view indicates the Kind of place it is: Windsor the next (where Mars with Venus dwells Beauty with strength) above the Valley swells Into my eye, and doth it self present V)/ith such an easie and unforc't ascent. That no stupendous precipice denies Access, no horror turns avjay our eyes: But such a Rise, as doth at once invite A pleasure, and a reverence from the sight. (11. 39-46) The beauty and strength of the place is an "embleme" of its "mighty" master, "in whose face/ Sate meekness, heiqhtned with Majestick Grace" (11. 47-48; italics mine). The "pleasure" and "reverence" that the view of V/indsor's "gentle height" (l. 49) affords may in part result from its having been sited, according to the poet, by a "power" wiser than chance: When Natures hand this ground did thus \ advance 'Twas guided by a wiser power than Chance; Mark't out for such a use, as if 'twere meant T' invite the builder, and his choice prevent. Nor can we call it choice, when what we chuse. Folly, or blindness only could refuse. (11. 53-58) The refusal to follow such "guides" as those manifested by Windsor must be, Denham is arguing, the result of "folly" or "blindness." Unlike Drayton in Song XVII of Polv-olbion Denham does not recount all the "several Kings" to whom Windsor "gave a Cradle, or to whom a Tombe," only a few of the

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118 more significant ones such as Edward III (11. 75 ff,) Denham is selective because he seems intent on discerning a pattern in English history. The pattern he discerns seems to be figurative: when Edward III chose for the "Patron" of the Order of the Garter St. George, "in whom are joyn'd/ Souldier and Martyr, and his arms confin'd" within "the Azure Circle" of the Garter's Star, Edward "did seem" but to "foretell" and "prophesie" of Charles I, Who to his Realms that Azure round hath joyn'd, V/hich Nature for their bound at first design'd. That bound, which to the Worlds extreamest ends. Endless it self, its liquid arms extends; Nor doth he need those Emblemes which we paint. But is himself the Souldier and the Saint. (11. 101 ff.) Denham envisions the soldier and martyr St. George as a type of the soldier and saint Charles I, and the poet similarly perceives Edward Ill's institution of xhe Order of the Garter as a type of Charles's far-flung empire: within three centuries the "Azure Circle" has come to enclose the entire earth, a world joined to England by that "Azure round," the ocean. With Denham we are viewing an epitome of England, of its history and the places that embody that history; and England itself seems to be conceived as a microcosm, an epitome of the macrocosm. Denham' s particular scene, the prospect which Cooper's Hill affords him, is "synecdochic of the entire objective universe" ( The Subtler Language p. 212).

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119 Yet not all that can be discovered in Denham's scene is praiseworthY; what it figures forth is not limited to illustrious monarchs and worthy poets, as John Dennis commented early in the eighteenth century: .... Then viewing the abbey of St. Anne s Kill near Chertsea /f"Denham_7 not only recalls to mind very naturally on that Occasion, the \ most memorable Event of the Destruction of Abbeys; but presents us vjizh a general and most useful Instruction, viz that we should beware of a furious, ill-grounded Zeal, or of a dangerous Hypocrisy, that Apes it ... In his account of the ruined Chertsey Abbey that he sees on nearby St. Anne's Hill (11. 111-158), Denham implies that the contemporary helter-sKelter degenerate corruption and blindness of London's Citizens grew partly out of the luxury of a hypocritical Henry VIII. Before the English Reformation the Pope had proclaimed Henry "Protector of the Faith" for a pamphlet of the King's against Luther, but afterwards Henry had brought about the dissolution of the monasteries. So in the poet's view, ruined Chertsey Abbey reveals how Henry "the Church at once protects 8. spoils." Hoping no such disaster befalls his age, Denham advocates a "temperate Religion" between the former Catholic lethargy and the present Puritan zeal. Having seen what was past, Denham rightly feared what was "too near" (11. 157-158). So we are reminded that Cooper s Hill was conceived in an England about to plunge into civil war. From the poet's vantage point, the nation's history had

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120 fallen into the figurative pattern of losses and recoveries, and of threatened losses. One dimension of Denham's scene casts itself into the figure of a precipice Cooper's Hill insists that man's place in nature is precarious, and therefore that the man who does not seize and hold a proper standing aroun d mav be hurled over the edge of such a "precipice" into what vVasserman calls the "dread vicissitude" of chaos ( The Subtler Language p. 68), Yet Cooper' s Hill seems to envision possibilities that transcend and encircle such vicissitude. Indeed, Denham's evocative praise of the Thames (11. 161-196) is a vision of an England blessed bv peace and plentv, or that could be so blessed if it would onlv model itself -at all levels upon the river. Denham makes the Thames a symbol for the whole pattern of natural life: Thames the most lov'd of all the Oceans sons. By his old Sire to his embraces runs. Hasting to pay his tribute to the Sea, Like mortal life to meet Eternity. (11. 161-164) Each spring the river renews its shores with plenty, but it is an innocent wealth: Though with those streams he no resemblance hold, ViA^ose foam is Amber, and their Gravel Gold; His genuine, and less guilty wealth t'explore, Search not his bottom, but survey his shore; Ore which he Kindly spreads his spacious wing. And hatches plenty for th' ensuing Spring. (11. 165-170)

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121 The Thames supplies a harmonious profusion; its gifts are abundant and various, but its giving is ordered and controlled. More important, the river's god-like activity indicates moral direction for several classes of men: Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay. Like iMothers which their Infants overlay. Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave, Like profuse Kings, resumes the wealth he gave. No unexpected inundations spoyl y The mowers hopes, nor mock the plovjmans toyl: But God-like his unwearied Bounty flows; First loves to do, then loves the Good he does. (11. 171-178) The river is an agent of commercial and cultural exchange. The Thames encloses all the things and places of the earth and almost magically draws them into England: Nor are his blessings to his banks confin'd. But free, and common, as the Sea or Wind; VJhen he to boast, or to disperse his stores • Full of the tributes of his grateful shores. Visits the world, and in his flying towers Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours; Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants Cities in deserts, woods in Cities plants. So that to us no thing, no place is strange, V^'hile his fair bosom is the worlds exchange,^ (11. 179-188) From Denham's vantage point, the Thames is "the undoubted Source, both of the Prince's Power and the People's V/ealth."^ Then come the most famous lines (189-192) in the poem, lines that contain perhaps the most renowned of all Augustan couplets and that also contain one of the poem's main symbols, for England — its subjects and its rulers — should emulate the river:

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122 0 could I flow liKe thee, and maKe thy stream My great example, as it is my themel Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull. Strong without rage, without ore-flowing full. Such fully energetic, yet harmoniously balanced and controlled behavior exemplifies what is required of any creature that seeks "betwixt extreams to Steer. "^'^ Then Denham moves to a higher plane; he ends the passage by including part of heaven within the river's figurative dimensions : Heaven her Eridanus no more shall boast, l/Vhose Fame in thine, like lesser Currents lost. Thy nobler streams shall visit Jove s aboads. To shine amongst the Stars, and bath the Gods. (11. 193-196) The river seems at once an expression both of change and of continuity, of mutability and of eternality. V/ater imagery such as Denham' s is an effective means of achieving transitions and of articulating correspondences in Local Poetry, for a river connects analogous "worlds" and the ocean joins all "worlds "'^"'^ The Thames, which flows for all time and in the same place, though it is never the same, brings the whole earth into England and deposits the earth's wealth on its own banks. Signifying permanence as well as change, the Thames — both a carrier of plenty and a joiner of worlds is an appropriate symbol for the movement and patterns that Local Poets seem to have felt pervaded "nature's nest of boxes."

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123 Denham's celebration of the river Thames functions, then, as an image of "delight," as part of the poem's valicJation that at the center of "nature's nest of boxes" is a loving and unwearied "Bounfy." This can be as true in the political as in the phvsical "realm." Thus near its close. Cooper's Hill describes that "happier istile" King and Subject can bear: Happy, when both to the same Center move, V'.'hen Kings give libertv, and Subjects love, (11. 332-334) For "love" can "Draw to one point, and to one centre bring/ Beast, Man, or Angel, Servant, Lord, or King." Denham's poem asserts, albeit somewhat obliquely, that the world is a "wedding" as well as a "war," that from Cooper's Hill one can discern a place "where Mars with Venus dwells" (11. 39-40). No critic of Cooper's Hill has yet taken adequate cognizance that among the poem's key terms are "love" and "delight." "Love" has a double thrust in the poem, where one's "eyes" behold a "sight" that does "at once invite" a "pleasure, and a reverence" (11. 39-46), We are dealing with that "love" which is nature's animating principle — thus Denham's lines (222 ff.) about "Fairies, Satyrs, and the Nymphs their Dames,/ Their feasts, their revels, & their amorous flames" recall all those lusty genii loci that adorn and vivify the landscapes of Roly-olbion "in which thou maist fully view the dainty Nymphes in their simple naked bewties, bathing them in

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Crystalline streames" (Dravton's preface "To the Generall Reader ") We are dealing also with that Supreme Love which in the beginning of things overflowed to create nature itself, and which was felt still to overflow to preserve ixs creation. Finally, of course, these two "loves" are concentric, as the poem's pivotal passage declares : Here Nature, vmether more intent to please Us or her self, with strange varieties, (For things of wonder give no less delight To the wise Maker's, than beholders sight. Though these delights from several causes move For so our children, thus our friends we love) V'/iselv she knew, the harmony of things. As well as that of sound, from discords springs. (11. 197 ff.) Such was "the discord" which did I'first disperse/ Form, order, beauty" throughout "the Universe": VJhile driness moysture, coldness heat resists. All that we have, and that we are subsists. While the steep horrid roughness of the Vi/ood Strives with the gentle calmness of the flood. Such huge extreams when Nature doth unite. Wonder from thence results, from thence delight. These "loves," and this "delight," counterbalance the "lust" and the "zeal" (see, for example, 11. 119 and 22) that have scarred this landscape, and are the sanction for the poem's faith that the world's discords can ultimately commingle and embrace in a concordant harmony. At one level, Denham seems to be suggesting that if nature can unite such "huge extreams," Englishmen of good will ought to be able

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125 to reconcile their political differences. At a still deeper level, this pivotal passage brings to mind, perhaps, a cosmologv like that of Empedocles, or a concept like that of philia in Aristotle, or a belief like that of St. Bonaventure that "All delight is b-y proportion"; St. Bonaventure thence concludes that "the reflection of God in his traces in the sensible world" leads, analogicall-y, to the "original and true delight": "If, then, delight is the conjunction of the harmonious, and the likeness of God alone is the most highly beautiful, pleasant, and wholesome, and if it is united in truth and in inwardness and in plenitude which employs our entire capacity, obviously it can be seen that in God alone is the original and true delight, and that we are 12 led back to seeking it from all other delights," As John Donne would say in Denham's century, "all Divinity/ Is love or wonder" ( A Valadiction: of the booke 11. 28-29) In son. J such wise, Denham's artful reading of the prospect afforded by Cooper's Hill tends to affirm the divine order, "man's creatureship under the divine Love,"-^"^

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126 Professor Wasserman s rigid emphasis on concordia discors along with his corollarv insistence that the poem's structure be pervasivelv "chiastic" and his too exclusivelv political mode of analysis, lead him into some unnecessarilv negative judgments about the coherence of Cooper' s Hill His reading of the stag hunt (11. 235-322) seems particularly askew. Whereas John Dennis, who read the poem in thematic terms and valued its didactic elements, says the description of the "Royal Hunting" is "accomplish'd in all its Parts, "'^'^ Wasserman feels compelled to make the pejorative statement that in Denham's final expanded version of the stag hunt, "description often appears to hold the place of sense" (p. 72). Perhaps the "sense" has only eluded the scheme Wasserman tries to impose on the hunt. Wasserman concludes: "Artistically considered, what is especially bothersome about the description of the hunt in the later version is that it constitutes so large a fraction of the poem. By its disproportion it seems to upset the structure and the sustained political reading of the poem" (pp. 75-76). It may be that the stag hunt is not the most satisfactory part of the poem, but nevertheless one feels haunted by the possibility that "what is especially bothersome" is not the length

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of Denham's description of the hunt but rather the rigiditv of Wasserman's "sustained political reading." The stag hunt (for all its obviouslv metaphoric allusiveness) cannot be forced into the chiastic pattern of Concordia discors without great strain to the poem. Perhaps an analogical reading of Denham's "Roval Hunting" will dissolve some of IVasserman's difficulties. The passage's echoes of other parts of the poem provide a good clue to some of the hunt's figurative implications. For instance, the "Courts" (11. 235 ff.) where "all the horned host" -"that noble heard" — resort (cf. 1. 6) may recall the doubly significant "Courts" of line 5: "as Courts make not Kings, but Kings the Court." For another instance, the stag's "retreat" (l. 249) recalls lines 37-38: "Oh happiness of sweet retir'd content!/ To be at once secure, and innocent" what happens to the stag suggests that such "happiness" cannot be guaranteed to any mortal creature. For still another instance, the conclusion of the passage, in which the stag's Purple blood stains and is then assimilated by the river's "Crystal floud" (11. 321-322), recalls earlier images of "lesser Currents" flowing into and enriching "Nobler streams" (see, for example, lines 35-36 and 193-196). Thus, as W'asserman himself admits, this "description never allows the reader to overlook the fact that the hunt has a parallel in the world of human affairs and more particularly in the realm of political power" (p. 73).

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128 Besides these suggestive echoes, several similes force an explicit awareness of the hunt's figurative dimension. First the stag is said to be Like a declining States-man, left forlorn To his friends pity, and pursuers scorn, V.'ith shame remembers, while himself was one Of the same herd, himself the same had done. (11. 273-276) "Sadlv surveying where he rang'd alone/ Prince of the sovl, and all the herd his own," the stag is "like a bold Knight Errant" who once proclaimed "Combat to all, and bore awav the Dame"; vet now he only "faintly" declines "the fatal strife," because "his love" was so much "dearer than his life" (11. 279-296). Then the stag is compared to a ship that "Stands but to fall reveng'd on those that dare/ Tempt the last fury of extream despair" (11. 307-310). The stag is also like a magnanimous "Hero," whom his baser foes In troops surround, now these assails, now those. Though prodigal of life, disdains to die By common hands; but if he can descry Some nobler foes approach, to him he calls. And begs his Fate, and then contented falls. (11. 313-318) Clearly, Denham's description of the stag's fate is '.. intended, in one of its implications, to be an emblem of "human fall from greatness" ( The Subtler Language p. 72): just as the stag's "crown" (his horns, "Nature's great Master-piece") show "how soon/ Great things are made, but sooner are undone" (11. 237-240), so to fall, to be undone.

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129 at least to be assailed is the "common fate of all that's high or great" (11. 221-222; cf. 1. 114). But it is a "common" fate, and V/asserman is wrong to construe the whole hunt as mainly an allegorv of the "last days" of the Earl of Strafford. The full significance is more general than that. Surely the 1642 reader of Cooper's Hill could have perceived Strafford as one of the stag's ectypes. Just as surely the 1655 reader could have perceived the stag as the late Charles I. It is significant in this connection that the anonymous 1655 editor of the poem praises "that excellent Allegory of the Royal Stag (Wasserman notes /"p. 76__7 this 1655 editorial comment, but fails to realize that the intended signification of Royal Stag could be Charles l). But it is not a matter of choosing between Strafford and Charles; it is rather a matter of finding another, more inclusive level of reference for the hunt. For the "common" situation of all who are high or great, or who seeic to be such (see 11. 243-246), is the everlurking possibility of being undone. The hunter can quite suddenly and unpredictably become the hunted. Denham's hunt seems to be an emblem of all that pursues and threatens to invade the repose of every mortal creature. In one of its dimensions, then, Denham's stag hunt figures the discord and destruction that is always threatening to erupt in the human, indeed the entire sublunar, world -an image, that is, of war. Hunting

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130 had traditionallv been considered a true pattern of warfare, and one of the hunt's habitual justifications was its value in the training of the warrior. Thus the editor of Winds orForest appositely remarks of Pope's use of Rural Sports (11. 93-170, a passage clearly modelled in part on Denham) : "throughout these seasonal scenes Pope tries repeatedly to reveal the likeness of the passions of the chase to the passions of war, and to show how the violence of the one is an analogue for the violence of the other." And of course neither Denham' s nor Pope's scenes of Rural Sport have their analogues only in the warring of men; such scenes invoke a full scale of analogues, in all those shocks of discord that disturb every level of the Chain of Being, from the lowest degree of sentient life all the way to the "disordered clash of the elements" ( The Subtler Lanquaoe p. 62). Yet there remains to be made explicit the fundamental ambivalence of this Rural Sports motif, as it appears in C ooper's Hill and all through Local Poetry. For if men are all hunters in some degree, it is likely that hunting may carry another, more positive implication, that it may also represent "the dynamic principle in man, 16 the energy without which he would stagnate." As Bacon put it in y/isdom of the Ancients every natural action and so by consequence motion and progression, is nothing else but a hunting Arts and sciences have their works.

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131 and human counsels their ends, which the-y earnestlv hunt after. All natural things have either their food as a prey, or their pleasure as a recreation which they seeK for" (italics mine). So Denham's stag hunt, just like that "most Princelv Chase" in Song XIII of Polyo lb ion functions as an emblem of the vita activa in its ennobling, as well as its destructive, role. In this kind of poetry. Rural Sports can image the evils of war, yet also represent a natural and health-giving dynamic energy; indeed, in the period of Local Poetry, Rural Sports could 17 even be regarded as a "moral substitute for war" — and the motif can, and often does, take on all these meanings simultaneously. Finally, then, Denham's "accomplish'd description of the pursuit of a stag must be seen as an emblem of the precariously balanced -continuously threatened, yet potentially harmonious — nature of all earthly life. 18 By "an easie and a beautiful Transition," Denham moves from the stag to a pivotal moment in England's past; the effect of the hunt has been "to bring the eye to Runnymede" ( The Subtler Language p. 77). Yet the figure of a hunt is retained and developed into part of the fairly complete and quite explicit commentary on political obligation and authority that brings us near the close of Cooper's Hill ; the hunt of the stag is "a more Innocent" and more "happy" chase than that one "of old" in "the self-same place" (Runnymede) when "Fair liberty" — pursued

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132 and "meant a Prev/ To lawless povjer" — here turned and "stood at bav"; in the "remedv" of the Great Charter "all hope" was placed. 'Atiich was, or should have been, at least, the last. Here was that Charter seal'd, wherein the Crown All marks of Arbitrary power lavs down: T-yrant and slave, those names of hate and fear. The happier stile of King and Subject bear. (11. 323 ff.) John Dennis's comment on this passage seems highly apposite : ... as the Admirable Poet took Occasion from the View of St. Anne's Hill, to give the most important Instruction that can be given to this Island, upon a Religious Account he takes an Opportunity /^from Runnymede and its Charter_7. to conclude this Poem, with the most important Instruction, that, upon a Civil Account, can be given, either to Prince or People, viz That the Prince should avoid intrenching upon Liberty, and the People upon Prerogative; and thus he has in this Poem, given those Instructions, both to the Prince, the Church, and the People, v^hich being observ'd, must make the Prince Powerful and Glorious, the Church Great and Venerable, and the People a Flourishing and a Happy People; and which, being neglected, must bring universal Misery upon the Nation: which are such certain Truths, that I defy any Man to show me a Time, when England was Happy at Home, and Glorious Abroad, but when these Instructions were observ'd; or, when it was Contemptible Abroad, and V/retched at Home, but when they were neglected. i^ Denham next points out that the Great Charter had not long kept its force. Neither English subjects nor English kings have perfectly or continuously maintained a "happier stile"; both have been guilty of excesses:

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133 Thus Kings, bv grasping more than the-y could hold, First made their Subjects hy oppression bold: And popular swav, by forcing Kings to give More than was fit for Subjects to receive. Ran to the same extreams; and one excess Made both, b-y striving to be greater, less, (11. 335 tf.) Barelv submerged here is Denham's plea that his countrymen seeK that wisdom which can steer "betwixt extreams." Cooper s Ki 11 then closes with its grimmest simile, a traditional figure (derived mainlv from Horace and the Georqics ) which likens civil disorder to the disastrous consequences of a flooding river: when "a calm River," raised v^ith sudden rains or melting snow, overflows the adjoining plains, the husbandmen secure their hopes "vjith high-rais'd banks," and this the river can endure: But if with Bays and Dams they strive to force His channel to a new, or narrov; course; No longer then within his banks he dwells. First to a Torrent, then a Deluge swells: Stronger, and fiercer by restraint he roars. And knows no bound, but makes his power his shores, (11. 349 ff.) "Such, Denham is warning, is the irremediable deluge the future threatens" (T he Subtler Lanouaae p. 81). The poem's close thus appears to make more explicit a figure implicit through the whole course of the poem (hasn't the physical scene been dominated by the emerging image of a river winding its way between, and around, hills?): in flood time, a hill is the only safe standing ground. The tropological dimension of this implicit figure can be

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134 suggested bv a passage from the Devotion s of John Donne: .Thou hast raised up certain hills in me heretofore, bv which I might have stood safe from these inundations of sin. Even our natural faculties are a hill, and might preserve us from some sin. Education, study, observation, example are hills too, and might preserve us from some. Thv church, and thy word, and thy sacraments, and thine ordinances are hills above these; thy spirit of remorse, and compunction, and repentance for former sin, are hills too; and to the top of all these hills thou hast brought me heretofore; but this deluge, this inundation, is got above all my hills. In time of sin, be it personal or national, men must seek the high ground. Just as Denham has looKed down from his hill, and thus gained a new perspective, so now his audience — English people of all degree. King and Parliament, subjects and rulers — must look toward that same hill, and thus readjust their perspective. The angle of vision afforded by Cooper's Hill affirms that "a spacious horizon is an image of liberty" ( The Spectator No. 412), yet Denham' s poem never blinks the likelihood that a constricted or clouded horizon can be an image of anarchy; even in that eventuality, Denham' prospect would have a value: for the "business of life," wrote Samuel Johnson (idler. No. 72), "is to go forwards; he who sees evil in prospect meets it in his way." Finally, Sir John Denham's Cooper's Hill seeks to afford the kind of "pleasure" described by Sir Francis Bacon in his essay Of Truth that "sovereign good of human nature"

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135 • • • It is. a pleasure to stand upon the shore and to see ships tost up on the se_a : a ple;^sure to stand in the window of a castle and to see a battle and the adventures thereof below ; but no pleasure is comocrable to the standing upon the vantage ground of truth (a hill not to be commanded, and where the air is alwavs clear and serene), and to see the errors and wanderings and mists and tempest s, in the vale belovj ; so always that this prospect be with pitv, and not with swelling or pride. Certainlv, it is heaven upon earth, to have a man's mind move in charitv, rest in providence, and turn upon the poles of truth.

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/ NOTES 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. This phrase occurs in Paradise Lost XI, 1. 380, Cf. George Boas' s introduction to his translation of The Hieroglyphics of Horapollo (New York, 1950), Maynard Mack, Secretum Iter ; Some Uses of Retirement Literature in the Poetrv of Pope," in Aspects of the Eighteenth Century ed. Earl Wasserman (Baltimore, 1965), p. 224. Lines 229-234; all quotations from Coooer s Hill are taken from The Poetical V/orks of Sir John Denham ed. T.H. Banks, Jr. (New Haven, 1928) I_liad, Book XVI, 466 n.; I quote Pope's full statement in Part II of Chapter One. The Subtler Language (Baltimore, 1959), pp. 45-88. Subsequent references to Wasserman will be in the text. Even though this chapter is conceived as a modification of some of Professor Wasserman 's emphases, my understanding of Cooper s Hi 11 is deeply indebted to his account of the poem. Maynard Mack, "'The Shadowy Cave : Some Speculations on a Twickenham Grotto," in Restoration and Eighteenth Century Literature; Essays in Honor of Alan Dug ald McKillop ed. Carroll Camden (Chicago, 1963), pp. "86-88. "Observations Upon 'Windsor Forest," in The Critical Works of John Dennis ed. E.N. Hooker, 2 vols. (Baltimore, 1939-43), II, p. 136. \ Ibid p. 136. The phrase is from Dryden's Epilogue to the Kino at Oxford. 168 1. 1. 30. Cf. Aubrey V/illiams, "Introduction" to V/indsor-Forest in the Twickenham edition, I, p. 140. 136

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137 12. .The Mind's Road to God trans. George Boas (Indianapolis, 1953), pp. 16-18. 13. The phrase is borrowed from F.E.L. Priestly, "Pope and the Great Chain of Being," in Essays in English Literature ed. Millar Mac Lure and F.W. Watt (Toronto, 1964), p. 228. 14. Op. cit. p. 136. 15. Aubrey Williams, the Twickenham edition, I, p. 139. 16. See Wasserman on Windsor-Forest The Subtler Language pp. 129 and 127. 17. See A.O. Love joy. T he Great Chain of Being p. 187. 18. John Dennis, op. cit. p. 136. 19. Ibid p. 137. ^

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Four: The "Sacred Genius" of "this Roval Place" Our little vvorld, the image of the great. Like that, amidst the boundless ocean set. Of her own growth hath all that Nature craves. And all that's rare, as tribute from the waves, Edmund Waller, Panegyri c to my Lord Protector Dro Johnson, in his "Life" of Pope, pointed out that the "design of Windsor Forest is evidently derived from Cooper' s Hill, with some attention to Waller's poem on The ParK ," Waller's poem — On St. J ames's Park, as Lat ely I mp roved by His Majesty (I66I) identifies the one major variety of Local Poetry that remains to be discussed: poems such as -Waller's, Otway's Windsor Castl e;, and Pope's Wi nd s orFore s t describe royal plac es — either royal residences or public places that have some intrinsic royal association. Such poems tend to celebrate these royal places as having a special potency or valence, as having achieved something like what Mircea Eliade calls 2 "the prestige of the Center." In a poem like On St, James's Park, one finds a hallowed, specially consecrated space if not a "saCred space," at least a "space qualitatively different from 3 profane space," In such a poem one finds a venerable quality like that in Michael Drayton's celebration of 138

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139 Windsor as "that supreamest place of the great English Kings,/ The Garters Rovall seats," the "Temple of Saint George," a "seate/ V/ith everv pleasure stor'd" ( Polv-olbion XV, 11, 313 ffo). In a passage such as Drayton's or in a poem such as v;aller's, royal places become emblems or types of the profoundest reality, become earthly ectypes of celestial archetypes, because these royal places are conceived as participating, after one manner or another, "in a reality that transcends them."^ In a Local Poem of this variety, then, one is likely to find some particular royal place celebrated as an axis or image mundi as a point where earth and heaven converge, as a kind of "hub" or "navel" of the whole cosmos. In some such mode, Charles Hopkins at the end of the seventeenth century describes the "Prospect" of William Ill's court, "Whence England gives surrounding Nations Law,/ And from the centre keeps the World in awe." Hopkins's White-hall; or. The COURT of ENGLAN D (1698) begins: Above that Bridge, which lofty Turrets Crown, Joyning two Cities; of it self a Town, As far as fair Augusta 's Buildings reach. Bent like a Bow, along a peaceful beach. Her guilded Spires the Royal Palace show, Towring to Clouds, and fix'd in Floods below. Her Silver Thames washes her sacred sides. And pays her Prince her Tributary Tides: Thither all Nations of the Earth resort. Not only England s now, but Europe 's Court. Blest in the Warriors, which it's Walls contain. Blest most in William s Residence and Reign. Where in his Royal Robes and Regal State, He meditates and dictates Europe s fate.

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140 Later in the poem Hopkins grows prophetic and evokes a vision, typical of these Local Poems of roval places, of a Halcyon England mythically visited with Pleasure and Plenty and Peace, He then praises the sources of "these Blessings": How are these Blessings thus dispenc'd, and giv'n To us from WILLIAM, and to him, from Heav'n. Hail! peace of all things in confusion hurl'd, HailJ thou /~'Vvilliam_7 restorer of the Christian World • Thou to the World art Heav'ns chief Blessing giv'n. And thou hast rend red back the World to Heav'n. Thus in old times, at our blest Saviour's Birth, An universal calm was known on Earth .... Thus a Vi/hitehall, or a V/indsor, can be envisioned as the world's "center," in time as well as in space; the royal place may be seen as an epitome of England, which in turn may be seen as a microcosm of the world and its entire history. As Eliade puts it, the reality and enduring perenniality of such a consecrated place — and all that has inhabited it, ever — are assured "not only by the transformation of profane space into a transcendent space but also by the transformation of concrete time into mythical time." The main argument of this last chapter will be that Local Poems such as On St. James's Park Windsor Castle and Windsor-Forest describe their royal places as spatial-temporal microcosms, as mythical figures of the life of England, and of man.

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I 141 Waller's On St. James's Park, as Lately Improved by His Majesty figures a "green" world,^ This "fair park" (l, 136) is, in Vi/'aller's conception, a locus amoenus ; it is a scene of recreation, pleasure, and repose, V/aller' "fair parK" is a "green" world that the senses can delight in, in which and upon which the mind can pleasurably and profitably meditate, and that perhaps contains implications somewhat beyond its sensuous and intellectual dimensions. In sum, the Parle's "greenness" figures certain Kinds and degrees of man's desire for, and potential fulfillment of, perfection. Waller, at the opening of his poem, likens St, James Park to a new Eden: Of the first Paradise there's nothing found; Plants set by Heaven are vanished, and the ground; Yet the description lasts; who knows the fate Of lines that shall this paradise relate? Instead of rivers rolling by the side • Of Eden's garden, here flows in the tide; The sea, which always served his empire, now Pays tribute to our Prince's pleasure too."^ There may be a quiet hint in these lines that some sort of shift has occurred in the nation's history, that the Prince's private pleasure is now of more moment than imperial concerns. Waller also affirms that the source of this "pleasure" — the sea's "tribute" is part of "nature's bounty," the creation of which is "of more

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renovjn" than any merelv human constructions (ll. 9-12). Waller hopes, too, that the Park's "young trees" and "their great owner" will grow and flourish together: For future shade, young trees upon the banks Of the new stream appear in even ranks; The voice of Orpheus, or Amphion's hand. In better order could not make them stand; May they_ increase as fast, and spread their boughs. As the high fame of their great owner growsl May he live long enough to see them all Dark shadows cast, and as his palace talli (11. 13-20) This first section of the poem has thus described the natural order and abundance that the Park contains. A bit later in the poem, the Park's Edenic enclosure of "nature's bounty" acquires even fuller resonance; for "here you may descry" all that can, "living, feed the greedy eye," or "dead, the palate": the "choicest things that furnished Noah's ark" inhabit this Park, "All with a border of rich fruit-trees crowned" (11. 41-46). V^aller may be recalling the kind of abundant landscape one finds, for instance, in Jonson's To Penshurst where nature's creatures similarly minister to human needs (see especially lines 22 ff. in Jonson's poem). More than that, however, V/aller is alluding to the legend of Noah with all its auspicious associations of covenant and restoration, and thus saying something like what Michael will say to Adam at the beginning of the last book of Paradise Los t^: Thus thou hast seen one VJorld begin and end; And Man as from a second stock proceed. (XII, 11. 6-7)

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143 If we can accept the figure of the Park as in some sense representative of the condition of the nation. Waller's implication mav be that England has passed through a disastrous flood-time and has now found a safe landing place. On St, James's Park describes more of the pleasures that the "latelv improved" Park will yield. The "future shade" (l. 13) of the "young trees" induces Waller to envision future human activities: lovers shall walk and love be made in the "amorous shade" of the growing trees (11. 21-22); "gallants" shall dance by the side of the river, bathe in it in summer, and skate on it in winter (11. 23-24). Indeed, the river will host a multitude of delights: Methinks I hear the music in the boats. And the loud echo which returns the notes; Vi/hile overhead a flock of newsprung fovjl Hangs in the air, and does the sun control. (11. 25-28) The fowl "hover o'er" and shade the "wanton sailors" on the river (11. 29-30), while underneath its surface ... a shoal of silver fishes glides. And plays about the gilded barges' sides; The ladies, angling in the crystal lake, Feast on the waters with the prey they take; At once victorious with their lines, and eyes. They make the fishes, and the men, their prize, (11. 31-36) The main force of this section of On St. James's Park (the whole passage from lines 21-40 appears derived from the

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144 Mosella ) resides in the way it figures an interpenetration of natural and social worlds: there is correspondence, co-operation, interaction between each. The fecund plenitude in nature has a counterpart in the amorous gallantry in man. Moreover, the natural and human activity enclosed by "this fair park" is so delightful, and so delicate, that it finally appears to include mythical activity: A thousand Cupids on the billows ride. And sea-nymphs enter with the swelling tide; From Thetis sent as spies, to make report. And tell the wonders of her sovereign's court. (11. 37-40) The ambivalence of this last line seems to be part of the poem's design upon us: one cannot determine whether Thetis's "sovereign" is Neptune or Charles II, whether the delightful "wonders" of this abundant "court" should be attributed to the kingly creator of rivers (we may recall lines 5-12) or the kingly improver of the Park. The passage on the copresence in this green "court" of a crowning "border of rich fruit-trees" and the "choicest things" from Noah's ark (11. 41-46) expands and deepens the Park's mythical resonance. The poet is guiding us through a "various" and "spacious" world ^ (11. 47-48). The next passage (11. 49-56) is very playful, yet even its whimsical description of the Park's ice-house -its ability to lay up "the harvest of cold months" and thus give "a fresh coolness to the royal cup,"

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145 and to temper "hot July with December's frost" contributes to the place's total configuration as a "green" world, and suggests — appropriately enough --such a world's syrabolic victory over the mutability of the seasons. The King himself takes active pleasure in St, James' Parle: Here, a well-polished Mall gives us the joy To see our Prince his matchless force employ; His manly posture, and his graceful mien. Vigour and youth, in all his motions seen; His shape so lovely, and his limbs so strong. Confirm our hopes we shall obey him long. (11. 57-62) The "figure" of the King corresponds to the "figure" of the Park; the energetic attractiveness of each, and their correspondence, is auspicious for the nation's hopes. The King's "matchless force" is also auspicious, and doubly so: IValler finds it "joy" inspiring that such "force" now need be employed only in this green, "we 11poll shed Mall" instead of in war at home or abroad; yet if the Prince is not obeyed, he is strong enough — in "all his motions" — to command respect and to overcome any disorder. Such a "lovely" and "manly" monarch deserves comparison with the patriarchs of old. Waller provides just such a comparison, in lines (67-74) that are among the poem's most important in establishing the Park as a "green world," as a scene of sensuous and intellectual perfection; near the Mall the

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146 poet's Muse sees what "most delights her," a "living gallery of aged trees": In such green palaces the first kings reigned. Slept in their shades, and angels entertained; I'Vith such old counsellors they did advise. And, by frequenting sacred groves, grew wise. These "green palaces" come at the linear center of the poem and provide a transition to an interior dimension of the poem, an inner world of intellectual perfection. For besides exercising his body, the King exercises his mind in St. James's Park too. Waller describes a scene that nourishes both man's active and his contemplative existence (the world is "green," the prospect is pleasurable and healthy, in multiple ways); Free from the impediments of light and noise, iMan, thus retired, his nobler thoughts employs. Here Charles contrives the ordering of his states. Here he resolves his neighbouring princes' fates; Vihat nation shall have peace, where war be made. Determined is in this oraculous shade; The world, from India to the frozen north. Concerned in what his solitude brings forth. (11. 75-82) In nine couplets we have moved from the employment of "matchless force" to the employment of "nobler thoughts." The Park's "amorous shade" has been translated — partly through the analogical remembrance of the "green" shades of the patriarchs' "sacred groves" — into an "oraculous shade. The movement has been inward, and yet it has embraced the whole world.

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147 Charles then sees the nearbv monuments of England's mixed history: Whitehall (11. 85-90); Westminster Abbey (11. 91-98); the House of Commons (11. 99-100); Westminster Kail (11. 105-108 ff.); and St. James's Palace (11. 125 ff.) Significantly, the survey begins and ends with royal places: V/hitehall (that "seat of empire") and St. James's Palace (Charles's "native palace") frame, and thus provide a perspective on, the public buildings belonging to the people at large. In the midst of this survey of communal monuments we are reminded that the Park's "greenness" may take much of its resonance from an awareness that England had just escaped (providentially to some minds in 1661) a tragic and calamitous era: When others fell, this /"Westminster Abbey_7 standing, did presage The crown should triumph over popular rage; Hard by that house, vjhere all our ills were shaped. The auspicious temple stood, and yet escaped, (11. 97 ff.) By this point in the poem, we realize that IValler is in effect saying what Dryden was to say a few years later, in a poem about the health of the state: From hence you may look back on Civil Rage, And view the ruines of the former Age. Here a New World its glories may unfold. And here be sav 'd the remnants of the Old. But while your dales on publick thoughts are bent Past ills to heal, and future to prevent; Some vacant houres allow to your delight. ( Epilogue to the King at Oxford. 1681 ) \

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148 Even the pleasing, recreative dimensions of V/aller's "green" Park has more than literal significance The chief reason for "delight" in St, James's ParK is, of course, "His Majesty's Happv Return"; V/aller in his "green" world is celebrating the restoration of Charles II and its auspiciously pleasing consequences. A few months earlier Waller had celebrated this restoration of Stuart rule less obliquely in his poem To the King. Upon His Majesty's Happy Return (a poem printed immediately before On St, James's Park in the collected editions of Elijah Fenton and G. Thorn Drury) ; in Waller's view as in that of scores of restoration eulogists, of many different persuasions — more than monarchy had returned with this second Charles: Faith, law, and piety, (that banished traini) Justice and truth, with you return again. The city's trade, and country's easy life. Once more shall flourish without fraud or strife. Your reign no less assures the ploughman's peace. Than the warm sun advances his increase; And does the shepherds as securely keep From all their fears, as they preserve their sheep, ( To the King 11. 109-116) Much as Dryden does in As traea Redux Waller is celebrating "the Happy Restoration" of another Stuart to the English throne as a return of Saturnian times to the whole island, as a renewal of peace and plenty, as a thorough-going and many-layered restoration of order. Charles's return itself, considered primarily as an event receives Waller's emphasis in To the King: the consequences of the King's

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149 reign, considered primarily as a condition receive his emphasis in On St, James's Park : in the later poem we discover that the nation's "easy life" has been achieved, has been secured and guaranteed, as this place — this green Park — testifies. Indeed, On St, James's Park is, in a multiple and finally profound sense, about recreation — perhaps ultimately about re-creation The crucial analogy in V/aller's On St, James's Park as Lately Improved by His i.ia.jesty may be the similitude \^ between Charles's repairing the Park and his own Restoration. His "late improvement" has made the Park into a "green" world; the King's art has reconstituted nature's pristine fairness. The Park thus figures a "paradise" in several senses: first, it recalls "the first paradise," looks back in time to the now vanished Eden; second, it images that "other Eden, demi Paradise," commemorates the Stuart Restoration as Albion's renewal of an Edenic or Saturnian condition; third, it prefigures an Isaian New Jerusalem, prophesies an Augustanlike Pax. Brit annica (this third sense begins to become explicit only in the last two dozen lines of the poem). In all three senses, St. James's Park functions as a "Type of Paradise,"'^ as a "green" world figuring aspects of the human desire for perfection. These Edenic configurations may suggest that if IValler is expounding any political doctrine in this suavely decorous poem, it is more than likely the doctrine of .patriarchalism — a seventeenth century theory of the

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150 historical origin of monarchy vvhich argued that all kings were, like the Old Testament patriarchs, in continuous lineal descent from Adam, the first king by virtue of his dominion over Eve and the beasts of the field, The doctrine fits the poem in many respects. Besides the poem's general figuring of the Park as a "Type of Paradise," Charles II is associated vjith Noah, who because of his renewal of dominion after the Flood was "indispensable"-^^ to the patriarchalist theory. Too, at the center of the poem there are those lines (67-74) on the Park's most delightful "living gallery of aged trees," which resemble those "green palaces" where "the first kings" reigned and "grew wise," The present patriarch having found, Noahlike, a safe landing place after his nation's "flood" — now frequents his ovjn "sacred groves," grovjs "wise" in "this oraculous shade," and reigns in his "green palace" as an Adamic pater patriae as a shepherd to his people: Here, like the people's pastor he does go. His flock subjected to his view below; On which reflecting in his mighty mind, No private passion does indulgence find; The pleasures of his youth suspended are. And made a sacrifice to public care. Here, free from court compliances, he walks. And with himself, his best adviser, talks, (11, 109-116) V/hether On St. James's Park expounds the specific doctrine of patriarchalism or not. Waller's point clearly enough seems to be that the Kingdom of England is now in 1661

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151 liKe unto the original Kingdom of Adam. It was widel-y held in the Restoration, especially 12 by poets, that Charles II 's destiny as a triumphant, yet benevolent, monarch had been foretold by the star that shone at his birth. V/aller uses that star in the concluding passage of On St, Jarries's Park ; Charles has been contemplating "ancient prudence," the rise and fall of empires, the "fame" of Augustus and Hercules; then His eyes, upon his native palace bent. Close by, suggest a greater argument. His thoughts rise higher, when he does reflect On what the world may from that star expect Vi/hich at his birth appeared, to let us see Day, for his sake, could with the night agree; A prince, on vjhom such different lights did smile. Born the divided world to reconcile! V^Tiatever Heaven, or high extracted blood Could promise, or foretell, he will make good; Reform these nations, and improve them more. Than this fair park, from what it was before. Here at the end of On St. James's Park we are in the midst of auspicious promises that England's "ruling arts" and poetic arts will once more flourish, that "Kind Heaven" smiles and will visit the world with new Saturnian times, l(\'hat Dryden, and then Waller himself, had prophesied a few months earlier has come to pass; a Monarch and the Muses have found a home in "this fair park": the Muse-inspired train Triumph, and raise their drooping heads again! Kind Heaven at once has, in your person, sent Their sacred judge, their guard, and argument, (The concluding lines of Waller's To the King )

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152 Oh Happv Age I Oh times like those alone Bv Fate reserv'd for Great Augustus Thronel V/hen the joint growth of Armes and Arts fore shew The World a Monarch, and that Monarch You. (The concluding lines of Astraea Redux ) The "tough-minded" twentieth century reader may finally conclude that Waller's praise of "this fair park" edges too far over into the optative mood; whether that conclusion is just or not, it seems hard to deny that Waller's poem has its design in a conception of that "park" — and all that it represents, all that its greenness can mean — as a "Type of Paradise," Certainly, it seems too little to say that "'Waller had inherited the 13 knack of flattery from the age of Elizabeth." For On St. James's Park in its own way and on its own terms, reminds 14 us that "At heart all poetry is praise and celebration." II Waller's On St. James's Park, as Lately Improved bv His Iv!a1estv (1661) celebrates the restoration of King Charles II, and the hoped-for consequences of that restoration. Thomas Otway's V/indsor Castle, in a Monument to K. _Charles_II (1685) memorializes the death of Charles — and perhaps, too, the death of some of the bright hopes attendant upon his restoration, and celebrates the ascension to the throne of his brother, James II. Whereas Waller's

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I 153 poem images a "green" world, and his description of landscape discovers a microcosm Otwav's poem envisions a "second" world, and his description of landscape 15 embodies a heterocosm '.Valler's Park is a microcosm in that it figures an epitome of the larger world; Otway's Castle is a heterocosm in that it figures an other world an alternative ideal counter to the larger world. Whereas Vialler's emphasis is recreative Otwav's is interior Otwav conceives and renders V/indsor Castle primarily as a "monument" — as an emblematic manifestation — of the wonders and virtues of the English Crown, especially the interior virtues of Charles II. Otway begins modestly, and somewhat covertly, by decorously insisting that it is the Castle — or at least its "Raiser's Name" — that confers "Immortality" on his "humble Song," not vice-versa. Yet even here at the beginning of Windsor Castle we can see that the physical scene subserves spiritual value; the poem derives its value (we are told here) from the Castle, but the Castle derives its value from the King: Though Poets Immortality may give. And Troy does still in Homer's numbers live; How dare I touch thy Praise, Thou glorious Frame, Vi/hich must be Deathless, as thy Raiser's Name : But that I wanting Fame am sure of Thine To eternize this humble Song of mine. At least the Mem'ry of that i/.ore than man. From whose vast Mind thy Glories first began. Shall even my mean and worthless Verse commend. For Wonders always did his Name attend.^"

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154 The verv first verse paragraph of V/indsor Castle thus seizes upon "V/onders" and "Mind" as its deepest elements. And we shall see that all the "Wonders" the poem will describe will likewise be attached to the "Name" and ^ "Mem'rv" of that "More than man," for the Castle's "Frame" is significant — is "glorious" and "Deathless" primarilv in that it shadows forth the King's "vast fv\ind," The next passage (11, 13-46) in IVindsor Cestle elaborates its celebration of the "Vertues of a Roval Mind" and also moves into an evaluation of Stuart historv. A tension emerges between the attributes of the nation's "wanton" citizens and those of their "gracious" Monarch: the citizens were "ungratef ull, "stiff-neck 'd and "vile"; Charles on the other hand — in his personal piety and in his royal office, in his Mercy and in his Power — was "God-like" (l. 37). Here Windsor Castle recalls the ruinous behavior of similarly wanton citizens in Cooper's Hill Another analogue here is Dryden's Threnodia AuQustalis, A Fun era lPindariaue Poem Sacred to -he Hap py Mem ory of King Charles II (also 1685); lines 37-44 in Windsor Castle are especially close to the following passage in Dryden's contemporaneous poem: For all those Joys thy Restauration brought For all the Miracles it wrought. For all the healing Balm thy Mercy pour'd Into the Nations bleeding Wound, And Care that after kept it sound, ^ For numerous Blessings yearly shour'd For these and more, accept our Pious Praise. 17

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155 "Pious Praise" is Otway's task too. Like DrvcJen in Threnodia Auqustalis and in Absalom and Achitophel Otwav is conflating English history with Biblical history — reading and judging the one in the sacred terms of the other, and thus framing English history 1 o within an established and revered "moral order" — and on the base of this Biblical analogy building a divine analogy. For in Otway's view, Charles II, because of the "Example" of his father and because of his own "Experience," might vengefully have made England a blood-bath; instead he "Griev'd at our Follies with a Father's Love" (l, 22), lent "to our Succour a Forgiving hand" (l. 26), returned "our great Deliverer," and healed the nation's self-inflicted wounds: Under Philistian Lords we long had mourn 'd. When he, our great Deliverer, return 'd; But thence the Deluge of our Tears did cease. The Royal Dove shevj'd us such marks of Peace, And when this Land in Bloud he might have laid. Brought Balsam from the V.'ounds our selves had made, (11, 39-44) In what seems to be Otway's patriarchalist and sacramental view, Charles II was truly England's "Royal Dove." Of "mortal mould, but in his Mind a God," the King rules himself as well as England: But he for Sway seem'd so by Nature made. That his own Passions knew him, and obey'd. Master of them, he sotten'd his Command, The Sword of Rule scarce threatn'd in his Hand, Stern Majesty upon his Brow might sit. But Smiles, still playing round it, made it sweet. (11. 89 ff.)

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156 Issuing from Charles s self-rule, somewhat problematicallY, is the peace of the nation as a whole: In this great Mind long he his Cares revolv'd. And long it was e'er the great Mind resolv'd. Till Weariness at last his Thoughts compos 'd; Peace was the Choice, and their Debates were clos'd (11. 103 ff.) The British throne is still a center of value, a "last principle of order" in xhe "disintegrating world" of the 1680's, but only because its incumbent is "Saint and Sage"-'-^ as well as "Dread Monarch" (l. 539). Furthermore, a guardian angel protects "the Crown upon /"Charles' s_7 Sacred Brow" (l, 141), even against Hell itself: But that good Angel whose surmounting Power Waited Great Charles in each emergent hour. Against whose Care Hell vainlv did decree Assur'd him Peace must be for him design'd. For he was born to give it all mankind, (11. 137 ff.) So the first part (ll. 1-156) of Windsor Castle ends with an affirmation of Providence's good purposes, with the "assurance" that the Stuarts will prevail — over sedition, over rebellion, over anarchy, over whatever adversary threatens. This divine "assurance" elicits a commensurate response from Charles II, whose "pious Thanks" issue in a "beauteous Modell" of V/indsor Castle; "deepe within xhe mynde," the King contemplates an image of "that

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157 f/iajestick Pile": For this Assurance pious ThanKs he paid. Then in his Mind the beauteous .ViOdell laid Of that Majestick Pile, where oft his Care A while forgot he might for Ease repair. A Seat for sweet Retirement, Health and Love, Brixain s Olympus where, like awfull Jove, He pleas'd could sit, and his Regards bestow On the vain busie, swarming VJorld below, (H. 157-164) So Windsor Castle is a "Seat for sweet Retirement," a version of the archetypal locus amoenus a place we are told later in the poem, Where Contemplation best may pass her Hours; Fill'd with Chast Lovers plighting Constant Hearts, Rejoycing Muses, and encourag'd Arts. (11. 564 ff.) Windsor is a seat worthy of Monarchs and of Muses. The poet says that he visited the Castle on one auspicious occasion; it was a birthday of Charles II: 'Twas at that joyfull, hallow'd Day's return. On which that Man of Miracles was born. At whose great Birth appear'd a noon-day Star, V;hich Prodigy foretold yet many more; Did strange Escapes from dreadfull Fate declare. Nor shin'd, but for one greater King before. (11. 165 ff.) Charles II is a "Man of Miracles," not only in the affirmation here that his "Prodigy" had correctly "foretold" his "hallow'd" destiny, but also in that his associations with Christ — muted and implicit in most instances of the poem's Biblical analogy — here become explicit: in the

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158 ^ poem's context, even if nowhere else, Charles's "Crown" indeed sits upon a "Sacred Brow." Moreover, the occasion's hallowed auspiciousness elicits an equivalent human response, especially within the Castle's "lofty" towers: For this great Day were equal Joys prepar'd. And chearfull Bowls with loyal Vows were crown 'd But, above all, within those lofty Towers, Where Glorious Charles then spent his happy hours, Joy wore a solemn, though a smiling Face; •Twas gay, but yet Majestick, as the Place. (11. 179-186; italics mine except for Charles ) Here there is reciprocity and proportionality: the joyful and hallowed occasion, the cheerful and loyal human feelings, the gay and majestic place all are commensurate, all are analogous reflections of one another, all wear a smiling and a solemn face. The poem's next 150 lines — a sequence that describes St. George's Church, St. George's Chapel, the Banners of the Knights of the Garter, an "old Isle in the Church," the Keep, the House, and the paintings of Verrio — exfoliate the Castle's "Wonders" as worthy of Charles's "Celestial Mind" and the Muse's "Song." Windsor Castle and its venerable monuments are perceived as icons of British history and as emblems of the Stuarts' piety and virtues. Windsor Castle's monuments, as Otway interprets them, are didactic and figurative.

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159 For instance, the "old Isle in the Church where the Banner of a dead Knight is carried when another succeeds him" — a "Cell" where "melancholv Ruine" and "dark Oblivion" lurk — inspires a meditation on human mortality; the poet says that there he found, in "a Heap of confus'd Waste," "Neglected Hatchments": The Spoils of Time, and Triumph of that Fate y/hich equally on all Mankind does wait: The Hero levell'd in his humble Grave, With other men. ... For who, the poet asks, is "a Prince or Beggar in the Grave" (11. 230 ff.)? Mortality may be the great leveller of human status, but it is not the sum of human aspiration; a true estimate of man's condition will discover other dimensions to heaven's "assurances": therefore. truly blest is he whose Soul can bear The y/rongs of Fate, nor think them worth his Care: y/hose Mind no Disappointment here can shake. Who a true Estimate of Life does make. Knows 'tis uncertain, frail, and will have end. So to that Prospect still his Thoughts does bend; Who Cheer'd with th'Assurance that he there shall find Rest from all Toils, and no Remorse of mind; Can Fortune's Smiles despise, her Frowns out-brave. (11. 250 ff.) The inner repose of a Stoic can "arm" the mind (l. 463 and context) and "cheer" the soul. So Otway rejoices that, if there be anything "Immortal, hij cares will be diminished and his soul will be nourished by singing praises worthy of the King's "Celestial Mind" (11. 266-273).

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160 Next the Keep — an emblem of the lovalty that does not decay (11. 274-283) — brings us up to the House (11. 284-295), where the strength and order "without" correspond to the splendor and glory "within." This "Beauteous Seat of Peace" strikes the "greedy" sight with so much "Wonder" and "Delight" as to seem expressive of the "united skill" of all mankind, and yet Otway affirms that it is the sovereign and virtuous presence of Charles II that animates the v;indsor landscape, inside and out; the King is the Castle's genius loci And here, at the center of the poem, we meet the archetypal figure of Amphion, who as poet-builder seems to fuse the powers of Charles and Otway: Amphion had the magical art to "found," and to "praise," Thebes. Similarly, the combined talents of Charles and Otway are at work in the service of their own mythical "structure." According to Otway, at least one artist (Antonio Verrio, who had recently done several paintings on the walls and ceilings at Vv'indsor) had been found equal to the task of giving palpable and enduring form to the "motions" of Charles II 's soul: Through all the lofty Roofs described we finde The Toils and Triumphs of his Godlike mind: ^ A Theam that might the Noblest Fancy warm. And onely fit for his who did performe. (11. 308 ff.) Charles, Verrio, Otway all make their indispensable contribution to the total fabric of praise that is "Windsor Castle, in a Monument."

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161 Once England "led captive Kings from conquer'd Gaul (1. 350), and when the present Knights of the Garter meet with their leader in that "monumental" hall to keep St. George's Feast, they are forcibly reminded by Verrio's paintings of such former triumphs: Here as a Lesson may their Eyes behold Vi/hat their victorious Fathers did of old Here may they see how good old .Edward /"Edward sate And did his Glorious Son's Arrival wait, Vi/hen from the Fields of vanquish'd France he came, Follow'd by Spoils, and usher'd in by Fame. In Golden Chains he their Quell 'd Monarch led. (11. 351-363) Yet the present does not match the past — "Oh, for such Laurels on another Headi" Charles II is the mythical descendant of such heroes as Edward III and the Black Prince, but his citizens have lost their "Northern Mettle"; England's "ancient goodly" inheritance has been soiled by "stubborn Faction and rebellious Pride," by sloth, follies, vices, and diseases (11. 364-380). Charles's Laurels rise, not from Britain's "Glory," but from his sad Grave (ll. 364 and 379-382). The implication seems to be, in part, that the Englishman of 1685 must look to his own conscience and to his religious faith for his ultimate purposes he must look within and above. So the poem urges us to "Devotion," to behold the Chapel at the end of the Hall.

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162 the "Temple hy this Kero Built," Whose radiant Roof such Glorv does display, Yv'e thinlc we see the Heaven, to which we Prav; So well the Artist's hand has there delin'd The mercifull Redemption of iManKind; The bright Ascension of the Son of God, When back through yielding Skies to Heav'n he rode. With Lightning round his Head, and Thunder where he trod. (11. 383 ff.) Charles's "Temple" typologically resembles Solomon's: Thus when to Charles as Solomon was given Wisedom, the greatest gift of Bounteous Heaven; A house like his he built, and Temple rais'd. Where his Creatour might be fitly prais'd, (11. 394 ff.) Solomon's Temple was a type of Windsor Castle, and Solomon had shadowed forth his anti-type Charles. The history of England corresponds to the history of Israel, because both participate in the Providential pattern of events. Ultimately, Charles II, England's "Royal Dove," is (like Israel's Solomon before him) "God's Image, God's Anointed," 90 a "type of him above, "^ There is even a hint of Atonement clustering around Charles's "Sacred Brow," a hint that the toils and sufferings of the King have mysteriously expiated some of the sins of his nation. We are witnessing a "kind of Apotheosis"; Charles has been "carried upward, as it were, into another V/orld "'^•' "Like Painters, when their heigthning arts are spent," Otway casts the rest of his poem (11. 414-578)

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163 into "a shade" (see Threnodia Auqustalis 11. 255-256). Now Otwav's Muse instructs a Painter how the King fell and "whence the fatal blow" (11. 414-421). The first "scene" (11. 422 ff.) reveals the "fell discord and intestine hate" of the impious, venomous, and infernal "Fiends" that assail Charles II; but the next "scene" (11. 444 ff.) shows that the King, by preserving his royal "distance," maintained the power to repell the "Aspiring Rebels" and the authority to restore "peaceful Order." Nevertheless, "Fate" does not let the opportunity pass, and V/hen cruel Cares by faithless Subjects bred. Too closely prest his Sacred Peacefull Head; With them t'have pointed her destroying Dart, And through the Brain found passage to the Heart. Deep wounding Plaques Avenging Hea.v'n bestow On those curst Heads to whom this loss we ovje I On all who Charles his Heart affliction gave And sent him to the sor rov.'s of the Gravel (11. 443-455) From the poem's perspective, the King's "faithless Subjects" were guilty for his death, and should be punished for it. The poet's next instructions to his Painter are to draw the "saddest" of scenes (11. 456-473), the "much lamented Mighty Monarch" on his death bed; we find Charles II a King even over "his fate," that "No terrour could the Lord of Terrours bring": for Charles had "arm'd his Mind" against all those fears of death, and its ripping apart of body and soul, that beset "common Mortals"; he

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164 Had studied well the worth of Life, and knew Its troubles many, and its blessings few; Therefore unmov'd did Deaths approaches see. And grew familiar with his Destiny. Having provided for "his great Journey," Charles feels none of death's sting. Yet even unto the very end, Charles II was a "Father," a Patriarch, to his people; the last earthly ."yearnings of his mind" were for their well being: None but a Soul like his such goodness could conceive. For though a stubborn Race deserving ill. Yet would he shew himself a Father still. Therefore he chose for that peculiar care, His Crowns, his Vertues, and his Mercies Heir. Great James who to his Throne does now succeed, .And charg'd him tenderly his Flocks to feed. (11. 474-485) Here the King appears as a "Royal Pan" or "Royal Hus23 bandman," and it is out of a large-souled pastoral care that Charles compassionately leaves his mantle to James. The next scenes (11. 486-530) describe the \ responses to "the fatal, blow," the "passions" of the "sad Standers-by" assembled at the King's death bed — the "wonders of Fraternal Love," the sorrow of Charles's offspring, the grief of the other onlookers, the "unwearied Rev'rend Father's pious" prayers, and the "Mourning Queen" — until "the work of Fate is done" and the Painter is told to shun "any farther sad Description." These scenes bring us to the long verse paragraph

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165 (11. 531-578) that contains the poem's prophetic conclusion. In its auspicious prophecy, the concluding vision of IVindsor Castle looks back to apocalyptic works such as Isaiah, Virgil's Pollio and Aenoid VI, and looks ahead to Charles Hopkins's Vv'hite-hall Prior's Carmen Seculare and the prophecy of Father Thames at the close of Windsor-Forest Otway's first prophetic lines (531-539) are particularly reminiscent of the Pollio ; Otway instructs his Painter: Wipe therefore all thy Pencils, and prepare To Draw a prospect now of clearer Air. Paint in an Eastern Sky new dawning Day, And there the Embrio's of Time display; The forms of many smiling years to come. Just ripe for birth, and lab 'ring from their IVomb, Each strugling which shall Eldership obtain. To be first Grac't with Mighty James his Reign. Let the Dread Monarch on his Throne appear. The Queen — the King's "charming Partner," with "all the wealth of Beauty in her Face" and "soft-Ey'd Cupid s" hovering "o'er her Head" (11. 540-544) ~ lends a "softer" tone to the prospect, Otway's next lines invoke the apocalyptic resonance of chapter 60 of Isaiah; the poet instructs his Painter to describe "Applauding Nations coming forth" from "the diff 'rent Corners of the Earth" to pay "Homage" or to gain "humble Peace," and thus to "own Auspicious Omens from the reign of James II, Moreover, that auspicious reign will nourish the inner virtues fostered by Retirement and Contemplation, I I 1

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166 V/here James's "Smiles extend," the Painter is to draw "beauteous Peace," the poor man's "chearfull Toils" and the rich man's "Ease": here, shepherds piping to their feeding sheep; there, "jollv Hinds" reaping "such Harvests as their Tillage yields," ranged on "Green Banks, which thev themselves did raise,/ Singing their own Content, and Rulers Praise," The Painter should draw "beauteous Meadows, Gardens, Groves and Bowers,/ Where Contemplation best may pass her Hours" (11. 553-566). No matter how tremulous or how momentary* Windsor Castle has finally yielded a "green" world. Yet there is even here a sense of the necessary art, of the vision's interior dimensions — a sense of everything "that Thought can frame" (l. 567). So Otway's final vision fuses locus amoenus with apocalypse, the pious dreams of a Henry VI with the Messianic strains of an Isaiah. Earlier V/indsor Castle (11. 60-66) had linked James II with the Messiah, by praising James as The brave Man's Patron, and the wrong 'd Man's Friend, Now justly seated on th 'Imperial Throne, In which high Sphere no "brighter Star e'er shone : Vertue's great Pattern, and Rebellion's Dread; Long may he live to bruise, that Serpent's Head. Till all his Foes their just Confusion meet And growle and pine beneath his mighty Feet.^^ The final lines (567-578) continue, perhaps more guardedly.

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167 the divine analogv. The final lines declare that James II has earned his crown; that his reign has been the slow, but great worK of time; that the toils and cares and suffering endured by him and his brother and their father were not unregarded by Heaven; that true virtue is ultimately rewarded; and that the Stuarts' ascendancy is part of the Divine Plan: Great James has from his Youthfull years. By mighty Deeds earn'd the Crown he wears; 1/Vhose Conq'ring Arm far envied wonders wrought, Wlnen an ungratefull Peoples Cause he Fought; Vi/hen for their Rights he his brave Sword employ'd. Who in Return vjould have his Rights destroy'd: But Keav'n such Injur'd merit did regard, (As Heav'n in time true Vertue will reward) So to a Throne by Providence he rose. And all, who e'er were his, were Providence's Foes. Even this concluding prophetic vision is interlaced with vicissitude, hedged in by contingency; the prophecy of a mythical Stuart Golden Age is threatened. But the last ten lines of Windsor Castle ring with a militant challenge to the enemies of the House of James II: his foes are "Providence's Foes." Dryden's "FuneralPindarique" closes with a partially similar emphasis: For once, 0 Heav'n, unfold thy Adamantine Book; And let his wondring Senate see. If not thy firm Immutable Decree, At least the second Page, of strong contingency Let them not still be obstinately blind. Still to divert the Good thou hast design'd,

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168 Or with Malignant penurv, To sterve the Royal Vertues of his Mind, Faith is a Christian's and a Subject's Test, Oh give them to believe, and the-y are surely blesti ( Threnodia Auqustalis 11. 491 ff.) And all through T hrenodia Auqustalis Dryden insists, like Otvjay, that the human spirit must conspire with Providence in order to achieve anything, here or hereafter. Both Windsor Castle and Threnodia Auqustalis deal pervasively, often simultaneously, with man's mortal vicissitudes and his immortal longings, with the Church Militant and the Church Triumphant. Each poet figures Charles II as "The Monarch who Triumphant went" and James II as "The Militant who staid" (see Threnodia Auqustalis 11. 253-254 and 465-490), The full mixed force of Otway's poem brings to mind the opening of The City of God where St. Augustine spealcs of that most glorious society and celestial city of God's faithful, which is partly seated in the course of these declining times, wherein "he that liveth by faith" is a pilgrim amongst the wicked; and partly in that solid state of eternity, which as yet the other part doth patiently expect.

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NOTES 1. The title is a conflatioa of Drvden's To Charletort 1. 55 and Prologue to Oxford. 1676 1. 25, 2. Cosmos and History: T he Mvt h of the Eternal Return trans, vailard R. Trask (New York, 1959), pp. 12 ff. 3. Eliade, p. 20. 4. Eliade, pp. 12-21. 5. Eliade, pp. 20-21. 6. This paragraph draws upon Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism (Princeton, 1957), p. 184 and p. 119. 7. All quotations from V/aller's poetry are taKen from the edition of G. Thorn Drury, 2 vols. (London and New York, 1901) 8. Cf. Frye, Anatomy p. 183: "The green world charges the comedies with the symbolism of the victory of summer over winter, ..." 9. See Pope's Lines on Solitude and Retirement in Minor Poems The Twickenham Edition, vol, VI, p. 58. 10. I am drawing on the account of patriarchalist theory, and its relevance to Dryden's poems, in Alan Roper, Drvden's Poet ic Kingdoms (New York, 1965), pp. 72-74 and 104-135. The politics of Eden had long received a political interpretation bv commentators, but it was mainly Sir Robert Filmer who developed the theory most tenaciously in mid-seventeenth century England; his Patriarch a is basically an attempt to prove the origins of monarchy in the dominion of Adam, 11. See Roper, p, 74, 12. See, for example, Astraea Redux 1. 288; Annu s Mirabilis st, 18; and Windsor. Castle 11, 171 ff. 169

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170 13. R.A. Aubin, Topographical Poetry in XVIII-Centurv England (New York, 1936), pp. 116-117; Aubin says Denham had this same "icnacK," 14. Eric Heller, The Disinherited Mind (New York, 1957), p. 268 as quoted bv O.B. Hardison, Jr., The Enduring Monument (Chapel Hill, 1962), p. 194, ^ 15. These distinctions may finally be only different emphases somewhat exaggerated by my presentation, for each poem has to some degree the qualities that 1 define as central in the other. I am drawing here upon Harry Berger's recent pair of articles in The Centennial Review ; "ihe Renaissance Imagination: Second World and Green World," IX (tVinter, 1965), 36-78 and "L.B. Alberti on Painting: Art and Actuality in Humanist Perspective," X (Spring, 1966), 237-277. 16. Lines 1-10; all quotations from Otway's poetry are taken from The Works of Thomas Otway ed J.C. Ghosh, 2 vols. (Oxford, 19327^ 17. Threnodia Auoustalis 11. 292 ff. Dryden's poem and Otway's were published within a month of each other. The elevated and encomiastic character of Otway's language, his use of refrains, and prosodic variations suggest that he might have been attempting, in couplets, a sort of "funeral pindaric" too. The phrase "Vertues of a Royal Mind" that I use above' is from line 334 of Threnodia Augustalis 18. See Arthur W. Hoffman, John Dryden's Imagery (Gainesville, 1962), pp. 72 ff. and cf. Alan Roper, Dryden's Poetic Kingdoms 19. See Maynard Mack, "'The Shadowy Cave : Some Speculations on a Twickenham Grotto," in Restoration and Eig hteenthCentury L it erature; Essays in Honor of Alan Dougald McKillop. ed. Carroll Camden (Chicago, 1963), pp. 87-88; "Saint and Sage" is Coleridge's phrase in his "Tomb less Epitaph" (1. 33) quoted by Mack, p. 77 and p. 84. 20. Here I appropriate the language of Threnodia Augustal is. 11. 63 and 258. 21. I drew here on the language of Dryden's preface to Eleonor a The parallel between Windsor Castle here and Threnodia Augustalis. 11. 196-291, seems particularly close; compare especially line 469 in Otway and line 219 in Dryden

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171 23. "Royal Pan" is from Otwav's own Pastoral On the Death of His laxc iV.aiestv 11. 19 and 28; "Royal Husbandman" is from Threnodia Auqustalis 1. 356, 24. Cf. Genesis 3:15; Paradise Lost X, 168-181 and 1028-1040 and XII, 382 ff.; and Wind s orFore st 11. 413-422. 1 i \

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Five: The Monarchs* and the Muses' Seats At length great ANNA said Let Discord ceasej She said, the World obey'd, and all was Peace! Windsor-Forest The prophetic and visionary dimension is more assured in Alexander Pope's poem about a royal place than in Otway's, for Pope's Windsor-Fore st (1713) heralds an end to conflict of all sorts, at least an end to warfare among men,^ The poem hails "Sacred Peac e" — the "longexpected Days" (1. 355) of the Peace of Utrecht — as auspicious of a new era in human affairs, as inaugurating under Queen Anne a Saturnian Age of Gold. A fundamental subject of Windsor-Forest. — the peace and plenty of a Stuart Pax Brit annica -is announced in the couplet that closes its first long verse paragraph: Rich Industry sits smiling on the Plains, And Peace and Plenty tell a STUART reigns, (11. 41-42) The visionary dimension of the couplet can hardly be denied, and its political force seems clear enough too. Yet the couplet's political force gains deeper resonance from a knowledge that James I, the first Stuart, in a 1607 address to Parliament envisioned a forthcoming era of 172

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173 "Peace, Plentv Love" to be achieved through the union of England and Scotland, In 1707, one hundred years later. Queen Anna, the last Stuart, fulfilled the prophecy with 2 tha Act of Union between the two countries, Joseph Trapp*s contemporaneous Peace. A Poem (1713) alludes even more directly to the Act of Union, and conceives the whole achievement of Anne's reign in a manner similar to Pope s : From this Great AEra wond'rous Years shall run; And Aj^MA's Fame roll circling with the Sun. o*aaa*oooao**** B r j. t a by Union, truly Brave and Great, To all the World shall Formidable prove; Strong by That Union, terrible in Love„ caooaeooeoe a a Heav'n, tho' so long provok'd, in future Times, For pious Arip_a s Sake, shall spare our Crimes: Anna; the Guardian of Mankind's Repose, For many smiling Years, unmark'd with Woes, Shall lasting Psace and Happiness bestow; Still blest by Heav'n above, and blessing Earth below. Windsor" Forest itself celebrates Albio n's Golden Days" (1, 424), at the most explicit level, as the achievement and consequence of the Peace of Utrecht, but the poem moves beyond its praise of this political peace and the anticipated commercial prosperity to an apocalyptic vision of Peace and Plenty obtaining throughout the whole universe. Pope may ultimately appear to be celebrating the kinds and degrees of peace so marvellously formulated by St. Augustine in The City of God (XIX, 13, trans. Marcus Dods) :

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174 The peace of the body then consists in the duly proportioned arrangement of its partSo The peace of the irrational soul is the harmonious repose of the appetites, and that of the rational soul the harmony of Knowledge and action. The peace of body and soul is the well-ordered and harmonious life and health of the living creature. Peace betvjeen man and God is the well-ordered obedience of faith to eternal law. Peace between man and man is well-ordered concord. Domestic peace is the well-ordered concord between those of the family who rule and those who obey. Civil peace is a similar concord among the citizens. The peace of the celestial city is the perfectly ordered and harmonious enjoyment of God, and of one another in God, The peace of all things is the tranquility of order. The rest of this chapter is intended to show that WindsorForest finally gathers unto itself all these several varieties of "peace," For as Martin Price (who cites the same Augustinian passage as an example of universal analogy) suggests, .V>finds orForest seeks "to reconcile the least 3 order with the highest," If Edmund Vi/aller's .C)n_Sto Jameses Park, as Lately Improved b y His _Ma.iestv (1661) images a "green" world, and if Thomas Otway's Windsor Castle, in a M onument to K, Charles II (1685) embodies a "second" world, Alexander Pope's Windsor-Forest (1713) encompasses a "golden" 4 world. In Pope's poem, the real "first" world is envisioned as having been transformed into an ideal world, as having been visited with and transfigured by all the values and all the virtues of both "green" and "second" worlds. The optative mood of On St„ James's Park has become fused with the subjunctive mood of Windsor Castle

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17b and passed over into an uncompromisingly apocalyptic mood -in WindsorFore St where one finds in full and explicit portions the recreative dimensions of Waller's poem and the interior dimensions of Otway's. Thus the consecrated "prestige of the Center" that Pope envisions his Forest — at once a seat of Monarchs and of Muses as possessing is virtually absolute: the "hallow'd Earth" (l. 302) of Windsor s fam'd Abodes" contains "the Mansion of our earthly Gods" (ll 229-230). Windsor-Forest celebrates Albion 's Golden Days" of Peace and Plenty, not simply as the remembrance of a perfect time, or simply as the mind's construction of a perfect condition, but as the assertion that such a time and such a condition exist here and now in the green and pleasant land of Stuart England, which as the Forest testifies appears to be almost on the verge of witnessing a mysterious incarnation of "God's eternal 6 Day," The fiction of the poem insists that the reader take seriously (that he regard deeply and earnestly, with a full-hearted suspension of disbelief) the reality of its prophecies -in nature and in history, in the landscape and in time. The poem, in sum, heralds a regeneration so complete that it has to be understood as very nearly a rebirth of human perfection by means of divine agency: Wines orForest ultimately celebrates nothing less than that transformation which the earth may, in the fulness of time, undergo.

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176 The dedication, epigraph, and invocation immediately-^ declare that the poem's occasion is auspicious and its texture mythical. Pope dedicated Windsor-Fores-^ to one of tha oiost prominent men in the realm, "To the Right Honorable Gaorae Lord Lansdown George Granville, Lord Lsnsdov.'ne, had been one of Pope's friends for some years and had played a part in the genesis of the young poet's Pastorals Besides fostering Pope's early career, Granville had earned the dedication in other ways: he was a close friend of Oxford and Bolingbroke and Swift; he was an original member of the prestigious Brothers' Club (a powerful Tory inner circle equally interested in politics and the arts, and of the one in the service of the other); in 1710 he had replaced V/alpole as Secretary at War and was thus part of the Tory ministry that negotiated the Peace of Utrecht; he was a particular favorite of Queen Anne; and he was one of the twelve new peers created by her on January 1, 1712, to save the Tory ministry and the Peace, Perhaps still more important to Pope's mind, Granville had never served William III; at the accession of the Whigs' "foreign Master," Granville whose sympathies were consistently "Jocobite" all his life -had preferred to go into retirement. The dedication has still more appropriateness, for Granville was a prominent man of letters as well as a prominent man of affairs; besides being a key Tory politician, he was regarded — in 1713 -as one of England's finest poets. Regarded as the heir of Waller,

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177 vjhom he had commended in verse and who had commended him, deeply influenced by Milton, and hailed by Dryden in 1698 as his own "Auspicious" successor ( To Mr. "Granville." on his Excellent Tragedy 5. ) Granville and his "moving Lays" (see Pope's Spring line 46) were for Pope an obviou link with much of what he most revered in the poets and poetic traditions of the seventeenth century. Moreover, in the few months just prior to publication of WindsorForest Granville had reached a kind of apogee in his twin careers: besides being elevated to the peerage and being made a member of the Privy Council in 1712, that year his eldest daughter was born (with Oxford and Bolingbroke as godfathers and Queen Anne as a godmother) and the first collected volume of his literary works was published. As we shall see. Pope gives Granville a large role in the unfolding drama of his poem on the Peace, and the young and patriotic poet must have felt it very appropriate to so honor the older man, now finally Lord Lansdowne, who had so faithfully served his Monarch and his Muses. ^ Pope told Spence that Granville "insisted on my publishing" Winds orForest and that the epigraph "shows it." Coming from Virgil's sixth eclogue (11, 9-12), Pope's epigraph — • Non iniussa cano: Te nostrea. Var e, Mvricca/ Te Nem us omne c anet; nec Phoabf) gratior ul la est / Quam Quae Vari praescri psit Paqina nomen -may imply aspects of V/indsor-Fo rest as a "golden" world, may imply

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178 that Pope's poem has its origins in perennial myth, as well as auspicious topical occasions. Virgil* s sixth eclogue (like his fourth and fifth) is usually regarded as embracing the loftiest themes to which pastoral can aspire, and at least one critic has seen the lines just before those Pope quotes as evidence despite their disclaimer of projected heroic aspirations beyond the Q pastoral, Virgil's eclogue echoes the creation hymn in Lucretius, includes a description of a session of immortal poets, contains oblique references to warfare and muted references to Saturnian times, is full of metamorphoses and mysterious lore and legendary history of all kinds — and seems to be ultimately about the very origins of myth. Pressed hard enough. Pope's Virgilian epigraph would help place Windsor-Forest in a mythical context, in quondam time. Pope invokes the auspicious Granville again and appeals for the mythical aid of the Muses in his fine opening lines: Thy Forests, Windsor 2 and thy green Retreats, At once the Monarch's and the Muse's Seats, Invite my Lays, Be present. Sylvan Maids! Unlock your Springs, and open all your Shades, Granville commands: Your Aid 0 Muses bring! What Muse for Granville can refuse to sing? (11, 1-6) I Alluding to Virgil's Eclogues and Aene id and to Milton's Lvcidas these lines are among those that invest the poem from the start with a sense of "glades, fables, and

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179 hexameters." But another allusion may help even more to determine the precise force of Pope's design: his first two lines directly imitate, with a crucial difference, the first two lines of Charles Hopkins's History of Love (1695): Ye Woods, and Wilds, serene and blest retreats. At once the Lovers, and the Muses seats. H The change from Lovers to Monarchs — could hardly be more telling. Moreover, the comprehensive figurative dimensions of Pope's poem are further indicated by the affinity of his opening invocation with a soaring passage in the Gaoroics (ll, 11. 136-176) where Virgil declares that he will unseal the sacred founts and sing the praises of Italy, the "land of Saturn, great mother of earth's fruits, great mother of men," Pope clearly intends his "pleasing" prospects to "teach," We are going to be dealing with a poem that displays "a species of true ^ propaganda," yet that does so by addressing itself "wholly 12 to the imagination." Next the first long verse paragraph in WindsorFore St (11, 7-42) — perhaps one of the richest passages in Pope — makes abundantly clear the poem's multiple "golden" resonance, its simultaneously political and mythical force, its "hallow'd" celebration of auspicious national prosperity and tranquility. Like Waller's "green Park," Pope's "green Retreats" appear to have been visited 13 by "some transforming Pow'r," almost to have become

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180 "Groves of Eden" (11. 7-10). Here, to use Denhatn's words from a similar context, "All that we have, and that we are subsists" in an ordered variety: Here Hills and Vales, the Woodland and the Plain, Here Earth and Water seem to strive again. Not Chaos-like together crush 'd and bruis'd. But "as the World, harmoniously confus'd: V/here Order in Variety we see. And where, tho'all things differ, all agree, (11. 11-16) In his own century. Pope's commentators recognized parallels here to the Metamorphoses (l, 433) and Cooper's Hill (11. 197-212); and they also recognized the force in all three poems of the doctrine of concordia discors which has been so amply analyzed by Professor Wasserman. Yet Pope's lines also invoke the doctrine of universal analogy; they enable us to "search more diligently the order of things, and consider the communion and differ 14 ence of Species." We might recall that for St. Thomas, "The best thing in creation is the perfection of the universe, which consists in the orderly variety of \ 15 things." Or we might recall Wasserman 's own conclusion that Pope's sylvan, yet royal Forest deserves to be viewed as "both a topographical fact and a trope for England and the Law of Nature. ""^^ A scene where "all things" simultaneously differ and agree implies a Thomistic or Christian universe in which there is a h ierarchy of being? and a community of being In such an analogical view of reality, "the natural order, the world of things (and, supremely.

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181 Of persons) is known and loved in all its diversity, its scandalous particularity, its concreteness its opaqueness, its temporality. And yet it is known — and loved — not only in itself and for itself but also in its degree -its degree of participation in the vast hierarchy of being which reaches to God."^"^ Thus Pope's lines here a scene of harmonious profusion where we see "Order in Variety," and where "tho'all things differ, all agree" — are one basis for the poem's pervasive figurative method of comparing "great things to small" and of fusing "the 18 scenic, the moral, and the political." In this passage we can already see that Windsor-Forest aspires to a vision of the order that subsists in the "peace of all things," The only "vicissitude" in Pope's "woody Theatre" is "grateful": Here waving Groves a checquer'd Scene display. And part admit and part exclude the Day; As some coy Nymph her Lover's warm Address Nor quite indulges, nor can quite repress. There, interspers'd in Lawns and opening Glades, Thin Trees arise that shun each others Shades, (11. 17-22) The whole scene, one of Pope's most "painterly," seems to offer some analogue to human experience, A place so full of color and light and warmth and fruitf ulness, in sum so lovely, invites human sympathies, human response, human participation : Here in full Light the russet Plains extend; There wrapt in Clouds the blueish Hills ascend;

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182 Ev'n the wild Heath displays her Purple Dies, And 'midst the Desart fruitful Fields arise. That crown'd with tufted Trees and springing Corn Like verdant Isles the sable Waste adorn, (11. 23-28) The "artful" disposition, or "cultivation," that crowns and adorns this scene appears to owe less to the labor of 19 "weary Reapers" than to the "Care" of a "various God." Perhaps in the scene as a whole there is just a glimmer of some of the resonance in Henry Vaughan's instructions to Walk with thy fellow-creatures: note the h ush And whispers amongst them There's not a Spring Or Leaf e but hath his Morning-hymp ; Each Bush And QsJ£ doth know I A.M .^"J There seems, in Pope's scene as a whole, more than a glimmer of the politico-mythical resonance of the personified figure of Peace in Charles Hopkins's panegyric on a royal place, I'/hite-hall (1698); Hopkins's Peace appears as a "Goddess" in a theophany, like a Venus out of Lucretius or Botticelli; she comes as "Vi/ar's necessary certain end"; she walks over standing fields of corn without crushing it; where she treads, grass "springs" and the meadows receive new flowers; the "teeming Earth" displays her "blooming Beauties" — the lover's myrtle and the poet^s bays; rise at her approach; she "promiscuously resides" in all things; "Plenty" and "Pleasure" wait upon her; she brings the spring, and for her

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183 night and dav in equal measures run. And mounting LarKs salute the morning Sun. Then ripening Fruits the load'ned Trees adorn, And laughing Fields are Crown'd with lofty Corn, Then HopKins, much as Pope will do for a different monarch, moves on from his "laughing Fields" crowned with "loftv Corn" to celebrate the intermediate royal, and ultimate divine, cause of such "ripening Fruits": ... these Blessings Z~are_7 thus dispenc*d and giv'n To us from WI LLIAM and to him from Heav'n, The "blessings" in Pope's no less mythical Forest even include the "weeping Amber" and "the balmy Tree" of India, "borne" on the "Oaks" of British shipping and thus signs of Britain's world dominion (11. 29-32). Such a Forest can truly serve as an epitome of England and as a micro21 cosra of the larger world. Indeed, such "Delights" appear in these "Sylvan Scenes" that "Descending Gods have found glvs ium here" ( Summer lines 59ff); here, "in their Blessings, all those Gods appear," Thus Pope provides a "theophany" of his own: See Pa n with Flocks, with Fruits Pompna crown'd Here blushing F Iqra paints th'enamel'd Ground, Here Ceres Gifts in waving Prospect stand. And nodding tempt the joyful Reaper's Hand, Rich Industry sits smiling on the Plains, And Peace and Plenty tell, a STUART reigns, '^'^ (11. 33-42)

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184 Pan, Pomona, Flora, and Ceres are Windsor's genii loci and their abundant "Gifts" are auspicious evidence of a new "golden" era of "Peace, Plenty, Love" under Queen Anne These "gods" appear here, not as objects of worship, but as "emblems" of the in-dwelling powers of nature; "their Blessings," if used wisely, figure human richeso From the beginnings to the end of his career. Pope's vision of the landscape, of the whole natural setting of human activity, was feudal and eucharistic; for him, the "land continues to be seen as a locus of invisible 23 presences." And just as we hear early and late in his 24 verse of a Genius of the Place," we can suppose that Pope was not so removed as we from the animistic vision of nature that must have inspired, surely not in whimsy alone, the nymph-and-satyradorned "chorographical" maps of Poly-o.lbion ; we can speculate that he would have understood, and might even have been deeply moved by, the subtler "mysteries" of a painting like Poussin's "Realm of Flora. "^^ It seems altogether inappropriate, therefore, for a student of eighteenth century topographical verse, writing of The Influence of Milton on.. Eng li sh P pe trv to say: "How much more difficult must the writing of descriptive verse have been at a time when the leading poets of the day could find no better words for the miracle of spring than 'Blushing Flora paints th'enamelled ground '1^^ perhaps especially inappropriate since Pope could easily

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185 have found the inspiration for some of his words in Milton's own description of Eden's "miraculous" spring (which reallv* liKe Pope's scene, exists in qu.Qndaro time): in Book IV of Paradise Lost we find a "Silvan Scene" where "ranks" of trees "ascend/ Shade above shade," and thus present "a woody Theatre/ Of Stateliest view" : ... goodliest Trees loaden with fairest Fruit, Blossoms and Fruits at once of golden hue Appear 'd, with gav enamell 'd colors mixt. ... Til. 131ff.; italics mine) The reader of Pope's lines, or Milton's for that matter, should not forget to give full and precise weight to their regard for the venerable concept of "Art" as "Natures Hand-maid" (see Annus Mirabilis stanza 155), In this connection, it is also important to know — as the painter Pope would certainly have known — that "enamel'd Ground" is a technical phrase which refers to the process of "entirely covering metals with enamel, to form a ground for painting in vitrifiable colours"; in painting, the ground is the "main surface or first coating of colour, serving as a support for other colours or a background for designs, "^"^ In the year of Milton's death, Nathaniel Lee, in his commendatory poem .To Mr, Drvden. on his Poem of Paradise seems to have played upon this technical meaning of "ground":

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/ 186 To the dead Bard, your fame a little owes. For Milton did the V/ealthy Mine disclose. And rudely cast what you cou*d well dispose: He roughly drew, on an old fashioned ground. • • Indeed, another of Mlton's contemporaries, probably Marvell, could in some Last Instructions to a Painter assert that "Flora i^ the spring": But Ceres corn, and Flora is the spring, Bacchus is wine, the country is the king. (11. 967ff.) Whatever the precise tone of this couplet, its resemblance to Pope, and the implication that the ideas in it are commonplace, is unmistakable. Perhaps, too, "blushing" (along with "waving," "nodding," "joyful," "rich," and "smiling") is part of Pope's total effort in these lines to render the force of Virgil's laeta seoes (a leitmotif that pervades the Ge orgies from the first line on), a phrase implying, Reuben Brower thinks, "f ruitf ulness that has been divinely 28 bestowed," Dryden sometimes renders laetus as "plenteous," and in his translation of the soaring praises of Italy's great soil and great men in Book II of the Georoics (lines 136-176), he at one point rings nearly all the changes possible in Virgil's word: But fruitful vines, and the fat olive's freig ht. And harvests heavy with their fruitful weight Adorn our fields; and on the cheerful green The grazing flocks and lowing herds are seen, (lines 196-199 in Dryden; italics mine)

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187 We will of course see a "laughing Ceres" re-assume Pope's landscape manv years later (in the Epistle to Burlington lines 173-176), but here in lines 33-42 of V/indsorForest Pope is reminding his reader — as he does throughout the poem — that "his vision of nature and art and society has a great historical model." Pope's rendering of the landscape in the passage as a whole, one might say as has been said of his model, is "at once aesthetic 29 and historic and religious." In such a carefully, and lovingly, wrought scene of tranquility and cultivation and abundance, Anne appears as a kind of "Royal Husbandman"^^; and the presence of the Stuart Queen makes an indispensable contribution to this scene of the "Blessings" of deity. It is worth remembering that in a sermon "To the King at White-Hall" on a Lenten Sunday in the 1620 's, John Donne had said: "Kings are blessings, because they are Images of God"; or remembering that in a poem On. the Queens. Repairing Somerset House (11. 39-40), Cowley had said: "in Kings we see/ The liveliest Image of the Deity"; or remembering that Marvell could say: "the country is the king." These "Blessings," to paraphrase Charles Hopkins, are dispensed to the country from Anne, and given to her from Heaven. We can already begin to see that Windsor-Forest celebrates not only the auspicious destiny of its titular Forest, but 31 also that of a nation, indeed that of the world.

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188 But another, less "golden" forest also appears in Pope*s poemo England had not always been so blessed with "smiling" Peace and Plenty, or with the auspicious reign of a Stuart. The next verse paragraph of V/indsor-Forest (ll 43-92) shifts to the New Forest of Hampshire and alludes to "the Tyrannies exercis'd there by William the First" (Pope's marginal note). Under the "furious and severe" Norman invaders, England became a waste land; in that "Iron" age (l, 75) the land appeared A dreary Desart and a gloomy Waste. To Savage Beasts and Savage Laws,^^ a Prey o • • (11. 43ff.) Plenteous and smiling and tranquil, or desolate and gloomy and violent, the land ~ and its inhabitants — analogically mirrors the "ruling passion" of its monarchs: accordingly, the "wanton" Norman "Tyrants" were "lonely Lords of empty Wilds and Woods." It is not surprising that, in such an "iron" and "sportive" age, the hunt exerted all its destructive potential; having ravished the fruitful fields for their New Forest game preserve, the Norman Kings proved themselves even more "Savage" they hunted men: ... a Beast or Subject slain Were equal Crimes in /"their_/ Despotick Reign; Both doom'd alike for sportive Tyrants bled. Proud Nimrod first the bloody Chace began, A mighty Hunter, and his Prey was Man. Oure haughty Norman boasts that barb'rous Name, And makes his trembling Slaves the Royal Game, (11. 57-78)

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189 The "proud" and "barb*rous" Normans thus committed crimes against nature, against their subjects, even against God: Th 'Oppressor rul'd Tyranick ,00 Stretched o*er the Poor, and Church, his Iron Rod, And serv'd alike his Vassals and his God, (llo 65ff.) In order to create his hunting forest, V/illiam, according to the established view of the chroniclers, had ravished all the churches in the area, as well as all the towns. Even as late as 1695, an edition of Camden's Britannia could cite Walter Map's indignation that The Conqueror took avjay much land from God and men, an d converted it .to the use of wild beasts, and the sport of his dogs; bv which ha demolish'd 36 Mother-Churches, and drove away the poor inhabitants ." Pointedly contrasted with the recommendation of a Queen Anne for the building of "fifty new Churches" "And Temples rise, the beauteous Works of Peace" ( Windsor-Forest 1, 378 and note), the "Tyrannick" reign of such a blasphemous "Oppressor" indeed appears "curst" (l. 73), Pope's equation of the violent and tyrannous Norman Conqueror with the "bloody" first hunter, Nimrod, greatly increases the moral and religious implications here. For Nimrod, called only a mighty hunter in Genesis, had through centuries of figurative exegesis become fixed as the type of murderous tyrant. For example, as a gloss on Pope's lines. Professor Williams cites the commentary in the Douay Bible (1609 and 1635, p. 39; cf. p. 46): "To this

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190 Nemrod • generally al ancient writers ascribe the ^ first tyrannie, and first setting vp of an earthlie citie opposit to the Citie of God after the floud. He was • • a Violent hunter • who by falshood and force brought manie vnder his dominion." And as part of his gloss". Professor VVasserman cites a passage in Milton that in its rising and falling rhythm of events strikingly parallels Pope's progress (llo 7-94) from Stuart Peace and Plenty through Norman usurpation: at the beginning of Paradise Lost XII, Michael pauses "Betwixt the world destroy'd and world restor'd," and then resumes his visionary account of human history; he instructs Adam to attend to the postdiluvial condition of the world. Michael explains that a righteous "second source of Men" shall lead their lives with "some regard to what is just"; these righteous men shall reap "plenteous crop" and dwell "Long time in peace" until one shall rise of "proud ambitious heart," who will "arrogate Dominion" and quite dispossess Concord and law of Nature from the Earth; Hunting (and Men not Beasts shall be his game) With War and hostile snare such as refuse Subjection to his Empire tyrannous: A mighty Hunter thence he shall be styl'd Before the Lord, as in despite of Heav'n, And from Rebellion shall derive his name. According to Milton, and the typological interpretation of Nimrod he and Pope inherited, the name of the final worlc

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191 of "this Usurper" was "Confusion," And Pope's "haughtv Morman boasts" that same "Barb'rous Name," Yet Pope's rendering of English history under the Normans has been called "amusingly inaccurate and inconsistent,""^"^ Such a response to Pope's figurative rendering of history completely overlooks the six-centuries-old myth that had grown up around William I and his successors (Norman and otherwise), a myth that understood the Norman era as desolate, lawless, savage, murderous, blasphemous, in sum as Nimrod-like — productive of an almost primordial chaos. Yet almost all versions of this traditional mythical view of the Norman era insisted that divine justice ultimately prevailed. Got with violence, the reign of V/illiam I remained troubled; as Drayton has it: since Bastard W illiam came "by Conquest" and "brought the Norman Rule" upon the English, his entire reign was "troubled" with "tedious warre" and "almost endlesse toyles"; and upon his death, William left "unnaturall debate" with "his ill-got Crown" ( Polv-olbion Song XVII, 11, lllff,). Even the Conqueror's death was troubled; as Pope says, "see the Man who spacious Regions gave/ A Waste for Beasts, himself deny'd a Gravei" (11. 79-80). Vi/illiam of Malmesbury made this comment on the Conqueror's troubled burial: "Here might be seen the wretchedness of earthly vicissitude; for that man who was formerly more powerful than any of his predecessors, could not find a place of everlasting rest, without contention,"^'* In such

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192 a mythical view, "blended lie th'Oppressor and th'Oppresti (see V/indsor-Forest 1, 318), Moreover, the crimes of these "bloodv" hunters ultimately recoiled; many of these same Norman tyrants died in the forest they had ravished; Stretched on the Lawn /"VJilliam' s_7 second Hope ^Richard__7 survey. At once the Chaser and at once the Prey, Lo Ruf us tugging at the deadly Dart, Bleeds in the Forest, like a wounded Hart, (11, 81-84) Pope's implicit attribution here of the deaths of Richard and William Rufus to divine vengeance for their father's "impious" tyrannies, especially his destruction of the churches, is thoroughly explicit in works such as Polv.0 lb ion and Camden's Britannia In the view of all these authors, God will not long permit the unrevenged continuance of such a "bloody Chace," such a "Despotick Reign," Violence breeds violence. He who lives by the sword can expect to die by it, 35 Several scholars have persuasively demonstrated that Pope's mythical rendering of these New Forest "tyrannies" carefully manages to build up a set of covert equations between the ruthless Norman kings, the first hunter and traditional type of the murderous tyrant Nimrod, and their more recent ectype — the "alien" William III, The Jacobite appropriation of the mythical version of Norman history had, ever since the Revolution of 1688 and all through the Wars of the Spanish Succession, been making

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193 the same equations. The parallels between William I and William III were felt, at least by Jacobite propagandists, to be particularly close. Both Williams were "eager" hunters; indeed, the deaths of both were suppos,/ edly hastened by falls from their horses while hunting — accidents claimed as exemplary of divine justice by the opponents of V/illiam IIIo Both were great warriors, who involved England in almost endless wars. And both were "foreign invaders," who had imposed "a Foreign Reign" ( An Essay on Criticism 1. 544) upon the English — and so Anne continually stressed the claim she made in her first address before Parliament, "I know my own heart to be entirely English*" These equations were more explicit in the surviving manuscript"^^ of W indsor-Forest that antedates its published version; in the manuscript Pope ended his account of the New Forest "S port with this couplet : Oh may no more a foreign Master's Rage With Wrongs yet Legal, curse a future Age! (1712 MS, 11. 91-92) Perhaps the ultimate force of Pope's New Forest scene is its suggestion that such "sportive Tyrants" as the Nimrodlike Normans, or a Nimrod-and-Norman-like Nassau, are "outside" (f oris) the human pale altogether. Even the fact that the Normans' Hampshire hunting forest was "New" may bear a special resonance, in that Windsor's Forest would have been regarded as having a far

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194 more venerable antiquity. According to one ancient legend, V/indsor had been the very place where King Arthur and his 37 Knights of the Round Table held court. And in /\n Ode to the Sun, for the New Year. 17 07. Elijah Pent on had figured the columns of V/indsor Castle as "eternal monuments" in part because they had been "o'er o Norman ruins o e restored." In Pope's view, too, "Succeeding Monarchs" had restored freedom and order to the ravished nation, and restored the land to its natural fecundity; and now Fair Liberty, Britannia s Goddess, rears Her Chearful Head, and leads the golden Years, (11, 85-92) The tedious wars of a William have been displaced by the "golden" blessings of a Stuart's Reign, The Providential justice that had manifested itself in the New Forest as righteous vengeance now manifests itself in Windsor's "green," yet "hallow'd," Forest as something more nearly representative of divine grace, as "Peace, Plenty, Love." It has been said that a "pattern of contrary, concomitant movements characterizes Virgil's whole worK," particularly the Georqics where one finds Virgil's pervasive art of transferring "significant details from one 38 context to its opposite for the sake of contrast," The same art appears to shape Pope's georgic, where we have seen Stuart Peace and Plenty contrapuntally juxtaposed with New Forest tyrannies, and where Pope next shifts to another species of hunting a scene where the "sports"

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195 are far more "idyllic" than those of the Normans, but finally by no means simply idyllic. In this next section on Rural Sports (11, 93-164), the Hunt motif primarily figures the vita active in its ennobling guise. In Wi sd om of the Ancients Bacon said, "every natural action ... is nothing else but a hunting"; and here Pope's hunt symbolizes "the entire range of man's sentient and active expe39 riences." Pope's description of Rural Sports, moreover, places us in a scene where springs breathe fragrance and the fields breathe "Plenty" (see the 1712 MS, llo 93-94), Because of their robust energy and health-giving vigor, these Rural Sports contribute to the peace of the body (the "duly proportioned arrangement of its parts"), to the peace of the irrational soul (the "harmonious repose of the appetites"), even perhaps to the peace of the rational soul (the "harmony of Knowledge and action"); in sum these Rural Sports contribute to the "well-ordered and harmonious life and health of the living creature" (see, for example, llo 93ff. and 147-158). Here then the "newshorn" fields and "gameful" woods yield "pleasing Toils" (l, 120) — activities quite unlike those unnatural, troubled, "almost endlesse toyles" of the Norman "sports." So in "genial Spring," a "patient" angler can hope to find his share of nature's diversified and plentiful, abundance: Our plenteous Streams a various Race supply; The bright-ey'd Perch with Fins of Tvrian Dye,

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196 The silver Eel, in shining Volumes rolled, The vellow Carp, in Scales bedrop'd with Gold, Swift Trouts, diversifv'd with Crimson Stains, And Pykes, the Tyrants of the watry Plains, (11. 135-146) The image is fundamentally one of Plenitude, yet some of its language is ambivalent: in 1713, in the context of a poem liKe Windsor-Forest the pike and trout — even in the very midst of the rich diversity and glistening luminosity of such "a various Race" — cannot help recalling other "Tyrants" and other "Crimson Stains." The poem's prophetic resonance grows out of its vivid memory of a too recent time when the "Sons" of these very streams did "dye with British Blood/ Red Iber s Sands, or Ister 's foaming Flood" (see 11. 367-368), We see in Pope's treatment of Rural Sports, then, a deep sense of the threats that lurk throughout the times and places of all creatures, his awareness that all natural life is shot through with transience and mortality that life is a poignant mixture of loss and gain. Two passages in particular illustrate Pope's immense sympathy for all that lives -and dies. In one of the passages, on winter, when frosts whiten the "naked" groves, whose "leafless" trees find shade only from flocks of doves and when "lonely" woodcocks "haunt" the glades, the "unweary'd fowler breaks the frozen sky with "slaught ring Guns"; Oft, as in Airy Rings they skim the Heath, The clam'rous Lapwings feel the Leaden Death: Oft as the mounting Larks their Notes prepare. They fall, and leave their little Lives in Air, (11, 123-234)

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197 The sv^pathv is perhaps even deeper in the other passage: Seei from the Brake the whirring Pheasant springs. And mounts exulting on triumphant Wings; Short is his Jovl he feels the fiery Wound, Flutters in Blood, and panting beats the Ground, Ahl vjhat avail his glossie, varying Dyes, His Purple Crest, and Scarlet-circled Eyes, The vivid Green his shining Plumes unfold; His painted Wings, and Breast that flames with Gold? (11. 111-118) Little wonder that these lines have been called "a moral e jcemplum less about the beauty of pheasants than the transience of all beauty, "^^ For the sympathy here is multiple: these lines, coming so soon after the bloody scenes in the New Forest and immediately after the simile that compares the netting of partridges to Albion's eager sons at war (see 11. 97-110), must share much of their compassion with all the other "prey" that have felt fiery wounds. The poignance Pope's passages so hauntingly evoke is analogically seen as part of the universal situation 41 of all nature's creatures. It is of central significance, then, that Pope identifies his scenes of Rural Sport as "the Sylvan War" (1. 148), For throughout these seasonal scenes. Pope has repeatedly revealed "the likeness of the passions of the chase to the passions of war," and shown how "the violence of the one is an analogue for the violence of the other. "'^' Active human drives and energies that grow too "eager" — that are carried to excess or thrown out of control — can

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198 become aggression, become violence, become waro Yet whereas the wanton sport of the savage Normans had been disvalued, in this section of Wind s .o rFores t these rura], sports are for the most part valued, because thev are seen as providing man with a relatively harmless means of expending his aggressive drives, a means of controlling and containing the human tendencies to violence. Thus here the hunt figures a "moral substitute for war,"'*^ and this dimension of the Hunt Motif receives eloquent expression in the vision of Father Thames near the end of the poem: The shady Empire shall retain no Trace Of War or Blood, but in the Sylvan Chace, The Trumpets sleep, while chearful Horns are blown. And Arms employ'd on Birds and Beasts alone, (11. 371-374) Pope ends the Rural Sports section with a comparison that again suggests he is giving the royal forest of Windsor a mythical dimension. He compares Windsor to Arcadia, and Anne to Diana : Let old Arcadia boast her ample Plain, Th'Immortal Huntress, and her Virgin Train; Nor envy Windsor l since thy Shades have seen As bright a Goddess, and as chast a Queen; Whose Care, like hers, protects the Sylvan Reign, The Earth's fair Light, and Empress of the Main. (ll. 159-164) Pope has thrust us once more into an explicitly "golden" world. Yet even in this near-perfect "cosmos of Arcadia-

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199 Windsor-England,"^ the hunt appears, and indeed in its full ineluctable ambivalence. Here again "eagerness" imposes its dangers; even in the quondam world of metamorphoses, the chaser can suddenlv become the prey: it chanced that the rural nvmph Lodona, "eager of the Chace," strayed "Beyond the Forest's verdant Limits"; Pan saw and loved her, and "burning with Desire/ Pursu'd her Flight; her Flight increas'd his Fire." From Pan, Lodona "flew with furious Pace," as Pan, "more furious, urg'd the Chace" (11. 165ff.), The "furious" that here describes Pan's lusty pursuit of Lodona is probably not so sinister as the "furious" that earlier had described the savage Norman despots (see 1. 46), for in one dimension Pan simply represents the vital energy necessary to the continuance of life. The "office of Pan," according to Bacon, can be by nothing so lively conceived and expressed, as by feigning him to be the god of hunters; for every natural action, and so by consequence motion and progression, is nothing else but a hunting. Arts and sciences have their works, and human counsels their ends, which they earnestly hunt after. All natural things have either their food as a prey, or their pleasure as a recreation whichthey seek for, and that in a most expert and sagacious manner ( v/isdom of the Ancients ), Neither hunting nor passion is inherently wrong in itself. Yet a "furious" Pan could also figure discord and "Confusion"; for as Bacon had gone on to write. Pan "is not without a certain inclination and appetite to dissolve the world and fall back into the ancient chaos," So the

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200 threat to Lodona, having strayed outside the forest's"verdant Limits," is quite sinister. Therefore, much as British monarchs heard their subjects' cries (11, 85ff.), Lodona's prayers are answered at last by her "Celestial" Goddess: the "rural Nymph" is transformed into a "silver Stream" (llo 197ff.). Lodona, as transformed into the River Loddon by .'Diana (who as a type of Anne thus figures the Stuart Queen's quasi-miraculous transformation of the world), embodies those "reflections" that Pope ~ if we can rely on his estimate of Cooper' s Hill — saw as the essence of Local Poetry, the Kind of "reflections" so central in • Ausonius (who Pope is imitating here; see the Mosella 11. 189ffJ: I I Oft in her Glass the musing Shepherd spies The headlong Mountains and the downward Skies, The watry Land skip of the pendant Woods, And absent Trees that tremble in the Floods; In the clear azure Gleam the Flocks are seen. And floating Forests paint the Waves with Green. (11. 211-216) ^ In such a "watry Landskip" where "all things gaze themselves" (see Upon Appleton House 1, 637), we see another examp"-' of, and another basis for, the pervasive figurative method of Winds orForest — a poem "throughout which, the Descriptions of Places, and Images rais'd by the Poet, are still tending to some Hint, or leading into some Reflection, upon moral Life or political Institution."^^

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201 Martin Price believes that Lodona has been transmuted into an "image of art, the reflecting water in which the world 46 is framed." Moreover, this would be a verv special kind of art here, a highly resonant mythical art; for the whole LodonaLoddon sequence has been powerfully impelled by metamorphoses, and as Cassirer trenchantly reminds us: "If there is any characteristic and outstanding feature of ^ the mythical world, any law by which it is governed — it 47 is • • metamorphosis," Perhaps Pope's comment on Homer's "Bardic repetitions" will be pertinent to this Ovidian fable that culminates in an imitation of the "reflections" of Ausonius. In the "Essay on Homer's Battles" that prefaces his Iliad II (1716), Pope argues: "But may not one say Homer is in this like a skilful Improver, who places a beautiful Statue in a well-disposed Garden so as to answer several Vistas, and by that Artifice one single Figure seems multiply'd into as many Objects as there are Openings whence it may be viewed?" Maynard Mack, in connection with his study of Pope's disposition of his estate at Twickenham, observes that this comment corresponds less to Homer than to Pope's own "economy and polysemousness, Perhaps the "Artifice" is necessary for the "reflections" to occur. Thus in a poem that is an intermediary between the mirroring landscapes of Ausonius and Pope, Marvell had declared that "every figure" of a scene contains human meanings, but that "men the silent scene assist" ( Upon

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202 Appleton House llo 41-48 and 673-680) Given an auspicious occasion, the human art fills out the prophetic vision; the poet creates a rnvth. Moreover, just as the poet's artifice is necessarv to transmute the "first" world of contingent reality into a mythical "golden" world, only God -in the full reach of his miraculous Grace can bring about a complete transformation of the earth. So perhaps the Lodona-Loddon sequence is in some sense finally definitive of a crucial limit on the poem's apocalyptic resonance^ Diana could not preserve "her injur 'd Maid" except through metamorphosis into another state of being; Lodona could remain a "Virgin" only by melting into the "chast Current" of the Loddon (see llo 196ffo)o Even metamorphosis cannot exclude the quintessential dynamism of motion and change. And Anne is not God, only a finite analogue of God. Even at its most visionary (11, 355-422), Windsor-Forest only approaches though very closely then the fully millennial resonance of a "sacred" work such as Messiah (1712), but to Pope's mind his visionary poem of 1713 must have come as close to such "revealed" inspiration as a "secular" work can. Yet how curiously unsatisfying the word "secular" seems here, how inadequate to deal with the texture and values of a poem such as Windsor-Forest which seems to push towards the very limits of myth's capacity to actualize the potentialities of human desire.

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203 As "eager" huntress and as "reflecting" river, as an image of nature passing over into art and myth, as an emblem of the power of monarchs and of muses, as a linK 49 between the active and retired lives, Lodona in all her avatars could be argued to be perhaps the central "figure" in V/inds orForest Certainly the passage that describes her pursuit by the "furious" Pan and subsequent transformation into a river is the poem's structural pivot We were told at the beginning of her story that "the fair Lo dona was an "Offspring" of the Thames (11. 171-172), and as the River Loddon she "bathes the Forest where she rang'd before" (l. 208); more important, at the end of her story, we are told that she flows into the "great Father of the British Floods," and thence into the ocean (11, 217-234). The "watry Landskip of the pendant V/oods," first seen reflected in the Loddon' s "clear azure Gleam," is next surveyed with "joyful Pride" as the "tow' ring OaKs" of Windsor that rear their "growing Honours" on the shores of the Thames and its tributaries. The Loddon 's "watry Landskip" thus swells out to encircle the earth: for these same British floods" will by means of the Thames "pour" themselves into the currents of the world's oceans, the very currents on which England's "future Navies" (constructed out of Windsor's oaks) will carry the Peace and Plenty of a Stuart reign out to all the nations of the world, and thence return with the grateful "Tribute" of those nations. The river connects analogous

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204 "worlds," and the ocean joins all "worlds," So it is the Thames itself, nourished by the nation's Loddons, that functions as "the topographical feature hy which Pope connects the Forest to the Castle and Court of Windsor situated on its banks, to the City and Port of London, 50 and ultimatelv to the ends of the earth." The whole scene is one of transformations based on reciprocitv and mutual interchange. Thus the "great Father" of British "Floods" is both a bestower and recipient of "Tribute"; no other "current," not even the Eridanus, "swells the fabling Poet's Lays" so richly as the Thames, which "visits Windsor 's fam'd Abodes,/ To grace the Mansion of our earthly Gods." In this transitional passage (11. 219234), and throughout the poem (see especially the beautiful passage that begins at line 329), this "rev 'rend" father of rivers — whose "shining Horns" diffuse "a golden Gleam" (11, 329ff.) — functions as a locus of abundant energy and profound harmony, as a source and repository of the world's ordered variety, as a mythic center of value. By means of this mythical sequence of metamorphoses. Pope brings us next to a value center with a somewhat different locu? ; he has brought his poem to a consideration of inner peace. The next verse paragraph of WindsorForest (lines 235-258, a passage that shares many aspects of Windsor Cast;Le already considered above) is the poem's most explicit consideration of the value of rural

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205 51 retirement. In this verse paragraph. Pope images that Horation type of beatus ille or "Happy Man" who through the humble and serene cultivation, and contemplation, of his "garden" achieves self-knowledge and peace of mind the kind of vita contemplativa valued, and admirably practised, by a Scipio Africanus or a Titus Pomponius or a William Trumbull (see 11. 257-258), The passage begins with the sphere of monarchs (thus continuing some of the resonance gathered in from Windsor 's fam'd Abodes"), but quickly moves into the sphere of the Muses: Happy the Man whom this bright Court approves. His Sov 'reign favours, and his Country loves; Happy next him who to these Shades retires. Whom Nature charms, and whom the Muse inspires, 'yVhom humbler Joys of home-felt Quiet please. Successive Study, Exercise and Ease, (11. 235-240) VJe shall see these interior emphases developed throughout the rest of the passage, which as a whole primarily figures the peace of "the rational soul." Yet the transition here from one sphere of experience to another may seem noticeably rapid, even in the mythical world of a Winds or-Forest s Several factors impel the transition: to name one factor, "these Shades" in line. 237 obviously belong to the "royal" as well as to the "sylvan" sphere; to name another factor, the force of "his Country loves" in line 236 seems multiple — that man is happy whom his nation does love, is loved b^ his country; happy too is that man who loves his nation;

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206 indeed, also happy is that man who loves his "country," that is, his rural environment. There may be still another factor that helps impel this transition: Pope may have in mind here one man who can quickly and easily move bacK and forth between the two spheres, a man equally at home in 1713 with his Sovereign or with the Muses (and, indeed, perhaps a man driven into retirement once before and who might be again if the impending Hanoverian Succession came to pass). Professor Wasserman, whose analysis of this passage and its relationship to the passages before and after it is brilliantly suggestive, blandly assumes that Pope's "Happy Man" is specifically Sir William Trumbull* The syntax of lines 235-238 makes them difficult to interpret with any assurance, but Trumbull does not seem to be the best candidate. A fair case could be made for Trumbull, who loved so much "to read and talk of the classics in his retirement," and to whom Pope had dedicated his First Pastoral ; Sir V/illiam Trumbull (1639-1716) had been Secretary of State to William III and in 1698 had gone into permanent retirement in the environs of VJindsor Forest, where he held the office of verderer and where he became an early and warm mentor to the young Pope (it may even have been Trumbull who first suggested a poem on the Forest on one of their almost daily rides there together). Nevertheless, the couplet (11. 257-258) at the end of the passage (the couplet is Trumbull's only explicit appearance in the poem

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207 seems to suggest comparison rather than identification. And as Williams cautions, Trumbull seems never to have 53 been inspired by the Muse; he never attempted poetry* Yet George Granville, Lord Lansdowne, was a celebrated 54 poet, m 1713 if no longer. And in 1713, the first couplet (ll 235-236) of Pope's Happy Man passage — lines essentially added since the 1712 MS — must inescapably have referred to Granville, Moreover, the emphasis on the Muses in the following lines, and the fact that Granville too had once undergone retirement gather than serve V/illiam III seem to make the recent Secretary at Vi/ar a stronger candidate than Trumbull, or anyone else. One specific "inspiration" of the Muse seems to make Granville's case particularly relevant: one of the works that appeared in the 1712 first collected edition of Granville's poems was his "Imitation of the Second Chorus in the Second Act of Seneca's Thves tes," This chorus from Seneca had also been rendered by Marvell and Cowley and many other prominent seventeenth century poets, was quoted by Pope in 1712 in his first published letter and often quoted in his letters thereafter (in a 1722 letter to Bishop Atterbury Pope quotes Granville's version), and has been cited by Maynard Mack as one of the "classic delineations" of the beatus vir .^^ Probably written before the accession of Queen Anne, Granville's whole "Imitation" seems to anticipate a good deal of the force of Pope's beatus ille : Granville's opening seems

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208 particularlv relevant to Pope's context: V/hen will the Gods, propitious to our PraY'rs, Compose our Factions, and conclude our WarsI Ye Sons of Inarchus repent the Guilt Of Crowns usurped, and Blood of Parents spilt. For impious Greatness Vengeance is in Store, Short is the Date of all ill-gotten Pow'r.^o These lines seem unmistaKablv applicable to Vi/illiam III, and there is a strong possibility that the auspicious renewal, the new "golden" era, celebrated in Windsor Forest could have been conceived by Pope partly in terms of a "propitious" response to just such "Pray'rs" of loyal Englishmen in that former reign. The rest of Granville's "Imitation" defines the true inner peace of the beatus vir who is truly "Great" because his guard is "peaceful Innocence" and his guide "faithful Reason, Such a man is "happy" because he is without pride or strife or envy, and because he seeks no wealth but the crowning possessions of "a Virtuous Mind," He fearlessly sees the tempests rage and looks with equal eye on both the smiles and frowns of Fortune, whether "upon the Scaffold, or the Throne." He does not shrink at death, but "Serenely as he liv'd, resigns his Breath." He seeks not "great" acts, but rather the "good" ones of an honest heart and free conscience. Indeed, the "greatest King and Conqueror is he" who can be "Lord of his own Appetites"; such a "King" is "Blest with a Power that nothing can destroy,/ And all have equal freedom to enjoy"; so Granville writes:

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209 Place me, ye Povv'rsJ in some obscure Retreat, 0 keep me Innocent, make others Great; In quiet Shades, content with rural Sports, Give me a Life, remote from guilty Courts, Vi/here free from Hopes, or Fears, in humble Ease Unheard of I mav live, and die in Peace. Happy the Man who thus retired from Sight Studies himself, and seeks no other Light. (11. 12ff.) Coincidence possibly, commonplace certainly, but undeniably parallel to Pope's "Happy Man" is this Senecan beatus vir of Granville's. Yet because of the general suitability and universal relevance of Pope's version of the "Happy Man," and because of the venerable antiquity and pervasiveness of the tradition that nourishes his version, it is probably unnecessary, and possibly unwise, to seek a specific referent. There were countless "Happy Men" in and behind centuries of European poems about the • values of rural retirement. They all melt into a single figure. Moreover, the fact that the Happy Man passage in general underwent more alteration between the manuscript and the first printed version than any other segment of Wind.sor-Forest leads one to feel that Pope, over the last several months before publication^ very likely revised the passage so that in 1713 either friend — the now happily retired Trumbull, or the now royally favored Granville (whose "happiness" partly stemmed from his significant role in the Peace) -could, if he wished, read himself into the passage. And any man, in 1713 or any year, at least any man with some abilities and a large spirit, could with "equal freedom" live up to the passage.

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210 What does seem fairly plausible despite the syntax, --and perhaps worth stressing, is that it is not necessary to read the first two lines (235-236) of Pope's passage as referring to one "Happy Man," and the following lines through the rest of the passage as referring to a second "Happy Man" On the contrary, it seems possible to read the opening six lines, and the whole passage, as referring to only one "Happy Man," in two modes or two phases of a single virtuous existence. This single reference was much more clearly the case in the 1712 manuscript. In the main source for Pope's whole passage, the celebrated 0 fortunatos nimium that concludes the second Georgic {llo 458ff), Virgil oscillates between praise of the retired speculative philosopher and praise of the pious rural husbandman. The two roles Virgil nicely distinguishes. Pope compresses into one at least he unquestionably does so if we exclude the first couplet (11, 235-236), though I am not sure we have to maKe even this exclusion. Such a compression or conflation of "happy" roles, such a reconciliation of the claims of Fields and of Muses and perhaps even of Monarchs, Pope may be suggesting, is now possible because of the propitious era his poem is witness of. Because of the auspicious events leading up to Windsor-Forest and their crowning promise. Pope seems to be implying, the modes of experience discriminated by Virgil, and usually severed

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211 in the ordinarv experience of men, can now in 1713 be brought together can now fuse and commingle, as Granville's career testifies. The observance of a balanced life that does justice to all spheres of experience, is one of the habits Pope's passage advocates; Pope's "Happv Man" exemplifies a "golden mean": he wanders e „ thoughtful in the silent V^ood, Attends the Duties of the V/ise and Good, T'observe a Mean, be to himself a Friend, To follow Nature, and regard his End, (11. 249-252) The second couplet here alludes to the stoical principles of Cato as given famous expression by Lucan (ll, 381382). Some Years earlier. Sir William Temple, in an essay on "The Gardens of Epicurus," had likewise alluded to the epigram on Cato in the Pharsalia ; Temple, praising Moor Park as the "perfectest figure of a garden I ever saw," makes the allusion in a context that seems strikingly apposite to Pope's reconciliation of the varied spheres of experience: "For my own part I know not three wiser precepts for the conduct eit her of princ es .. or private men than -^^^^ servare modum, finemque tueri, naturamque sequi." According to Temple, and to Pope, such precepts are valuable in all spheres of human experience, public and

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212 private, at court or in the country. Indeed, a man who followed such wise precepts might be in both "places" at the same time, might simultaneouslv animate both court and countrv, as John Donne's "Idios" had eloquently argued in an Eclog ue exactly a century before WindsorForest ; No, I am there /~at Court_7. As heaven, to men dispos'd, is every where. So are those Courts, whose Princes animate, Not onely all their house, but all their State, Let no man thinKe, because he is full, he hath all. Kings (as their patterne, God) are liberall Not onely in fulnesse, but capacitee. Enlarging narrow men, to feele and see. And comprehend the blessings they bestow, ; So, reclus'd hermits often times do know More of heavens glory, than a worldling can. As man is of the world, the heart of man. Is an epitome of Gods great booke Of creatures, and man need no farther looke; So is the Country /~an epitome__7 of Courts, where sweet peace doth. As their one common soule, give life to both, I am not then /~away_7 from Court, Pope's "Idios," too, has "happily" comprehended the "blessings" of his liberal monarch, and her liberal Pattern, and looked into his heart to find that "sweet peace" which is the "common," life-giving soul of both Court and Country. Pope's whole account of his multiply-happy man is • likewise an epitome of God's great book of creatures. As Wasserman has shown. Pope's "Idios" engages in "a wide range of human studies carefully arranged in a hierarchy leading progressively to the purely spiritual";^^ he

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i 213 I moves from botany to medicine to chemistry to astronomy to geography to history and beyond: He gathers Health from Herbs the Forest yields. And of their fragrant Physick spoils the Fields: With Chymic Art exalts the Min'ral Pow'rs, And draws the Aromatick Souls of Flow'rs. Now marks the Course of rolling Orbs on high; O'er figur'd Worlds now travels with his Eye. Of ancient Writ unlocks the learned Store, Consults the Dead, and lives past Ages o'er, (11. 241ff.) Pope's beatus ille thus moves through "figur'd Worlds" of sensuous and intellectual perfection, and then finally somewhat higher: looks on Heav'n with more than mortal Eyes, Bids his free Soul expatiate in the Skies, Amid her Kindred Stars familiar roam, Survey the Region, and confess her Home! (11. 253-256) Only two dozen lines before we had heard that even Jove, subdued by "mortal" passion still, might change Olympus for a Windsor or a Cooper's Hill (11. 231-234); here this "happy" man is "blessed" with "more than mortal" eyes. Pope's entire verse paragraph, as IVasserman well says, is "a tightly organized progress of the soul," in which the lower stages of the progress foreshadow the higher stages. Pope's Happy Man seems ultimately intent on discovering the efficacy of God in nature and in history, and most of 59 all in his ovjn conscience. The next section of .Winds orForest (11. 259-328)^^ is an evocation of Windsor's Laurels Once again the

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214 poem moves into a remembrance of England's variegated past, yet this time to discover more honorific values. Thus Pope himself now proceeds to unlock a store of "ancient Writ," to consult the dead, and "live past Ages o'er." His own "Soul" now enraptured bv the "Visions" of the "sacred Nine" (see 11. 259ff.), the poet recalls those "Heroes" who have lived and died at Windsor -a place "V/here laurel 'd bards have struck the warbling strings,/ The seat of sages, and the nurse of kings" (Thomas Tickell, On the Prospect of Peace ). Together the Muses and the Monarchs have sanctified Windsor: the place is "sequester 'd" (l. 261) and "consecrated" (l. 267); it has been made "Venerable" by "God-like Poets" (l. 270); its "hallow'd Earth" contains in "weeping Vaults" the "ador'd Remains" of "old V/arriors" and triumphant kings (11. 299ff.). Thus V/indsor, as well as being a microcosm of the national life, is also a reservoir of national historv of its past achievements and enduring values. Pope views his scene in the context of mythical history, and he invests the royal Forest of 1713 with a tvpolociv of kings, and even with a typology of poets. In the poem's mythical view, Windsor's great kings and gifted poets have in a sense never really died, because their spirit throbs through England's ongoing history; they seem to revive in each true successor. As Matthew Prior had put it, "where old SPENCER sung, a new ELISA reigns, "^^

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215 V/indsor's "God-like Poets" number Surrey, Denham, Cowlev, and Granvilleo The poem records that "eternal Wreaths" shall grow on Cooper's Hill (where the Muses sport); we hear of Cowley's "living Harp"; and we hear of Surrey — "Matchless his Pen, victorious was his Lance" (see 11. 263-298). These poets seem to live again in Granville (especially Surrey, who in his twin careers was "the Granville of a former Age"); so "the Groves rejoice," because Granville shall "bless our soft Retreats," call "the Muses to their ancient Seats," and "crown the Forests with Immortal Greens," Perhaps it is appropriate here to recall, as Pope may have, the poem of fifteen years before in which Dryden had commended Granville as his poetic heir, as the only son of light in a dark age: Auspicious Poet, wert thou not my Friend, How could I envy, what I must commend J But since 'tis Natures Law in Love and V/it That Youth shou'd Reign, and with'ring Age submit, V/ith less regret, those Lawrels I resign. Which dying on my Brows, revive on thine„ Dryden continues: "Thine be the Lawrel then; thy blooming Age/ Can best, if any can, support" the declining stage; the age's "Setting-Sun still shoots a Glim'ring Ray,/ Like Ancient Rome, Majestick in decay. "^^ Dryden 's poem, as Pope was likely to have perceived it, seems to be about the continuity of experience: the continuous tradition of at least one good, honorable poet carrying on the

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216 values of civilizatiorio As Dryden had bequeathed the laurel, the Muses' flame, to Granville, so Granville will pass it on to Pope, Indeed, Pope, in the brighter, "long-expected Days" of 1713, sees Granville's auspicious promise, not onlv as fulfilled, but as propitiously enlarged; the glimmering ray of 1698 shines more radiant now: Granville will MaKe Wind sor Hills in lofty Numbers rise. And lift her Turrets nearer to the Skies; And Add new Lustre to her Silver Star These "ancient Seats" of Muses and Monarchs are luminous with the "golden Gleam" (cf, 1. 332) of reciprocity and continuity and vision; Vv'indsor's Laurels figure Renewal, After some very moving lines (311-318) that image the grave's blending together of amartyr such as Henry VI and a warrior such as Edward IV, Pope ends this section of Wind sorFore St by recalling some of the "Scars" of Stuart history (11, 319-326); no visible Laurels sprout from the obscure grave of Charles I -yet the poem, and the events it celebrates, will make that tomb "sacred," In a sense the anonymity of Charles's tomb is like the anonymity of Lodona's story (11, 173-174); Anne and Pope are both involved in a valid task of "resurrection" — a recovery of value and meaning. Each, poet and monarch, is renewing or creating anew a "body" of myth — one in the heterocosm of the poem, the other in the macrocosm

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217 Of the world's body, V/indsor-Forest both fictively and mimetically embodies, that is it creates and at the same time discovers, a "golden" world. Thus it is that we learn Anne has healed her country's scars, has knit up England's, indeed perhaps the world's, "Wounds": At length great ANMA said -Let Discord cease! She said, the Vi/orld obey'd, and all was Peace i"^ This divine analogy had been even more explicit in the 1712 manuscript : Till ANNA rose, and bade the Furies cease; Let there be Peace — She said; and all was Peace (MS, 11. 309-310) In its Monarch's hands lie the "salvation, or ruination," of the land.^^ "In that blest Moment" (11. 329ff.), Anne's "fiat" finds its correlative in a "figur'd" catalogue of British rivtrs (on whose "Banks Augusta /"a Roman name for London^? rose in Gold"). Around the "Throne" of their "God" (the "rev 'rend Thames"), these rivers enact a mythical pageant of elemental "peace" and "plenty." Here, as in most Local Poems, the catalogue figures Nature's Plenitude, the vast and ordered harmonious profusion with which God has endowed the "various" worlds inhabited by his creatures. The "tributary" waters that "swell" the Thames are a species that could easily bestow "Harvests" from "a hundred Realms" on their native monarch:

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218 The winding I .s,i s and the fruitful lame: The Kennet swift, for silver Eels renown 'd; The Loddon slow, with verdant Alders crown 'd: C ole whose darK Streams his flow'rv Islands lave; And chalKev ,We.y that rolls a milky Wave: The blue, transparent Vandalis appears; The gulphy Lee his sedgy Tresses rears. ^ And sullen Mole, that hides his diving Flood; And silent Pa rent, stain 'd with Dan ish Blood o (11. 340-348) These "silver Eels" had, of course, appeared earlier in another of the poem's catalogues (l. 143). Too, the appearance in this catalogue of the Loddon (now "slow," unliKe its "eager" namesake) provides a reminder, if we needed any, that the scene is mythical and analogical that the scene is likely to contain metamorphoses and "reflections." In this halcyon moment all nature grows calm, and the magnificent prophecy of Father Thames ensues (11. 355422).^ The river-deity hails "Sacred Peace the longexpected days that shall raise his glory "to the Stars." Henceforth the Muses' themes shall have to do only with the fame of the Thames, which now eclipses the Tiber, the Kermus, the Nile, the Volga, the Rhine, the Ganges, and all the great poets who celebrated these now lesser streams. Their "currents" melt into the Thames, because its "blessings" are those of "a peaceful Reign." The vision grows ever more resonant as Pope gathers in his own "harvests" from such prophetic "realms" as the Polli o and Georgics and Aeneid VI, and the Mosella and Polv-olbion and White-hall :

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219 Beholdl th' ascending Villa s on my Side Project long Shadows o'er the Chr-ystal Tyde, Beholdl Augusta s glitt'ring Spires increase. And Temples rise, the beauteous V/orKs of Peace, I see, I see where two fair Cities bend Their ample Bow, a new V^/hite-Hall ascend,' Such an "ample Bow" would seem to recall that other "conspicuous" Bow which, at an earlier regeneration, figured God's post-diluvial "Cov'nant" (see the close of Pa r ad ise Lost XI, which informs the last 50 lines of WindsorFore St )^ The poem begins to open out into "a messianic vision of a redeemed world with London as its New Jerusalem." From this point on the influence of Isaiah 60 begins to pervade Pope's vision; thus "mighty Nations shall inquire their Doom" at the new Whitehall, The World's great Oracle in Times to come; There Kings shall sue, and suppliant States be seen Once more to bend before a British QUEEN. As the vision continues to unfold, its "lucid Globe" (l 395) infolds all the treasures of all the regions of the eartho Moreover, British commerce will make those same regions wealthy, and "free," in turn; the whole process is suffused with reciprocal persuasion and mutual interchange, the Kind of generosity that enriches: The Time shall come, when free as Seas or Wind Unbounded Thames shall flow for all Mankind, Whole Nations enter with each swelling Tyde, And Seas but join the Regions they divide.

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220 Then "Earth's distant Ends our Glorv shall behold,/ And the new World launch forth to seeK the Old"; then "Ships of uncouth Form shall stem the Tyde,/ And Feather'd People crowd my wealthy Side": Oh stretch thy Reign, fair Peace j from Shore to Shore \ Till Conquest cease, and Slav'ry be no more: Till the freed Indians in their native Groves Reap their own Fruits, and woo their Sable Loves, Pe^u once more a Race of Kings behold. And other Mexico's be roof'd with Gold. If we must call this patriotism, we must acknowledge that it is an apocalyptic patriotism; such a "wedding of order and liberty becomes a pref iguration of a universal order of charity*"^^ Having rendered the "well-ordered concord" of what St Augustine would have called "domestic peace and "civil" peace. Pope goes on to conclude the prophecy with a glimpse — yet a resonantly compelling glimpse — of a Peace liKe that of "the celestial city": Exil'd by Thee from Earth to deepest Hell, In Brazen Bonds shall barb'rous Discord dwell: Gigantick Pride pale Terror gloomy Care And mad Ambition shall attend her there. There purple Vengeance bath'd in Gore retires. Her Weapons blunted, and extinct her Fires: There hateful Env^ her own Snakes shall feel. And Persecution mourn her broken Wheel: There Faction roar. Rebellion bite her Chain, And gasping Furies thirst for Blood in vain. Beyond this, as Wasserman so aptly declares, the visionary imagination cannot go. The utter banishment of these personifications of man's primordial Adversaries suggests

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221 that V/indsor-Forest aspires finallv to a vision of "the absolutely not the contingentlv real,"^^ This whole prophecy has gradually built up in us an awareness that Pope is envisioning — in and through the "figur'd Worlds" of the Forest of Windsor -something very close to a new heaven and a new earth. We feel the veritable large of "the solid state of eternity" in the illumined small of Anne's and Pope's "golden" Forest, Within the apocalyptic framework of such a vision. Peace and Plenty attain something like the status of religious symbols, which, according to Paul Tillich, "are directed towards the infinite which they symbolize and toward the finite through which they symbolize it. They force the infinite down to finitude and the finite up to infinity. They open the divine for the human and the 70 human for the divine." Adequate description of such symbols, and such a vision, seems to require one to invoice the aid of the doctrine of Incarnation. Thus Pope's not so very "unambitious" strains reveal in "the green Forests" of "Albion's Golden Days" a scene Where Peace descending bids her Olives spring. And scatters Blessings from her Dove-like Wing, (11. 423-430) Great Anna's "sacred Peace" is "blessed" because it analogically partici pa tes in that "perpetual peace" wrought by man's Redeemer and analogically oref igures

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222 that "Reign" of the last King, of which there "shall be 71 no end." Windsor-Forest seems in part designed to remind its reader that incarnate to some degree in every authentic human peace is that final transcendent Pax which is the end {"end" in the sense of t elos as well as 72 terminus) of all history. Such a "lasting Peace" (to use a phrase from Joseph Trapp's contemporary poem) as that in Windsor-Forest suggests that God will ultimately save man from history itself. V/indsor-Forest is the last poem of its kind. Possibly the finest Local Poem, it is unquestionably the last authentic example of that genre as I conceive it. Winds orFore St is also the last great English poem to see the auspicious potentialities of a "golden" world as analogical rather than merely conceptual, as incarnate in the landscape and in history, Windsor-Forest is also the last great English poem that envisions the throne as a center of value — as the "prestigious Center" of a whole vasx network of relationships and obligations, as the axis of nature's concentric "nest of boxes." The time would soon be past "when any serious writer could find his place to stand beside the throne. This Dryden had managed, and in his finest poems speaks as if the Establish ment, v;ith the monarchy its center, spoke through him. For Pope, after the death of Anne, the throne as center of the dream of the civilized community has become absurd.

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223 What he gives us instead, in various versions, is intimations of a throne usurped, or a throne occupied by 73 shadows. ..." Dryden himself, at the end of his career, had undergone the same shift away from the throne; as Arthur Hoffman says, to Dryden, "in the last 74 decade of his life, the king was nothing." This dissolution of the monarchical image is symptomatic and symbolic of the decay and collapse of a whole world order — a social structure and its consonant world view; as Albert Camus has said: ... by its consequences, the condemnation of the King is at the crux of our contemporary history. It symbolizes the secularization of our history and the disincarnation of the Christian God Up to now God played a part in history through the medium of the Kings. But His representative in history has been killed, for there is no longer a king. Therefore there is nothing but a semblance of God, relegated to the heaven of principles. 75 After the events of 1648-49 and 1688-89, and especially after the death of Anne, no one was likely to assert, as James I had, "the mystical reverence that belongs unto 76 them that sit in the throne of God," What lay ahead for Pope was "an alternative center, and a power of a 77 different kind," to be put to use in poems of a different genre. What lay ahead for other poets were Gron gar Hi ll and The Seasons and finally the Ode to Psyche and Landscape without Place .Windsor-Forest is the eloquent consumr.iation and moving terminus of a genre that is

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224 anvthing but "dreary," a genre that does not lend a shred of support to assertions such as Kenneth Clark's that the "idea that an appreciation of nature can be combined with a desire for intellectual order has never 79 been acceptable in England." I believe we can now conclude that these Local Poems locate man's complex place in nature in poetic wholes that are built, like the world thev celebrate, according to Number, Measure, and V/eight. \

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NOTES 1. This chapter derives from the studies of Wind sor" Forest by Maynard Mack, College English. VIl""(1946), 263-273; Earl Wasserman, The Sub tler La nguage (Baltimore, 1959), pp. 101-168; and Aubrey Williams, "Introduction" to Windso rForest pp. 125-144 in -Pas.tA?^a.l,_Poetry and An Essay^pn C riticism e d Emile Audra and Aubrey Williams TLOndon and New Haven, 1961), vol. I of The, TwicKenham Edition,, of the Poem s, of Al exa nde,r Pope My debt to Professor Vi/asserman, and especially to Professor Williams, is general and pervasive. All quotations from Pope's poetry are taken from the Twickenham edition, and I have made free use of its notes. 2. See Williams, p. 13.7, Cf. Elijah Fenton's "Verses on the Union," where it is implied that Heaven helped unite Scotland and England. The multitude of poems celebrating the Peace of Utrecht included, besides those of Pope and Joseph Trapp, such important pieces as Thomas Tickell's On the Prospect of Peace. William Diaper's Dr vades and John Gay's Rural Sports. 3. To. the. Palace o f Wisd om (Garden City, N. Y. 1964), p. 3 and p. 155. 4. Again, I speak only of emphases. By adding the term "golden" to the terms "green" and "second," I am attempting to fill the gap I sense in Harry Berger's terminology (Berger's essays are cited in Part II of my fourth chapter). Berger simply equates "green" and "golden" and therefore seems to leave no room for the texture and values of such an apocalyptic work as Windi;,o,rF,ore §_;^ 5. See Mi re e a Eli ad e, Cosjaos_a.Qd_Hi_st ory ;. The M yth.^of the Eternal Return, trans. Willard R. Trask CNew York, 1959}, pp. 12ff.; cf. the introductory pages of my fourth chapter. 6. Pope used this phrase the year before Windso^zFor^SX in his amalgam of Isaiah and the Po 1 1 i,o ; Mes siah "" "* (1712), 1. 104; cf Dryden's ls„4nne J< U leorew 1. 15 and Pope's E^tajsh for Robert and"Mary Digby, 1. 9. 225

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226 7. See IVilliams, pp. 143-144. 8. This paragraph is based on the material in vol. I of the Twickenham edition and Elizabeth HandasYde, Granville the Polite (London, 1933). Another possible connection between Granville and Winds orForest does not appear to have been observed: lines 423-426 of Pope's poora — especially "Gods," "Golden Days," and "Scenes" — may derive part of their force from the visionary final scene Granville added to his play The British Enchant ers in 1707 <> The play had been written several years earlier, but was first produced about the time Pope met Granville, The visionary scene Granville added to the revised version of his play represented Queen Anne enthroned in Woodstock Park amidst "all the Triumphs" of her reign and prophesied "On Brit ish Ground, a future Age of Gold," auspicious of Stuart "Piety and Peace" (see Granville's Poems upon Several Occasions /~1712_7 pp. 264-267 and Handasyde 9. John S. Coolidge, "Great Things and Small: The Virgilian Progression," Comparative Literature XVII (Winter, 1965), 10-12. 10. Geoffrey Tillotson, On the Poetry of Pope (1950), p. 89; the rest of this paragraph derives from the Twickenham notes and introduction, pp. 3.36 and 148, 11. Perhaps we should recall that Hopkins, like Granville primarily an Ovidian celebrant of "heroic" love, had himself later written a panegyric on a royal place as auspicious of an impending golden age; Pope imitates the later Hopkins poem — V/hite-hall (1698) — near the close of Windsor-Forest (see 11. 375ff, and notes). 12. Cf. Smith Palmer Bovie, "The Imagery of Ascent-Descent in Vergil's Georgics. American Journal of Phil ol ogy LXXVII (1956), 340-341 and Addison's Essay on Virail's Georgics 13. See Pope's Summer 1. 45; the whole pastoral resembles the first forty-two lines of Windsor-Forest Lines 7ff. in Winds orFore St obviously allude to Milton's Eden in Paradise Lost especially Book IV. 14. Mercator's Historia Mundi as quoted and discussed in Part III of my first chapter. 15. Summa .. c ontra Gentiles II, 45; cf, A. 0. Love joy. Great Chain of Being pp. 75-76.

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227 16. The Subtler Language p. 122; cf, pp. 110-113. Vv'asserman s reading places far more stress on Con cordia discors and its political implications in V/indsor-Forest than on universal analogy; Williams on the other hand, more accurately I believe, gives more prominence to universal analogy, 17. M. M. Ross on the Christian doctrine of analogy as exemplified in Richard Hooker, "Ruskin, Hooker, and •The Christian Theoria,'" in Essays in English Literature . ed. Millar Mac Lure and F, W, Watt (Toronto, 1964 ) p. 290. 18. See Williams, pp. 133ff, 19. Cf. Pope's Summe r. 1. 65 and his Vertumnus and Pornona 1. 112. 20. See "The Retreate" and "Rules and Lessons" in Silex Scintillan s 1650. I discuss Vaughan's lines more fully in Chapter One, Part III. 21. These multiplysignific ant "Oaks" reappear in the poem (11. 221ff, and 385ff.); cf, Wasserman, pp. 109ff. and Williams, pp. 136-140. 22. Cf. Carevj's To Mv Friend G. N. from Wrest 11, 5966 and Pope's own Ovidian Vertumnus and Pomona Besides Williams and Wasserman on this passage in WindsorForest see the recent comments of Maynard Mack, Secretum Iter ; Some Uses of Retirement Literature in the Poetry of Pope," in Aspects of the Ei ghteenth Century ed. Earl Wasserman (Baltimore, 1965), pp. 222-223. 23. Mack, Secretum Iter p. 224. 24. See Sapho to Fhaon 1. 184 and To Burlington 1, 57. 25. See Erwin Panofsky, "Et in Arcadia Ego," in Philosoph y and History ed. Raymond Klibansky and H, J. Paton (New York, 1963), pp. 240-247, 26. Raymond D. Havens, The Influence of Milton (Cambridge, Mass., 1922), pp. 236-237. ~" 27. The OED as recorded in the Twickenham notes; cf. Mack, "On Reading Pope," College English VII, 263-273. 28. Alex ander Pope; The Poetry of Allusion (Oxford, 1959), p. 33; my whole paragraph is indebted to Brower's account (especially pp. 40-45) of the force of laeta seges in Virgil and Dryden and Pope,

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228 29. Brower, pp, 250-251 and p, 44. 30. See Threnodia Auqustalis llo 346ff. 31. Cf. Williams, p. 144 and pp. 141-142. 32. Pope's note indicates that these "savage Laws" refer to the Forest Laws introduced into England bv the Normans; these laws resulted in a rapid extension of "forest" land -land outside (f oris ) the common law reserved for royal hunting; on~this see the Tv-jickenham notes which afford abundant materials for the study of Pope's rendering of the New Forest "Tyrannies" and which I use extensively in this sectiono 33. By Brower, Poetry of Allusion p. 52. Brower 's view is clearly corrected by the analyses of Wasserman and Williams, whose review of Brower 's book ( MUvJ LXXVI Z April, 1961_7p 364) should also be consulted. 34. Chronicle of the Kings of Fngland (1847), p. 311, as quoted in the Twickenham notes. 35. John Robert Moore, "V/i ndsor Fore st and vailiam III," MW, LXVI (1951), 451-454; and following his lead, Wasserman and Williams. 36. The manuscript is reproduced in facsimile and analyzed in Robert M., Schmitz, Pope's V/i nd.sor Forest 1712: A Study of the Washinqt on University Holograp h fSt. Louis, 19527^ — 37. See V/illiams, p. 135; this legend was said to have influenced Edward Ill's choice of Windsor as the meeting place for his newly founded Order of the Garter, 38. See John Coolidge, "Great Things and Small," 12 and Ep K, Rand. The Magica l Ar t of Virgil (Cambridge, Masso, 1931), p, 218; cf. Williams, pp. 138-140, to whom my discussion of Rural Sports is indebted. 39. Page 130 in V;/asserman, who quotes Bacon on p. 127. 40. By Maynard Mack, in the introduction to the selections from Pope in The Major Bri ti sh Writers (New York, 1954), I; Mack's comment seems far more to the point than that of Brower, who says that Pope "betrays far too much tenderness for the victims" of the chase ( Poetry of A llusion, p. 56).

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229 41. Perhaps some of the poignance in Pope's scenes of Rural Sport derives from the condemnation of the chase expressed in Drvden's Of the Pythagorean PhilosoDhy. From Ovid's Me tamor phoses XV ; both the poignant and the analogical dimensions of Rural Sports are pronounced in William Diaper's Drvades (1712). — 42. Williams, pp. 139-140. 43. See Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being p. 187 and Williams, pp. 139-140. 44. Wasserman, p. 138. 45. Pope's own comment on the "Art" of Cooper's ?Iill in his Ilia d. Book XVI, 466n.; cf. Williams, pp. 134-135. 46. Martin Price, To the Pal ac e of V/isdom p. 149. 47. Cassirer, An Essay on Map (New Kaven, 1944), p. 81, 48. "A Poet in His Landscape: Pope at Twickenham," in From Sensibility to Romantici sm, ed. F. W, Hilles and Harold Bloom (Oxford, 19657, p. 14, 49. See Wasserman on this aspect of the Lodona-Loddon sequence, 50. Williams, p. 140, 51. Lines 235-258 of Windsor-Fore st should be compared with Pope's own "Ode on Solitude" (possibly his first poem); for the backgrounds of retirement literature and its relevance to Pope, see R(/stvig (The Haopy Man) and Mack ("Reflections on a Twickenham Grotto" and Secretum Iter"), 52. Spence's Anec dotes, ed. Singer (1820), p. 194, as quoted (p. 1277 in the Twickenham edition, which is the source of information for the rest of this paragraph. 53. See the note to line 235 in the Twickenham edition; cf, the 1712 MS, 11, 236-237. 54. Indeed, the remark of Dr. Felton, quoted bv Kandasyde (Granville the Polite, p. 124), on Granville's 1712 edition, though hyperbolic, may possibly provide a partial gloss for some of the language in lines 259-290 of WindsorForest : in his Dissertation on

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230 Reading the Classics and formipq a. Just Style Felton applauds the gathering together of Granville's poems: "some Kind Hand hath assembled the Scattered Stars, and added another Lvre to the Constellations," 55, See the Spectator of June 16, 1712; Pope's Corre spondence II, 109, 140, and 302; and MacK's Secretum Ite r. po 241 and passim 56, Poems upon Several Occasions (1712), pp. 102ff., 11. Iff.; cf. pp. 100-101, 57, The. Gardens of Epicurus ed, A. F. SieveKing (London, 1908), p. "250; italics mine. Mack cites Temple's passage in connection with the Epistle to Burlington ( "Secretum Iter ." p. 212). 58, The Subtler Language pp. 148-150. 59, Cfo Etienne Gilson on St. Augustine in The Christian Philosophy of St Thomas Aquinas trans. L. K. ShooK "(New YorK, 1956), p. 134. 60, Pope's evocation of Windsor's Laurels draws on Virgil's celebration of Italy's heroes in the second Georqic (11. 167ffo); among the numerous sources in English poetry, the most influential for Pope are Poly-olbion (especially Song XVII), Cooper's Hill and Windsor Castle 61, A Letter to Monsieur Boileau Despreaux; Occasion *d by the Victo r y at Blenheim, 1704 1. 201; cf. "The Preface" to An Ode. Humbly Inscrib'd to the Queen 1706. 62, To Mr^ "Granville." on his E xc ellent Tragedy, call' d "Heroic K Love" (1698); the year before Granville had commended Dryden's translation of Virgil,, 63, The Twickenham edition compares John Philips, Cyder (II, 637ff.); see also Diaper's Drvades 11. 631651. 64, See Williams, pp. 141-142. 65, As the Twickenham edition records. Pope's lines parallel the similar catalogues of rivers in the Mosella (11. 349-374); the Fairie Queene (IV, xi); P oly-olbion (Song XVII); and Milton, A t a Vacation Exercise.

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231 66. Pope's lines 349-354 closely parallel Diaper's Dry a des 11. 445ff., as well as Hopkias's V.Tiiteha 11 11. 259-260, Good commentary on Pope's prophecy (11. 355-422) has been provided by MacK, Co llege English VII; Vv'asserman; B rower. Po etry of Allusion ; Williams; and Martin Price, To the Palace^ of Wisdom 67. Price, Ia_lhe_£a.lace_of_Wi sdom pp. 148-149. The influence of Isaiah on Pope's passage has been amply documented by MacK (College_ En glish ) and Williams. 68. Price, To t he Palace of Wisdom, pp. 149-150. 69. Cf. Rosemond Tuve on the function of personifications, Images._qnd Themes in, Five Po e m s by Milton (Cambridge, Mass., 196277^^7. 70. Systema tic Theology (Chicago, 1951), vol. I, p. 240, 71. See Milton's On the Morning of Chris t's Nativity. 1. 5 and Paradise Lost XII, 315-330. 72. See Gilson, Spi rit o f Mediaeval r^ilosophy. p. 398 and pp. 383-402. 73. .Maynard Mack, "'The Shadowy Cave : Some Speculations on a Twickenham Grotto," in Restoration and EighteenthCentury .Literature.;_E,ssays, in Hon or of.. A lan Doupa Id .McKil lop ed. Carroll Camden~TChicago, "196377 pp. 87-88. "74. John Dryden's Imagery (Gainesville, 1962), pp. 13 Iff. 75. The Rebel, trans. Anthony Bower (New York, 1956), p. 120, as quoted by Hoffman, pp. 131-132. 76. P olitical Works, ed. C. H. Mcllwain (London, 1918), p. 62. 77. Mack, "Speculations on a Twickenham Grotto," p. 88 and passim 78. Douglas Bush spoke of "the dreary topographical genre" in his English Literature in the Earlier Seve pteentl') Century (Oxford, 1945T7^p. 169. 79. Landscape into Art (Boston, 1961), p. 70.

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233 Boas, George, trans. The HieroalvDhics of Horapol!(,Q New York, 1950. Bonaventura, Saint. The Mind's Road to God Translated by George Boas. Indianapolis, 1953. Bovie, Smith Palmer. "The Imagery of Ascent-Descent in Vergil's Georqics American Journal of Philology LXXVII (195677^3. trans. Virgil's "Georqics"; A Modern Enqlish Verse Translation Chicago, 1956. BrooKe, C. F. Tucscer and Paradise, N. B., eds, Enqlish Drama 1580-1642 Boston, 1933. Brower, Reuben A. Alexander Pope; The Poetry of Allusion Oxford, 1959. Browne, Bishop Peter. Th|inqs Diy i ne and Supernatural Conceiyed by Analogy with Things Natural and Human London, 1733. Browne, Sir Thomas. Religio Medici Edited by Jean-Jacques Denonain. Cambridge, 1953. Bush, Douglas. English Literature in. the Earlier Seventeenth Century Oxford, 1945. Camus, Albert. The Rebel Translated hy Anthony Bower. New York, 1956. Carew, Thomas. The Poems of Thomas Carew . Edited by Rhodes Dunlap. Oxford, 1949. Cassirer, Ernst. An Essay on Man New Haven, 1944. The Individual and the Cosm o s in Renaissance Philosophy Translated by Mario Domandi. New York, 1963. The Philosophy of Symbolic Forms Translated by Ralph Manheim. 3 vols. New Haven, 1953-1957. Chambers, A. B. "'I Vlas But an Inverted Tree': Notes toward the History of an Idea," Studies in the Renaissance VIII (1961), 291-299. Charney, Maurice. Shakespeare $ Roman Plays; The Functiop of Imagery in the Dram a. Cambridge, Mass., 1961. Cheyne, Dr. George. An Essay on Regimeq London, 1740.

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234 Philosophical Principles of Religion London, 1715, Clark, Sir Kenneth. Landscape into Art Boston, 1961. Coolidge, John S. "Great Things and Small: The Virgilian Progression," Comparative Literature XVII (Winter, 1965), 1-23. Cope, JacKson I. The ^ Metaphoric Structure of Paradise Lost Baltimore, 1962. Cowley, Abraham. Essays. Plavs and S un dry Verses Edited by A. R. Waller. Cambridge, 1906. Poems Edited by A. R. Waller, Cambridge, 1905. Cubeta, Paul M. "A Jonsonian Ideal: 'To Penshurst,'" £Q, XLII (January, 1963), 14-24. Curtius, Ernst Robert. European Literature and the Latin Mir^dle Ages Translated by Willard R. TrasK. New York, 1953. Damon, Phillip. Modes of Analogy in Ancient and Medieval Verse University of California Publications in Classical Philology, XV, no. 6. Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1961. Denham, Sir John. The Poetical Works of S i r John Denham Edited by T. H. Banks, Jr. New Haven, 1928. Dennis, John. The Critical Work s of John Dennis Edited by E. N. Hooker. 2 vols. Baltimore, 1939-1943. Diaper, William. The Complete Works of V/illiam Diaper Edited by Dorothy Broughton. London, 1952. Donne, John. Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions Ann Arbor, 1959. • The Poems of John Donne Edited by Herbert J. C, Grierson. 2 vols. Oxford, 1912. The Sermons of John Donne Edited by Evylyn M. Simpson and G. R. Potter, 10 vols, Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1956. Drayton, Michael. The Works of Michael Dravton Edited by J. William Hebel, K. Tillotson, and B. H. Newdigate. 5 vols. Oxford, 1961.

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235 DrvQ'en, John. The Poems of John Drvden Edited bv James Kinslev. 4 vols. Oxford, 1958. Durling, Dwight L. Georgic Tradition in English Poetry Columbia Universitv Studies in English and Comparative Literature, no. 121. New York, 1935. Eliade, Mircea. Cosmos and History: The NWth of the Eternal Return Translated by Willard R. TrasK. New York, 1959. Erasmus, Desiderius. On Copia of Words and Ideas Translated by D. B. King and H. D. Rix. Milwaukee, 1963. Fairfax, Thomas, Lord, The Poems Edited by Edward Bliss Reed. New Haven, 1909. Fletcher, Giles and Phineas. Poetical V7orks of Giles and Phineas Fletcher Edited by F. S. Boas. Cambridge, 1908. Frangois de Sales, Saint. An Introduction to a Devout Life Translated by John Yakesley. 3rd ed. Rouen, 1614, Frye, Northrop. Anatomy of Criticism Princeton, 1957. Gay, John. The Poetical Works of John Gay Edited by G. C. Faber. London, 1926. Gilson, Etienne. The Christian Philosophy of Saint Augustine Translated by L. E.~M. Lynch. New York, 1960. The Christian Philosophy of St. T homa^ A ouinas Translated by L. K. Shook. New""York, 1956 The Philosophy of St. Bonaventure Translated by Dom Illtyd Trethowan and F. J. Sheed. London, 1940, • The Spirit of Mediaeval Philosophy Translated by A. H. C. Downes, New York, 1940. Glover, T. R. Life and Letters in the Fourth Century New York, 1924. Granville, George, Lord Lansdowne. Poems up o n Sevey^ X Occasions London, 1712. Guthrie, W. K. C. Orpheus and Greek Religion London, 1935.

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236 Hamilton, A. C. The Structure of Allegory in "The Faerie Queene ." Oxford, 1961. HandasYde, Elizabeth. Granvville the Polite London, 1933. Hardison, 0. B. Jr. The Enduring Monument Chapel Hill, 1962. Havens, Rayinond D. The Influence of Milton on English Poetr Y Cambridge, Mass., 1922. Heller, Eric. The Disinherited Mind New York, 1957. Herbert, George. The V/orKs of George Herbert Edited by F. E, Hutchinson. Oxford, 1941. HerricK, Robert. The Poetical V/orks of Robert Herrick Edited by L. C. Martin. Oxford, 1956. Hibbard, G. R. "The Country House Poem of the Seventeenth Century, Journal o f the V/arburg and Court au Id Institutes XIX (1956), 159-174. Hoffman, Arthur VJ. John Drvden's Imagery Gainesville, 1962. Hollander, John, ed. Ben Jonson The Laurel Poetry Series. New York, 1961. Hopkins, Charles. History of Love London, 1695. vm ite-hall; or. The COURT of ENGLAND ^' London 1698. Humphries, Rolfe, trans. Ovid; Metamorphoses Bloomington, 1958. James I, King. Political Works Edited by C. H. Mcllwain. London, 1918. Jammer, Max. Concepts of Space; The History of Theories of Space in Physics New York, 1960, Johnson, Samuel. Lives of the English Poets Edited by G. B. Hill. 3 vols. Oxford, 1905. ed. The VJorks of the English Poets London, 1779. Jonson, Ben. Ben Jonson Edited by C. H. Herford and Percy Simpson. 11 vols. Oxford, 1925-1952.

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237 Lee, Nathaniel. To Mr, Drvden. on his Poem of Paradise London, 1674. Leighton, Robert. Lectures and A ddresses Translated by William West. London, 1870. Lilly, Marie Loretto. The Georqic; A Contribution to the Study of the Verqilian Type of Didactic Poetry Baltimore, 1919. Love joy, A. 0. The Great Chain of Being Cambridge, Mass., 1936. Lovelace, Richard. The Poems of Richard Lovelace Edited by C. H. Wilkinson. Oxford, 1953. MacCaffrey, Isabel Gamble. Paradise Lost as "Myth ." Cambridge, Mass., 1959. Mack, Maynard. "A Poet in His Landscape: Pope at Twickenham," in From Sensibility to Romanticism Edited by F. W. Hilles and Harold Bloom. Oxford, 1965. Pp. 3-29. "On Reading Pope," Co llege English VII (1946), 263-273. Secretum Iter ; Some Uses of Retirement Literature in the Poetry of Pope," in Aspects of the Eighteenth Century Edited by Earl Wasserman. Baltimore, 1965. Pp. 207-243. ed. The Augustans vol. V of English Ma sterpieces Englewood Cliffs, N. J., 1961. ed. The Maior British Writers New York, 1954 "'The Shadowy Cave' : Some Speculations on a Twickenham Grotto," in Restoration an d Eighteenth Centur y Literature; Essay< p in H onor of Alan Duoald McKillon Edited by Carroll Camden. Chicago, 1963. Pp. 69-88. Maclean, Hugh. "Ben Jonson's Poems; Notes on the Ordered Society," in Essays in English Literature from the Renaissan ce to the Victorian Age, Prese nted to A. S. P Woodhouse 1964 Edited by Millar MacLure and F. W. Watt. Toronto, 1964. Pp. 43-68. Male, Emile. The Gothic Image Translated by Dora Nussey. New York, 1958.

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238 Martz, Louis L. "Henrv Vaughan: The Man Within," PMLA LXXVIII (March, 1963), 40-49. The Poetry of Meditation Rev. ed. New Haven and London, 1962. Marvell, Andrew. The Poems and Letters of Andrew Marvell Edited bv H. M. Margoliouth. 2 vols. 2nd ed. Oxford, 1952. Mazzeo, Joseph A. "A Critique of Some Modern Theories of Metaphysical Poetry," MP, L (November, 1952), 88-96. "A Seventeenth-Century Theory of Metaphysical Poetry," Romanic Review XLII (December, 1951), 245-255. • Medieval Cultural Traditions in D ante's "Comedy ." Ithaca, 1960. "Metaphysical Poetry and the Poetic of Correspondence," Jtii, XIV (April, 1953), 221-234. "Universal Analogy and the Culture of the Renaissance," Jill, XV (April, 1954), 299-304. Milton, John. John Milton; Complete Poems and Maior Prose Edited by Merritt Hughes. New YorK, 1957. Moore, John Robert. Windsor Forest and William III," MLt^ LXVI (1951), 451-454. Nicolson, Majorie. The Breaking of the Circle 2nd ed. New York, 1960. Ogden, Henry V. S. and Margaret S. E nglish T a ste in Landscape in the Seventeenth Century Ann Arbor, 1955. 0 Hehir, Brendan. "Vergil's First Georgic and Denham's Cooper's Hill ." PQ. XLII (October, 1963), 542-547. Otway, Thomas. T he Works of Thomas Otwav Edited by J. C. Ghosh. 2 vols. Oxford, 1932. Owens, Joseph. "Analogy as a Thomistic Approach to Being," Medieval Studies XXIV (1962), 303-322. Panofsky, Erwin. "Et in Arcadia Ego," in Philosophy and History Edited by Raymond Klibansky and H. J. Paton, New York, 1963. Pp. 240-247.

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239 Parry, Adam, "Landscape in GreeK Poetry. Y ale_ Cl 3.s slcaI Studies. XV (1957), 3-29. Phelan, Gerald B. Saint Thoma s a nd Analogy Milwaukee, 1948. Pope, Alexander. Th e Prose WorKs o f Alexander Pope Edited by Norman Ault. Oxford, 1936. • The Twi cKenham Edition of _.^t he Poems of Alexander Pope Edited by John Butt et al 6 vols. London and New Haven, 1939-1961. Price, Martin. To th e Pa lac e o f.J^'isdiOiri: Studies in Order and Energy fro m Dryden to Blake Garden City, N. Y. 1964. Priestly, F. E. L. "Pope and the Great Chain of Being," in Essays in English Literatu re f r om the jenaissance to the Victorian _Age Presented to A ^ S^.. P.^vVoodhou^.e 1964. Edited by Millar MacLure and F. W. V/att. Toronto, 1964. Pp. 213-228. Prior, Matthew. The Literary V/ork s ,„.pf ,„Matthew.,.P^r.ior Edited by H. Bunker Wright and Monroe K. Spears. 2 vols. Oxford, 1959. Puttenham, George, The Art e of E nglish P oesie Edited by Gladys WillcocK and Alice ir/alker, Cambridge, 1936. Rand, E. K. Founders of the Middle A ges Cambridge, Mass,, 1928. • The M agi£,a 1, ^ A rt of Vi rqi 1 Cambridge, Mass., 1931. Roper, Alan. Dryden 's Poetic Kingdoms. New York, 1965. Ross, M. M. "Ruskin, Hooker, and 'The Christian Theoria,'" in £s^YS_lfl_En.gl is h_Xit-erature from the Ren ais s ance to ,the_Victprian_Aqe._Presented to A.^S. P. VJoodhouse 196 4 Edited by Millar MacLure and F. W. Watt." Toronto, 1964. Pp. 283-303. R/^stvig, Maren-Sofie, The Happy Man. 2 vols, Oslo, 1954-1958. ~~ — — — "'Upon Appleton House' and the Universal History of Man," English Studies. XLII (December, 1961), 337-351. Schmitz, Robert M. Popel_s Jivinds.or Forest 1712; A Stud^ o|_Uie_li3shinc[Xon_JJi3^ St. Louis, 1 QESO

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240 Sidnev, Sir Phillip. V/orlcs Edited by Albert Feuillerat. Cambridge, 1939. Stirnm6rs, Joseph H., ed. Marvell The Laurel Poetrv Series. New York, 1961. Svendser), Kester. Mi lton an d Science Cambridge, Mass., 1956. Temple, Sir William. T he Gardens of E p ic urus. Edited by A. F. SieveKing. London, 1908, Tillich, Paul. Sys t ematic Th eology 3 vols. Chicago, 1951, Til lot son, Geoffrey. On the ^Poetr y of Pope Oxford, 1950, "Pope's Sense of Beauty," in Disc u ss i ons of Alexande r Pop e. Edited by Rufus A. Blanshard, Boston, 1960. Pp. 74-79. Trapp, Joseph. Peace A Poem London, 1713, Tuve, Rosemund. Elizabet han and Me taphysical Imagery Chicago, 1947. • Images and. .Themes in F ive Poems b y Milton Cambridge, Mass., 1962. Vaughan, Henry. Silex Scinti llans. London, 1650. Waller, Edmund. The Po ems of Edmund Wal ler Edited by G. Thorn Drury. 2 vols. London and New York, 1901. Waller stein, Ruth. Studies in SeventeenthCe ntur y P oetic, Madison, 1950, Warnke, Frank J. "Sacred Play: Baroque Poetic Style," Journal of Ae sthetics and Art Crit icism XXII (Summer, 196477397-404. V/asserman, Earl R. "Nature Moralized: The Divine Analogy in the Eighteenth Century ELH, XX (March, 1953), 39-76. — ^ jh 9 Sub Xlgr,L..a n gu age Baltimore, 1959. Webber, Joan, Contrarv_ Music .:^The,. Prose Style of John Don ne Madison, 1963. Williams, Aubrey. Review of Reuben Arthur Brower, Alexan der Ppoe. The Poetry^ pf_ Allusion in mjif LXXVI (April, 196l77~359-365.

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241 Williamson, George, The Proper Wit of Po etry Chicago, 1961. Wimsatt, W. K. and Beardsley, Monroe. The Verbal Icon. New Yotk, 1962. Wind, Edgar. Pagan f^Wsteri es. in the Renaissance New Haven, 1958.

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Biographical SKetch Clifford Earl Ramsev III was born August 24, 1937, in Fort Vorth, Texas. In June, 1955, he graduated from Arlington Heights High School in Fort Worth. From 1955 to 1961 he attended Rice University, where in June, 1959, he received the degree of Bachelor of Arts (in history) and in June, 1961, tne degree of Master of Arts (in English). From September, 1961, until the present time he has pursued worK toward the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate School of the University of Florida. From 1959 to 1961 Mr. Ramsey held a NDEA Title IV Fellowship at Rice University, and from 1963 to 1964 a Graduate Fellowship from the University of Florida, In the summer of 1961 he was an Instructor in English at South Texas Junior College in Houston, Texas; from 1961 to 1963 he was an Interim Instructor in English at the University of Florida; and since 1964 he has been an Instructor in English at Yale University, Clifford Earl Ramsey III is married to the former Monna v;ier and is the father of two children. He is a member of the Modern Language Association.

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This dissertation was prepared under the direction of the chairman of the candidate's supervisory committee and has been approved bv all members of that committee. It was submitted to the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences and to the Graduate Council, and was approved as partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophv. December 17, 1966 Dean, Graduate School Supervisory Committee:


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