;
Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay,
And all its varying rainbows die away;
Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires,
The meteor drops, and in a flash expires.
As, one by one, at dread Medea's strain
The sick'ning stars fade off the ethereal plain;
As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand oppress'd,
Closed one by one to everlasting rest;--
Thus, at her fell approach and secret might,
Art after Art goes out, and all is night.
See skulking Faith to her old cavern fled,
Mountains of casuistry heaped o'er her head;
Philosophy, that leaned on Heaven before,
Shrinks to her second cause and is no more.
Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires,
And, unawares, Morality expires.
Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine,
Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine.
Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos, is restored,
Light dies before thy uncreating word;
Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall,
And universal darkness buries all.(142)

In these astonishing lines Pope reaches, I think, to the very greatest
height which his sublime art has attained, and shows himself the equal of
all poets of all times. It is the brightest ardour, the loftiest assertion
of truth, the most generous wisdom, illustrated by the noblest poetic
figure, and spoken in words the aptest, grandest, and most harmonious. It
is heroic courage speaking: a splendid declaration of righteous wrath and
war. It is the gage flung down, and the silver trumpet ringing defiance to
falsehood and tyranny, deceit, dullness, superstition. It is Truth, the
champion, shining and intrepid, and fronting the great world-tyrant with
armies of slaves at his back. It is a wonderful and victorious single
combat, in that great battle, which has always been waging since society
began.

In speaking of a work of consummate art one does not try to show what it
actually is, for that were vain; but what it is like, and what are the
sensations produced in the mind of him who views it. And in considering
Pope's admirable career, I am forced into similitudes drawn from other
courage and greatness, and into comparing him with those who achieved
triumphs in actual war. I think of the works of young Pope as I do of the
actions of young Bonaparte or young Nelson. In their common life you will
find frailties and meannesses, as great as the vices and follies of the
meanest men. But in the presence of the gre