nor our English Spencer, could have
formed their poems half so beautiful, without those gods and spirits,
and those enthusiastic parts of poetry, which compose the most noble
parts of all their writings. And I will ask any man who loves heroic
poetry (for I will not dispute their tastes who do not), if the ghost
of Polydorus in Virgil, the Enchanted Wood in Tasso, and the Bower of
Bliss in Spencer (which he borrows from that admirable Italian) could
have been omitted, without taking from their works some of the
greatest beauties in them. And if any man object the improbabilities
of a spirit appearing, or of a palace raised by magic; I boldly answer
him, that an heroic poet is not tied to a bare representation of what
is true, or exceeding probable; but that he may let himself loose to
visionary objects and to the representation of such things, as,
depending not on sense, and therefore not to be comprehended by
knowledge, may give him a freer scope for imagination. It is enough
that, in all ages and religions, the greatest part of mankind have
believed the power of magic, and that there are spirits or spectres
which have appeared. This, I say, is foundation enough for poetry; and
I dare farther affirm, that the whole doctrine of separated beings,
whether those spirits are incorporeal substances, (which Mr Hobbes,
with some reason, thinks to imply a contradiction) or that they are a
thinner and more aerial sort of bodies, (as some of the fathers have
conjectured) may better be explicated by poets than by philosophers or
divines. For their speculations on this subject are wholly poetical;
they have only their fancy for their guide; and that, being sharper in
an excellent poet, than it is likely it should in a phlegmatic, heavy
gownman, will see farther in its own empire, and produce more
satisfactory notions on those dark and doubtful problems.

Some men think they have raised a great argument against the use of
spectres and magic in heroic poetry, by saying they are unnatural; but
whether they or I believe there are such things, is not material; it
is enough that, for aught we know, they may be in nature; and whatever
is, or may be, is not properly unnatural. Neither am I much concerned
at Mr Cowley's verses before "Gondibert," though his authority is
almost sacred to me: It is true, he has resembled the old epic poetry
to a fantastic fairy-land; but he has contradicted himself by his own
example: For he has himself made