it. They
discover a great deal of the body, and not a little of the soul, of
poetry. In the passages we cited from "Sophy," and throughout the whole
of that play, there is a vigorous and profound vein of reflection, as
well as of imagination. Like Shakspeare, although on a scale very much
inferior, he carries on a constant stream of subtle reflection amidst
all the windings of his story; and even the most critical points of the
drama are studded with pearls. Coleridge speaks of himself, or some one
else, as wishing to live "collaterally, or aside, to the onward progress
of society;" and thus, in the drama, there should ever be, as it were, a
projection, or _alias_, of the author standing collaterally, or aside,
to the bustling incidents and whirling passions, and calmly adding the
commentary of wisdom, as they rush impetuously on. Such essentially was
the chorus of the ancient Greek play; and a similar end is answered in
Shakspeare by the subtle asides, the glancing bye-lights, which his
wondrous intellect interposes amidst the rapid play of his fancy, the
exuberance of his wit, and the crowded incident and interchange of
passion created by his genius. Some have maintained that the philosophy
of a drama should be chiefly confined to the conceptions of the
characters, the development of the plot, and the management of the
dialogue--that all the reflection should be molten into the mass of the
play, and none of it embossed on the surface; but certainly neither
Shakspeare's, nor Schiller's, nor Goethe's dramas answer to this ideal--
all of them, besides the philosophy, so to speak, afoot in the progress
of the story, contain a great deal standing still, quietly lurking in
nooks and corners, and yet exerting a powerful influence on the ultimate
effect and explanation of the whole. And so, according to its own
proportions, it is with Denham's "Sophy." Indeed, as we have above
hinted, its power lies more in these interesting individual beauties
than in its general structure.
"Cooper's Hill," next to "Sophy," is undoubtedly his best production.
Dr. Johnson calls it the first English specimen of _local_ poetry--i.e.,
of poetry in which a special scene is, through the embellishments of
traditionary recollection, moral reflections, and the power of
association generally, uplifted into a poetical light. This has been
done afterwards by Garth, in his "Claremont;" Pope, in his "Windsor
Forest;" Dyer, in his "Gronger-hill," and a hu
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