LECTURE XXXII.

OF THE POEM OF JOB.

In order to criticise the Book of Job with any degree of satisfaction to his auditors, the critic must explain his own sentiments concerning the work in general-The book of Job a singular composition, and has little or no connexion with the affairs of the Hebrews-The seat of the history is Idumæa; and the characters are evidently Idumæan of the family of Abraham-The author appears to be an Idumæan who spoke the Hebrew as his vernacular tongue-Neither Elihu nor Moses, rather Job himself, or some contemporary-This appears to be the oldest book extant; founded upon true history, and contains no allegory-Although extremely obscure, still the general subject and design are sufficiently evident-A short and general analysis of the whole work; in which the obscurer passages are brought as little as possible in question-The deductions from this disquisition: 1. The subject of the controversy between Job and his friends; 2. The subject of the whole Poem; 3. Its end or purpose-All questions not necessarily appertaining to this point to be avoided,

LECTURE XXXIII.

THE POEM OF JOB NOT A PERFECT DRAMA.

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The Poem of Job commonly accounted Dramatic; and thought by many to be of the same kind with the Greek Tragedy: this opinion examined --A plot or fable essential to a regular Drama: its definition and essential qualities according to Aristotle-Demonstrated, that the Poem of Job does not contain any plot: its form and design more fully explainedCompared with the Edipus Tyrannus of Sophocles; with the Edipus Coloneus; and shewn to differ entirely from both in form and manner -It is nevertheless a most beautiful and perfect performance in its kind it approaches very near the form of a perfect Drama; and, for regularity in form and arrangement, justly claims the first place among the poetical compositions of the Hebrews,

LECTURE XXXIV.

OF THE MANNERS, SENTIMENTS, AND STYLE OF THE POEM OF JOB.

Though the Poem of Job do not contain a plot or fable, it possesses, nevertheless, some things in common with the perfect Draina-MANNERS or character-The manners of Job; to be distinguished from the passions or emotions-The opinion of Aristotle, that the character of extreme virtue is not proper for Tragedy, demonstrated to be neither applicable to Job, nor true with respect to Tragedy in general-The design of the Poem-The manners of the three Friends: the gradations of passion more strongly marked in them than the diversity of manners-ElihuThe expostulation of God himself-SENTIMENTS; expressive of things and of manners: the latter already noticed; the former consist partly of passion, partly of description: two examples of the softer passions; examples of description-The STYLE of this Poem uncommonly elegant and sublime; and the poetic conformation of the sentences extremely correct-Peroration, recommending the study of Hebrew literature,

A Brief Confutation of Bishop Hare's System of Hebrew Metre,

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379

393 (1

LECTURES

ON THE

SACRED POETRY

OF THE

HEBREWS.

LECTURE I.

THE INTRODUCTION.

OF THE USES AND DESIGN OF POETRY.

The purpose of Poetry is to instruct while it gives pleasure; instruction being the end, and pleasure the means-Illustrated by examples from the different species of PoetryThe Didactic-The Epic-Tragic-Lyric-the lighter kinds of Poetry, which are calculated as well for the amusement of our leisure, as for the ornament and improvement of literature-Sacred Poetry; whence a transition to the immediate object of these Lectures.

THOUGH Our present meeting be, on some accounts, rather earlier than I could have wished,* yet I cheerfully embrace

The Prælector of Poetry at Oxford is obliged by the statute to read his inaugural lecture the first Tuesday in the Term subsequent to his election; and it appears by the University Register, that Mr Lowth was elected to the Professorship on the 21st of May 1741, in the vacation between Easter and Act Term. As this vacation is only thirteen days, commencing the Thursday before Whitsunday, and ending the Wednesday after Trinity Sunday, the longest interval that could possibly happen between his election and his first lecture is somewhat less than three weeks; it might probably be much shorter. Even in his youth Bishop Lowth was distinguished by the cautious accuracy of his judgment; he therefore very properly introduces a plan, upon which he was to work for ten years, (the usual term of the professorship), with much

Α

the opportunity which it affords me of assuring you, Gentlemen, that to this undertaking (whether considered as a duty imposed, or as a favour conferred upon me) I bring, if no other accomplishment, at least industry and inclination. I could, indeed, more patiently bear to be accused of wanting genius, fluency, or elegance, than of wanting diligence in the exercise of that office to which your authority has called me, or gratitude in the acceptance of that favour, which (whatever it be in itself) is undoubtedly great, since conferred on me by you. For to judge rightly of obligations of this kind, regard must be had not only to the favour itself, but to the persons who confer it, and to the person on whom it is conferred. When, therefore, I reflect, that the station to which I am invited, has been adorned by men of the first rank in genius and learning; when I regard you, whose favour can add dignity to the most respectable characters; when, in fine, I consider myself, who could never have expected or hoped from my own merits for any public testimony of your approbation; I receive this appointment as an honour, for which the utmost exertions of labour and assiduity will be but a very inadequate return. This part of my duty, however, though feebly and imperfectly, I would wish you to believe I most willingly perform: for to an ingenuous mind nothing can be more agreeable than the expression, or even the sense of gratitude; and the remembrance of the obligation will rather stimulate than depress. Other considerations have, I must confess, rendered me not a little solicitous: I am appointed to superintend a particular department of science, which you have constantly distinguished by your presence and attention; and a subject is to be discussed, which not only you have judged worthy of your cultivation, and the public countenance of the University, but which has hitherto received in this place all the embellishments of grace and elegance of which it is naturally susceptible. Should it, therefore, fall into neglect or disrepute hereafter, I fear that I shall be compelled to ac

modesty and reserve; and when he speaks of meeting his constituents rather early (paulo maturius), he must be understood as regretting the little time which by the statute was allowed him to prepare his introductory address. This fact will serve also to explain some passages towards the conclusion of the lecture.

For the substance of this note I am indebted to a very intelligent friend at Oxford, and am happy in this opportunity of returning my best acknowledgments.-T.

knowledge the fault to have been mine, and not that of the institution itself.

Whatever degree of success, indeed, may attend my endeavours, let it not for a moment be suspected, that the design is not altogether deserving of approbation. For, can there be any thing of more real importance to literature itself, can any thing be more consistent with the ends for which this University was founded, than that the art, of whose assistance every other art and profession has so greatly availed itself, should be assigned a place among the rest?that art, so venerable for its antiquity, so delightful in itself —that art, which is in a manner congenial to humanity, and which sets off Nature by the most agreeable representation of her beauties; which, among the ignorant and the learned, the idle and the studious, has ever obtained favour, admiration, and regard. Nothing surely can be more worthy of a liberal and accomplished mind, than to perceive what is perfect and what is defective in an art, the beauties of which frequently lie beneath the surface; to understand what is graceful, what is becoming, in what its excellencies consist; and, in a word, to discover and relish those delicate touches of grace and elegance that lie beyond the reach of vulgar apprehension. From these subtile researches after beauty and taste, there is also the fairest reason to apprehend that the judgment itself will receive some accessions of strength and acuteness, which it may successfully employ upon other objects, and upon other occasions. Such at least appear to have been the sentiments of that excellent person,* to whose munificence Poetry has been long indebted for her admission into the circle of those sciences which are cultivated in this University. For, possessing a mind not only instructed in the most useful branches of knowledge, but adorned with the most elegant arts; and having imbibed the first principles of education in a seminary where the most important and sacred subjects, recommended by all the elegance of polite literature, have been heretofore, and still continue to be, studied with vigour and effect; he saw and experienced how much an attention to these elegancies would contribute to the investigation or illustration of the severer branches of erudition, and how strict the alliance between Philosophy and the Muses.

• The Poetic Lecture was instituted by HENRY BIRKHEAD, LL. D. formerly Fellow of All Souls.-Author's Note.

The design, therefore, of the author of this institution, as well as the usual practice on occasions like the present, reminds me, Gentlemen, of the propriety (though a matter already familiar to most of you) of premising a few such observations as appear least exceptionable concerning the end and utility of the poetic art.

Poetry is commonly understood to have two objects in view, namely, advantage and pleasure, or rather an union of both. I wish those who have furnished us with this definition had rather proposed utility as its ultimate object,* and pleasure as the means by which that end may be effec|tually accomplished. The philosopher and the poet, indeed, seem principally to differ in the means by which they pursue the same end. Each sustains the character of a preceptor, which the one is thought best to support, if he teach with accuracy, with subtlety, and with perspicuity; the other, with splendour, harmony, and elegance. The one makes his appeal to reason only, independent of the passions; the other addresses the reason in such a manner as even to engage the passions on his side. The one proceeds to virtue and truth by the nearest and most compendious ways; the other leads to the same point through certain deflections and deviations, by a winding but pleasanter path. It is the part of the former so to describe and explain these objects, that we must necessarily become acquainted with them; it is the part of the latter so to dress and adorn them, that of our own accord we must love and embrace them.

I therefore lay it down as a fundamental maxim, that Poetry is useful, chiefly because it is agreeable; and should I, as we are apt to do, attribute too much to my favourite occupation, I trust Philosophy will forgive me when I add, that the writings of the poet are more useful than those of the philosopher, inasmuch as they are more agreeable. To

* There are, however, poems which only delight, but which are not therefore to be condemned: some, which, though they contain no moral precepts, no commendation of virtue, no sentiment curious or abstruse, yet dress and adorn common ideas in such splendour of diction and harmony of numbers, as to afford exquisite pleasure; they bring, as it were, before our eyes the woods and streams, and all the elegant and enchanting objects of nature. The excellence of such poems is founded upon the same principle with that of a beautiful picture, which is more valued for contributing to pleasure only, than many other things are for their actual utility. What follows I greatly approve only I would not wish it to be denied, that there are some poems which have no design but that of giving pleasure, and that this is even a laudable end ; nor, indeed, does our author altogether suppose this impossible.—M.