years, raise emotions for which we cannot well account; and which, though perhaps very indifferent in themselves, still continue from this association, and from the variety of conceptions which they kindle in our minds, to be our favourites through life. The scenes which have been distinguished by the residence of any person, whose memory we admire, produce a similar effect. "Move"mur enim, nescio quo pacto, locis ipsis, in quibus eo"rum, quos diligimus, aut admiramur adsunt vestigia." The scenes themselves may be little beautiful; but the delight with which we recollect the traces of their lives, blends itself insensibly with the emotions which the scenery excites; and the admiration which these recollections afford, seems to give a kind of sanctity to the place where they dwelt, and converts every thing into beauty which appears to have been connected with them. There are scenes, undoubtedly, more beautiful than Runnymede, yet, to those who recollect the great event which passed there, there is no scene, perhaps, which so strongly seizes upon the imagination; and although the emotions this recollection produces, are of a very different kind from those which the mere natural scenery can excite, yet they unite themselves so well with these inferior emotions, and spread so venerable a charm over the whole, that one can hardly persuade one's self, that the scene itself is not entitled to this admiration. The valley of Vaucluse is celebrated for its beauty, yet how much of it has been owing to its being the residence of Petrarch! Mais ces eaux, ce beau ciel, ce vallon enchanteur, Moins que Pétrarque et Laure interessoient mon cœur. La voila donc disois-je, oui, voila cette rive De leurs chiffres unis les tendres caractères ? Et l'echo n'avoit point oublié ce doux nom, Partout mes yeux cherchoient, voyoient, Pétrarque et Laure, Les Jardins, Chart 3me. The sublime is increased, in the same manner, by whatever tends to increase this exercise of imagination. The field of any celebrated battle becomes sublime from this association. No man, acquainted with English history, can behold the field of Agincourt, without some emotion of this kind. The additional conceptions which this association produces, and which fill the mind of the spectator on the prospect of that memorable field, diffuse themselves in some measure over the scene, and give it a sublimity which does not naturally belong to it. The majesty of the Alps themselves is increased by the remembrance of Hannibal's march over them; and who is there, that could stand on the banks of the Rubicon, without feeling his imagination kindle, and his heart beat high? "Middleton Dale," says Mr. Whately, "is a cleft "between rocks, ascending gradually from a romantic "village, till it emerges, at about two miles distance, on "the vast moorlands of the Peak. It is a dismal entrance "to a desert; the hills above it are bare, the rocks are "of a grey colour, their surfaces are rugged, and their 66 shapes savage, frequently terminating in craggy points, "sometimes resembling vast unwieldly bulwarks, or ris"ing in heavy buttresses one above another, and here "and there a misshapen mass bulging out, hangs lower. ing over its base. No traces of men are to be seen, << except in a road, which has no effect on such a scene "of desolation, and in the lime-kilns constantly smoking 66 on the side. The soil is disfigured with all the tinges "of brown and red, which denote barrenness; in some "places it has crumbled away, and strata of loose dark "stones only appear; and in others, long lines of dross, "shovelled out of the mines, have fallen down the steeps. "In these mines, the veins of lead on one side of the "Dale, are observed always to have corresponding veins, "in the same direction, on the other; and the rocks, "though differing widely in different places, yet always "continue in one style for some way together, and seem "to have a relation to each other. Both these appear"ances make it probable that Middleton Dale is a chasm "rent in the mountains by some convulsion of nature "beyond the memory of man, or perhaps before the isl" and was peopled. The scene, though it does not prove "the fact, yet justifies the supposition, and it gives cred"it to the tales of the country people, who, to aggravate "its horrors, always point to a precipice, down which they say a young woman of the village threw herself "headlong, in despair at the neglect of a man whom she "loved; and shew a cavern, where a skeleton once was "discovered, but of what wretch is unknown; his bones "were the only memorial left of him."-Observations upon modern gardening, p. 93. It is surely unnecessary to remark, how much the sublimity of this extraordinary scene is increased, by the circumstances of horror which are so finely connected with it. One of the sublimest objects in natural scenery, is an old and deep wood covering the side of a mountain, when seen from below; yet how much greater sublimity is given to it, by Dr. Akenside, by the addition of the solemn images which, in the following lines, are associ ated with it! Mark the sable woods That shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow. Th' Elysian seats, and down the embowering glade Pleas. Imag. b. iii. There is a passage in one of the Odes of the same poet, in which a scence, which is in general only beautiful, is rendered strikingly sublime, from the imagery with which it is associated. "Tis thus to work her baneful power, Of fretfulness and strife, When care the infirmer bosom wrings, But come, forsake the scene unbless'd Come, where with my prevailing lyre Thron'd in the sun's descending car This tenderness of mind? What Genius smiles on yonder flood! What God in whispers from the wood Bids every thought be kind? Ode to Suspicion. I know not, however, any instance, where the effect of any association is so remarkable in bestowing sublimity on objects, to which it does not naturally belong, as in the following inimitable poem of Buchanan's on the month of May. This season is, in general, fitted to excite emotions very different from sublimity, and the nu merous poems which haye been written in celebration of it, dwell uniformly on its circumstances of ❝ vernal joy." In this ode, however, the circumstances which the poet has selected, are of a kind, which, to me, appear inexpressibly sublime, and distinguish the poem itself by a degree and character of grandeur, which I have seldom found equalled in any other composition. The idea of it was probably taken from these fine lines of Virgil in the second Georgic, in describing the effects of spring: Non alios, prima crescentis origine mundi Illuxisse dies, aliumve habuisse tenorem Orbis, et hybernis parcebant flatibus Euri : Cum primum lucem pecudes hausere, virûmque, I believe, however, no man will doubt how much Buchanan has improved upon this beautiful idea. CALENDE MAIE Salvete sacris deliciis sacræ Et teneris charitum choreis. Fulsere flaventi metallo, Mulcebat, et nullis feraces Talis beatis incubat insulis Lethenque juxta obliviosam |