Imogen | Page 3

of Milton for a model; and the reader with whom
Comus is a favourite, will certainly trace some literal imitations. With
respect to any objections that may be made on this score to the Pastoral
Romance, we will beg the reader to bear in mind, that the volumes
before him are not an original, but a translation. Recollecting this, we
may, beside the authority of Milton himself, and others as great poets
as ever existed who have imitated Homer and one another at least as
much as our author has done Comus, suggest two very weighty
apologies. In the first place, imitation in a certain degree, has ever been
considered as lawful when made from a different language: And in the
second, these imitations come to the reader exaggerated, by being
presented to him in English, and by a person who confesses, that he has
long been conversant with our greatest poets. The translator has always

admired Comus as much as the Pastoral Romance; he has read them
together, and been used to consider them as illustrating each other. Any
verbal coincidences into which he may have fallen, are therefore to be
ascribed where they are due, to him, and not to the author. And upon
the whole, let the imperfections of the Pastoral Romance be what they
will, he trusts he shall be regarded as making a valuable present to the
connoisseurs and the men of taste, and an agreeable addition to the
innocent amusements of the less laborious classes of the polite world.

BOOK THE FIRST
CHARACTER OF THE SHEPHERDESS AND HER
LOVER.--FEAST OF RUTHYN.--SONGS OF THE BARDS.
Listen, O man! to the voice of wisdom. The world thou inhabitest was
not intended for a theatre of fruition, nor destined for a scene of repose.
False and treacherous is that happiness, which has been preceded by no
trial, and is connected with no desert. It is like the gilded poison that
undermines the human frame. It is like the hoarse murmur of the winds
that announces the brewing tempest. Virtue, for such is the decree of
the Most High, is evermore obliged to pass through the ordeal of
temptation, and the thorny paths of adversity. If, in this day of her trial,
no foul blot obscure her lustre, no irresolution and instability tarnish the
clearness of her spirit, then may she rejoice in the view of her
approaching reward, and receive with an open heart the crown that
shall be bestowed upon her.
The extensive valley of Clwyd once boasted a considerable number of
inhabitants, distinguished for primeval innocence and pastoral
simplicity. Nature seemed to have prepared it for their reception with
all that luxuriant bounty, which characterises her most favoured spots.
The inclosure by which it was bounded, of ragged rocks and snow-topt
mountains, served but for a foil to the richness and fertility of this
happy plain. It was seated in the bosom of North Wales, the whole face
of which, with this one exception, was rugged and hilly. As far as the
eye could reach, you might see promontory rise above promontory. The
crags of Penmaenmawr were visible to the northwest, and the
unequalled steep of Snowden terminated the prospect to the south. In
its farthest extent the valley reached almost to the sea, and it was
intersected, from one end to the other, by the beautiful and translucent

waters of the river from which it receives its name.
In this valley all was rectitude and guileless truth. The hoarse din of
war had never reached its happy bosom; its river had never been
impurpled with the stain of human blood. Its willows had not wept over
the crimes of its inhabitants, nor had the iron hand of tyranny taught
care and apprehension to seat themselves upon the brow of its
shepherds. They were strangers to riches, and to ambition, for they all
lived in a happy equality. He was the richest man among them, that
could boast of the greatest store of yellow apples and mellow pears.
And their only objects of rivalship were the skill of the pipe and the
favour of beauty. From morn to eve they tended their fleecy
possessions. Their reward was the blazing hearth, the nut-brown beer,
and the merry tale. But as they sought only the enjoyment of a humble
station, and the pleasures of society, their labours were often relaxed.
Often did the setting sun see the young men and the maidens of
contiguous villages, assembled round the venerable oak, or the
wide-spreading beech. The bells rung in the upland hamlets; the rebecs
sounded with rude harmony; they danced with twinkling feet upon the
level green or listened to the voice of the song, which was now gay and
exhilarating, and now soothed them into pleasing melancholy.
Of