tooping with age,
oppressed with wants, and conflicting with infirmities. In this
situation, it was no wonder that much of his vigour was lost; and we
ought rather to admire the amazing force of genius, which was so little
depressed under all these calamities, than industriously to dwell on his
imperfections.

Mr. Spence in one of his chapters on Allegory, in his Polymetis, has
endeavoured to shew, how very little our poets have understood the
allegories of the antients, even in their translations of them; and has
instanced Mr. Dryden's translation of the Aeneid, as he thought him one
of our most celebrated poets. The mistakes are very numerous, and some
of them unaccountably gross. Upon this, says Mr. Warton, "I was desirous
to examine Mr. Pitt's translation of the same passages; and was
surprized to find near fifty instances which Mr. Spence has given of
Dryden's mistakes of that kind, when Mr. Pitt had not fallen into above
three or four." Mr. Warton then produces some instances, which we shall
not here transcribe, as it will be more entertaining to our readers to
have a few of the most shining passages compared, in which there is the
highest room for rising to a blaze of poetry.

There are few strokes in the whole Aeneid, which have been more admired
than Virgil's description of the Lake of Avernus, Book VI.

Spelunca alta fuit, vastoque immanis hiatu,
Scrupea, tuta lacu nigro, nemorumque tenebris;
Quam super haud ullae poterant impune volantes.
Tendere iter pennis; talis sese halitus atris,
Faucibus effundens supera ad convexa ferebat:
Unde locum Graii dixerunt nomine Aornon.
Quatuor hic primum nigrantes terga juvencos
Constituit, frontique invergit vina sacerdos;
Et, summas carpens media inter cornua setas,
Ignibus imponit sacris libarmina prima,
Voce vocans Hecaten, caeloque ereboque potentem.

DRYDEN.

Deep was the cave; and downward as it went,
From the wide mouth, a rocky wide descent;
And here th'access a gloomy grove defends;
And there th'innavigable lake extends.
O'er whose unhappy waters, void of light,
No bird presumes to steer his airy flight;
Such deadly stenches from the depth arise,
And steaming sulphur that infects the skies.
From hence the Grecian bards their legends make,
And give the name Aornus to the lake.
Four fable bullocks in the yoke untaught,
For sacrifice, the pious hero brought.
The priestess pours the wine betwixt their horns