Book II.
of IMAGINATION.
39
From passion's pow'r alone[1] our nature holds
Essential pleasure. Passion's fierce illapse
Rouzes the mind's whole fabric; with supplies
Of daily impulse keeps th' elastic pow'rs160
Intensely poiz'd, and polishes anew
By that collision all the fine machine:
Else rust would rise, and foulness, by degrees
Incumbring, choak at last what heav'n design'd
For ceaseless motion and a round of toil.165
—But say, does every passion men endure
Thus minister delight? That name indeed
Becomes the rosy breath of love; becomes
The radiant smiles of joy, th' applauding hand
Of admiration: but the bitter show'r170
- ↑ From passion's pow'r alone, &c.] This very mysterious kind of pleasure which is often found in the exercise of passions generally counted painful, has been taken notice of by several authors. Lucretius resolves it into self-love,
Suave mari magno, &c., lib. II. i.
As if a man was never pleas'd in being mov'd at the distress of a tragedy, without a cool Reflection that tho' these fictitious personages were so unhappy, yet he himself was perfectly at ease and in safety. The ingenious and candid author of the reflexions critique sur la poesie & sur la peinture, accounts for it by the general delight which the mind takes in its own activity, and the abhorrence it feels of an indolent and unattentive state: And this, joined with the moral applause of its own temper, which attends these emotions when natural and just, is certainly the true foundation of the pleasure, which as it is the origin and basis of tragedy and epic, deserved a very particular consideration in this poem.
That
