William Godwin
(1784).
Imogen: A Pastorial Romance From the Ancient British.
Table of Contents
Preface
Book One
Book Two
Book Three
Book Four
Book Five
Book Six
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PREFACE
If we could allow ourselves in that license of conjecture, which is become
almost inseparable from the character of an editor, we should say: That Milton
having written it upon the borders of Wales, might have had easy recourse to the
manuscript whose contents are now first given to the public: And that the
singularity of preserving the name of the place where it was first performed in
the title of his poem, was intended for an ingenuous and well-bred
acknowledgement of the source from whence he drew his choicest materials.
But notwithstanding the plausibility of these conjectures, we are now inclined
to give up our original opinion, and to ascribe the performance to a gentleman
of Wales, who lived so late as the reign of king William the third. The name of
this amiable person was Rice ap Thomas. The romance was certainly at one time in
his custody, and was handed down as a valuable legacy to his descendants, among
whom the present translator has the honor to rank himself. Rice ap Thomas,
Esquire, was a man of a most sweet and inoffensive disposition, beloved and
respected by all his neighbors and tenants, and "passing rich with "sixty"
pounds a year." In his domestic he was elegant, hospitable, and even sumptuous,
for the time and country in which he lived. He was however naturally of an
abstemious and recluse disposition. He abounded in singularities, which were
pardoned to his harmlessness and his virtues; and his temper was full of
sensibility, seriousness, and melancholy. He devoted the greater part of his
time to study; and he boasted that he had almost a complete collection of the
manuscript remains of our Welch bards. He was often heard to prefer even to
Taliessin, Merlin, and Aneurim, the effusions of the immortal Cadwallo, and
indeed this was the only subject upon which he was ever known to dispute with
eagerness and fervor. In the midst of the controversy, he would frequently
produce passages from the Pastoral Romance, as decisive of the question. And to
confess the truth, I know not how to excuse this piece of jockeyship and ill
faith, even in Rice ap Thomas, whom I regard as the father of my family, and the
chief ornament of my beloved country.
Some readers will probably however be inclined to apologize for the conduct of
Mr. Thomas, and to lay an equivalent blame to my charge. They will tell me, that
nothing but the weakest partiality could blind me to the genuine air of
antiquity with which the composition is every where impressed, and to ascribe it
to a modern writer. But I am conscious to my honesty and defy their malice. So
far from being sensible of any improper bias in favor of my ancestor, I am
content to strengthen their hands, by acknowledging that the manuscript, which I
am not at all desirous of refusing to their inspection, is richly emblazoned
with all the discoloration and rust they can possibly desire. I confess that the
wording has the purity of Taliessin, and the expressiveness of Aneurim, and is
such as I know of no modern Welch man who could write. And yet, in spite as they
will probably tell me of evidence and common sense, I still aver my persuasion,
that it is the production of Rice ap Thomas.
But enough, and perhaps too much, for the question of its antiquity. It would
be unfair to send it into the world without saying something of the nature of
its composition. It is unlike the Arcadia of sir Philip Sidney, and unlike, what
I have just taken the trouble of running over, the Daphnis of Gessner. It
neither on the one hand leaves behind it the laws of criticism, and mixes
together the different stages of civilization; nor on the other will it perhaps
be found frigid, uninteresting, and insipid. The prevailing opinion of Pastoral
seems to have been, that it is a species of composition admirably fitted for the
size of an eclogue, but that either its nature will not be preserved, or its
simplicity will become surfeiting in a longer performance. And accordingly, the
Pastoral Dramas of Tasso, Guarini, and Fletcher, however they may have been
commended by the critics, and admired by that credulous train who clap and stare
whenever they are bid, have when the recommendation of novelty has subsided been
little attended to and little read. But the great Milton has proved that this
objection is not insuperable. His Comus is a master-piece of poetical
composition. It is at least equal in its kind even to the Paradise Lost. It is
interesting, descriptive and pathetic. Its fame is continually increasing, and
it will be admired wherever the name of Britain is repeated, and the language of
Britain is understood.
If our hypothesis respecting the date of the present performance is admitted,
it must be acknowledged that the ingenious Mr. Thomas has taken the Masque of
Milton for a model; and the reader with whom Comus is a favorite, 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 luster, 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 characterizes her most favored spots. The enclosure by which it
was bounded, of ragged rocks and snow-topped 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 ...
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