Through breaking ranks his furious course he bends, And at the goddess his broad lance extends; Through her bright veil the daring weapon drove, Th’ ambrosial veil, which all the graces wove: Her snowy hand the razing steel profan’d, And the transparent skin with crimson stain’d. _Iliad_, v. 415. Again, describing the shield of Jupiter, Here all the terrors of grim War appear, Here rages Force, here tremble Flight and Fear, Here storm’d Contention, and here Fury frown’d, And the dire orb portentous Gorgon crown’d. _Iliad_, v. 914. Nor is it pleasant to be carried backward and forward alternately in a rapid succession: Then dy’d Seamandrius, expert in the chace, In woods and wilds to wound the savage race; Diana taught him all her sylvan arts, To bend the bow and aim unerring darts: But vainly here Diana’s arts he tries, The fatal lance arrests him as he flies; From Menelaus’ arm the weapon sent, Through his broad back and heaving bosom went: Down sinks the warrior with a thund’ring sound, His brazen armor rings against the ground. _Iliad_, v. 65. It is wonderful to observe, upon what slender foundations nature, sometimes, erects her most solid and magnificent works. In appearance at least, what can be more slight than ideal presence of objects? And yet upon it entirely is superstructed, that extensive influence which language hath over the heart; an influence, which, more than any other means, strengthens the bond of society, and attracts individuals from their private system to exert themselves in acts of generosity and benevolence. Matters of fact, it is true, and truth in general, may be inculcated without taking advantage of ideal presence. But without it, the finest speaker or writer would in vain attempt to move any of our passion: our sympathy would be confined to objects that are really present: and language would lose entirely that signal power it possesseth, of making us sympathize with beings removed at the greatest distance of time as well as of place. Nor is the influence of language, by means of this ideal presence, confined to the heart. It reaches also in some measure the understanding, and contributes to belief. When events are related in a lively manner and every circumstance appears as passing before us, it is with difficulty that we suffer the truth of the facts to be questioned. A historian accordingly who hath a genius for narration, seldom fails to engage our belief. The same facts related in a manner cold and indistinct, are not suffered to pass without examination. A thing ill described, is like an object seen at a distance or through a mist: we doubt whether it be a reality or a fiction. For this reason, a poet who can warm and animate his reader, may employ bolder fictions than ought to be ventured by an inferior genius. The reader, once thoroughly engaged, is in that situation susceptible of