Which reminds me, by the way, that the same Persons, who blame _Virgil_ for want of Fire, blame his Heroe for want of Courage; and with just as much Reason. I agree, that each of these Poets in his Temper and Spirit extremely resembles his Heroe: And accordingly, _Homer_ is no more superior to _Virgil_ in _true Fire_, than _Achilles_ is to _Æneas_ in _true Courage_. But what necessarily supposes the Poetical Fire, and cannot subsist without it, has not been yet mentioned upon this Head; tho' it was taken Notice of upon another: I mean, _Moving the Passions_, especially those of Terrour and Pity. The Fourth Book throughout I have above referred to: The Death of _Priam_; The Meeting of _Æneas_ and _Andromache_; _Nisus_ and _Euryalus_ again: _Evander_'s Concern for his Son before his Death, and his Lamentation after it; The Distress of _Juturna_, and the Fury in the Shape of an Owl flapping upon the Shield of _Turnus_, are some Instances selected out of many. The Truth is, (so far as it appears from their several Works) the _Greek_ Poet knew little of the Passions, in comparison of the _Roman_. It must be observed, that tho' most of the Instances, which I have now produced out of _Virgil_, are taken from warlike Adventures; yet it is a great Errour to think (as some do) that all Fire consists in Quarrelling and Fighting: as do nine Parts in ten of _Homer_'s, in his _Iliad_. The Fire we are speaking of, is _Spirit_ and _Vivacity_; _Energy_ of _Thought_, and _Expression_; which way soever it _affects us_; whether it fires us by _Anger_, or _otherwise_; nay, tho' it _does not fire us at all_, but even produces a _quite contrary Effect_. However it may sound like a Paradox; it is the Property of this Poetical Flame to chill us with Horrour, and make us weep with Pity, as well as to kindle us with Indignation, Love, or Glory: It is it's Property to cool, as well as to burn; and Frost and Snow are it's Fuel, as much as Sulphur. _----Jamque volans, apicem, & latera ardua cernit Atlantis duri, cœlum qui vertice fulcit; Atlantis, cinctum assidue cui nubibus atris Piniferum caput, & vento pulsatur, & imbri: Nix humeros infusa tegit, tum flumina mento Præcipitant senis, & glacie riget horrida barba._