The poverty of the classical period in lyrical verse is particularly significant, because the song is the most primitive and spontaneous kind of poetry, and the most direct utterance of personal feeling.  Whatever else the poets of Pope’s time could do, they could not sing.  They are the despair of the anthologists.[30] Here and there among the brilliant reasoners, raconteurs, and satirists in verse, occurs a clever epigrammatist like Prior, or a ballad writer like Henry Carey, whose “Sally in Our Alley” shows the singing, and not talking, voice, but hardly the lyric cry.  Gay’s “Blackeyed Susan” has genuine quality, though its rococo graces are more than half artificial.  Sweet William is very much such an opera sailor-man as Bumkinet or Grubbinol is a shepherd, and his wooing is beribboned with conceits like these: 

    “If to fair India’s coast we sail,
      Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
    Thy breath is Afric’s spicy gale,
      Thy skin is ivory so white. 
    Thus every beauteous prospect that I view,
    Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.”

It was the same with the poetry of outward nature as with the poetry of human passion.[31] In Addison’s “Letter from Italy,” in Pope’s “Pastorals,” and “Windsor Forest,” the imagery, when not actually false, is vague and conventional, and the language abounds in classical insipidities, epithets that describe nothing, and generalities at second hand from older poets, who may once, perhaps, have written with their “eyes upon the object.”  Blushing Flora paints the enameled ground; cheerful murmurs fluctuate on the gale; Eridanus through flowery meadows strays; gay gilded[32] scenes and shining prospects rise; while everywhere are balmy zephyrs, sylvan shades, winding vales, vocal shores, silver floods, crystal springs, feathered quires, and Phoebus and Philomel and Ceres’ gifts assist the purple year.  It was after this fashion that Pope rendered the famous moonlight passage in his translation of the Iliad: 

    “Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
    A flood of glory bursts from all the skies,” etc.

“Strange to think of an enthusiast,” says Wordsworth, “reciting these verses under the cope of a moonlight sky, without having his raptures in the least disturbed by a suspicion of their absurdity.”  The poetic diction against which Wordsworth protested was an outward sign of the classical preference for the general over the concrete.  The vocabulary was Latinized because, in English, the mot propre is commonly a Saxon word, while its Latin synonym has a convenient indefiniteness that keeps the subject at arm’s length.  Of a similar tendency was the favorite rhetorical figure of personification, which gave a false air of life to abstractions by the easy process of spelling them with a capital letter.  Thus: