With Milton ended the great romantic school of poetry.  He was indeed as one born out of time, a lonely giant.  He died and left no follower.  With Dryden began a new school of poetry, which was to be the type of English poetry for a hundred and fifty years to come.  This is called the classical school, and the rime which the classical poets used is called the heroic couplet.  It is a long ten-syllabled line, and rimes in couplets, as, for instance:—­

    “He sought the storms; but, for a calm unfit,
    Would stem too nigh the sands, to boast his wit,
    Great wits are sure to madness near allied,
    And thin partitions do their bounds divide."*

    Absalom and Achitophel.

Dryden did not invent the heroic couplet, but it was he who first made it famous.  “It was he,” says Scott, “who first showed that the English language was capable of uniting smoothness and strength.”  But when you come to read Dryden’s poems you may perhaps feel that in gaining the smoothness of Art they have lost something of the beauty of Nature.  The perfect lines with their regular sounding rimes almost weary us at length, and we are glad to turn to the rougher beauty of some earlier poet.

But before speaking more of what Dryden did let me tell you a little of what we know of his life.

John Dryden was the son of a Northamptonshire gentleman who had a small estate and a large family, for John was the eldest of fourteen children.  The family was a Puritan one, although in 1631, when John was born, the Civil War had not yet begun.

When John Dryden left school he went, like nearly all the poets, to Cambridge.  Of what he did at college we know very little.  He may have been wild, for more than once he got into trouble, and once he was “rebuked on the head” for speaking scornfully of some nobleman.  He was seven years at Cambridge, but he looked back on these years with no joy.  He had no love for his University, and even wrote:—­

    “Oxford to him a dearer name shall be,
    Than his own Mother University.”

Already at college Dryden had begun to write poetry, but his poem on the death of Cromwell is perhaps the first that is worth remembering:—­

    “Swift and relentless through the land he past,
    Like that bold Greek, who did the East subdue;
    And made to battles of such heroic haste
    As if on wings of victory he flew.

    He fought secure of fortune as of fame,
    Till by new maps the island might be shown
    Of conquests, which he strewed where’er he came,
    This as the galaxy with stars is sown.

    Nor was he like those stars which only shine,
    When to pale mariners they storms portend,
    He had a calmer influence, and his mien
    Did love and majesty together blend.

    Nor died he when his ebbing fame went less,
    But when fresh laurels courted him to live: 
    He seemed but to prevent some new success,
    As if above what triumphs earth could give.