Pope long meditated another
epic, relating the foundation of the English government by Brutus of
Troy, with a superabundant display of didactic morality and religion.
Happily this dreary conception, though it occupied much thought, never
came to the birth.
The time soon came when these tentative flights were to be superseded by
more serious efforts. Pope's ambition was directed into the same channel
by his innate propensities and by the accidents of his position. No man
ever displayed a more exclusive devotion to literature, or was more
tremblingly sensitive to the charm of literary glory. His zeal was never
distracted by any rival emotion. Almost from his cradle to his grave his
eye was fixed unremittingly upon the sole purpose of his life. The whole
energies of his mind were absorbed in the struggle to place his name as
high as possible in that temple of fame, which he painted after Chaucer
in one of his early poems. External conditions pointed to letters as the
sole path to eminence, but it was precisely the path for which he had
admirable qualifications. The sickly son of the Popish tradesman was cut
off from the bar, the senate, and the church. Physically contemptible,
politically ostracized, and in a humble social position, he could yet
win this dazzling prize and force his way with his pen to the highest
pinnacle of contemporary fame. Without adventitious favour and in spite
of many bitter antipathies, he was to become the acknowledged head of
English literature, and the welcome companion of all the most eminent
men of his time.
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