SPECTATOR, No 267. Cedite Romani Scriptores, cedite Graii. Propert.

THERE is Nothing in Nature more irkſome than general Diſcourſes, eſpecially when they turn chiefly upon Words. For this Reaſon I ſhall wave the Diſcuſſion of that Point which was ſtarted ſome Years ſince, Whether Milton's Paradiſe Loſt may be called an Heroic Poem? Thoſe who will not give it that Title, may call it (if they pleaſe) a Divine Poem. It will be ſufficient to its Perfection, if it has in it all the Beauties of the higheſt Kind of Poetry; and as for thoſe who alledge it is not an Heroick Poem, they advance no more to the Diminution of it, than if they ſhould ſay Adam is not Aeneas, nor Eve Helen.

I ſhall therefore examine it by the Rules of Epic Poetry, and ſee whether it falls ſhort of the Iliad or Aeneid, in the Beauties which are eſſential to that Kind of Writing. The firſt Thing to be conſider'd in an Epic Poem, is the Fable, which is perfect or imperfect, according as the Action which it relates is more or leſs ſo. This Action ſhould have three Qualifications in it. Firſt, It ſhould be but One Action. Secondly, It ſhould be an Entire Action; and Thirdly, It ſhould be a Great Action. To conſider the Action of the Iliad, Aeneid, and Paradiſe Loſt, in theſe three ſeveral Lights. Homer to preſerve the Unity of his Action haſtens into the Midſt of Things, as Horace has obſerved: Had he gone up to Leda's Egg, or begun much later, even at the Rape of Helen, or the Inveſting of Troy, it is manifeſt that the Story of the Poem would have been a Series of Several Actions. He therefore opens his Poem with the Diſcord of his Princes, and artfully interweaves, in the ſeveral ſucceeding Parts of it, an Account of every Thing material which relates to them, and had paſſed before this fatal Diſſenſion. After the ſame Manner, Aeneas makes his firſt Appearance in the Tyrrhene Seas, and within Sight of Italy, becauſe the Action propoſed to be celebrated was that of his ſettling himſelf in Latium. But becauſe it was neceſſary for the Reader to know what had happened to him in the taking of Troy, and in the preceding Parts of his Voyage, Virgil makes his Heroe relate it by Way of Epiſode in the ſecond and third Books of the Aeneid: the Contents of both which Books come before thoſe of the firſt Book in the Thread of the Story, tho' for preſerving of this Unity of Action, they follow it in the Diſpoſition of the Poem. Milton, in Imitation of theſe two great Poets, opens his Paradiſe Loſt with an infernal Council plotting the Fall of Man, which is the Action he propoſed to celebrate; and as for thoſe Great Actions, the Battle of the Angels, and the Creation of the World, (which preceded in Point of Time, and which, in my Opinion, would have entirely deſtroyed the Unity of his Principal Action, had he related them in the ſame Order that they happened) he caſt them into the fifth, ſixth and ſeventh Books, by way of Epiſode to this noble Poem.Vid. the End of Spect. 327.

ARISTOTLE himſelf allows, that Homer has nothing to boaſt of as to the Unity of his Fable, tho' at the ſame Time that great Critick and Philoſopher endeavours to palliate this Imperfection in the Greek Poet by imputing it in ſome Meaſure to the very Nature of an Epic Poem. Some have been of Opinion, that the Aeneid alſo labours in this Particular, and has Epiſodes which may be looked upon as Excreſcencies rather than as Parts of the Action. On the contrary, the Poem, which we have now under our Conſideration, hath no other Epiſodes than ſuch as naturally ariſe from the Subject, and yet is filled with ſuch a Multitude of aſtoniſhing Incidents, that it gives us at the ſame Time a Pleaſure of the greateſt Variety, and of the greateſt Simplicity; uniform in its Nature, tho' diverſified in the Execution.

I muſt obſerve alſo, that, as Virgil in the Poem which was deſigned to celebrate the Original of the Roman Empire, has deſcribed the Birth of its great Rival, the Carthaginian Common-wealth: Milton, with the like Art in his Poem on the Fall of Man, has related the Fall of thoſe Angels who are his profeſſed Enemies. Beſide the many other Beauties in ſuch an Epiſode, it's running parallel with the great Action of the Poem, hinders it from breaking the Unity ſo much as another Epiſode would have done, that had not ſo great an Affinity with the principal Subject. In ſhort, this is the ſame Kind of Beauty which the Criticks admire in the Spaniſh Fryar, or the Double Diſcovery, where the two different Plots look like Counterparts and Copies of one another.

THE ſecond Qualification required in the Action of an Epic Poem is, that it ſhould be an entire Action: An Action is entire when it is compleat in all its Parts; or as Ariſtotle deſcribes it, when it conſiſts of a Beginning, a Middle, and an End. Nothing ſhould go before it, be intermix'd with it, or follow after it, that is not related to it. As on the contrary, no ſingle Step ſhould be omitted in that juſt and regular Progreſs which it muſt be ſuppoſed to take from its Original to its Conſummation. Thus we ſee the Anger of Achilles in its Birth, its Continuance, and Effects; and Aeneas's Settlement in Italy, carried on through all the Oppoſitions in his Way to it both by Sea and Land. The Action in Milton excells (I think) both the former in this Particular; we ſee it contrived in Hell, executed upon Earth, and puniſhed by Heaven. The Parts of it are told in the moſt diſtinct Manner, and grow out of one another in the moſt natural Order.

THE third Qualification of an Epic Poem is its Greatneſs. The Anger of Achilles was of ſuch Conſequence, that it embroiled the Kings of Greece, deſtroy'd the Heroes of Aſia, and engaged all the Gods in Factions. Aeneas's Settlement in Italy produc'd the Caeſars, and gave Birth to the Roman Empire. Milton's Subject was ſtill greater than either of the former; it does not determine the Fate of ſingle Perſons or Nations, but of a whole Species. The United Powers of Hell are joined together for the Deſtruction of Mankind, which they effected in Part, and would have completed, had not Omnipotence it ſelf interpoſed. The principal Actors are Man in his greateſt Perfection, and Woman in her higheſt Beauty. Their Enemies are the fallen Angels: The Meſſiah their Friend, and the Almighty their Protector. In ſhort, every Thing that is great in the whole Circle of Being, whether within the Verge of Nature, or out of it, has a proper Part aſſigned it in this admirable Poem.

IN Poetry, as in Architecture, not only the Whole, but the principal Members, and every Part of them, ſhould be Great. I will not preſume to ſay, that the Book of Games in the Aeueid, or that in the Iliad, are not of this Nature, nor to reprehend Virgil's Simile of the Top, and many other of the ſame Kind in the Iliad, as liable to any Cenſure in this Particular; but I think We may ſay, without derogating from thoſe wonderful Performances, that there is an Indiſputable and Unqueſtioned Magnificence in every Part of Paradiſe Loſt, and indeed a much greater than could have been formed upon any Pagan Syſtem.

BUT Ariſtotle, by the Greatneſs of the Action, does not only mean that it ſhould be great in its Nature, but alſo in its Duration; or in other Words, That it ſhould have a due Length in it, as well as what we properly call Greatneſs. The juſt Meaſure of this Kind of Magnitude, he explains by the following Similitude. An Animal, no bigger than a Mite, cannot appear perfect to the Eye, becauſe the Sight takes it in at once, and has only a confuſed Idea of the Whole, and not a diſtinct Idea of all its Parts; If on the contrary you ſhould ſuppoſe an Animal of ten thouſand Furlongs in Length, the Eye would be ſo filled with a ſingle Part of it, that it could not give the Mind an Idea of the whole. What theſe Animals are to the Eye, a very ſhort or a very long Action would be to the Memory. The firſt would be, as it were, loſt and ſwallowed up by it, and the other difficult to be contained in it. Homer and Virgil have ſhewn their principal Art in this Particular; the Action of the Iliad, and that of the Aeneid, were in themſelves exceeding ſhort, but are ſo beautifully extended and diverſified by the Invention of Epiſodes, and the Machinery of Gods, with the like poetical Ornaments, that they make up an agreeable Story ſufficient to employ the Memory without overcharging it. Milton's Action is enriched with ſuch a Variety of Circumſtances, that I have taken as much Pleaſure in reading the Contents of his Books, as in the beſt invented Story I ever met with. It is poſſible, that the Traditions, on which the Iliad and Aeneid were built, had more Circumſtances in them than the Hiſtory of the Fall of Man, as it is related in Scripture. Beſides it was eaſier for Homer and Virgil to daſh the Truth with Fiction, as they were in no Danger of offending the Religion of their Country by it. But as for Milton, he had not only a very few Circumſtances upon which to raiſe his Poem, but was alſo obliged to proceed with the greateſt Caution in every Thing that he added out of his own Invention. And, indeed, notwithſtanding all the Reſtraints he was under, he has filled his Story with ſo many ſurpriſing Incidents, which bear ſo cloſe Analogy with what is delivered in Holy Writ, that it is capable of pleaſing the moſt delicate Reader, without giving Offence to the moſt ſcrupulous.

THE modern Criticks have collected from ſeveral Hints in the Iliad and Aeneid the Space of Time, which is taken up by the Action of each of thoſe Poems; but as a great Part of Milton's Story was tranſacted in Regions that lie out of the Reach of the Sun and the Sphere of Day, it is impoſſible to gratifie the Reader with ſuch a Calculation, which indeed would be more curious than inſtructive; None of the Criticks, either Antient or Modern, having laid down Rules to circumſcribe the Action of an Epic Poem with any Determined Number of Years, Days, or Hours.Vid. Spect. 308.

But of this more particularly hereafter.

SPECTATOR. No 273. —Notandi ſunt tibi Mores. Hor.

HAVING examined the Action of Paradiſe Loſt, let us in the next Place conſider the Actors. This is Ariſtotle's Method of conſidering; firſt the Fable, and ſecondly the Manners, or as we generally call them in Engliſh, the Fable and the Characters.

HOMER has excelled all the Heroic Poets that ever wrote, in the Multitude and Variety of his Characters. Every God that is admitted into his Poem, acts a Part which would have been ſuitable to no other Deity. His Princes are as much diſtinguiſhed by their Manners as by their Dominions; and even thoſe among them, whoſe Characters ſeem wholly made up of Courage, differ from one another as to the particular Kinds of Courage in which they excel. In ſhort, there is ſcarce a Speech or Action in the Iliad, which the Reader may not aſcribe to the Perſon that ſpeaks or acts; without ſeeing his Name at the Head of it.

HOMER does not only out-ſhine all other Poets in the Variety, but alſo in the Novelty of his Characters. He has introduced among his Grecian Princes a Perſon, who had lived in three Ages of Men, and converſed with Theſeus, Hercules, Polyphenius, and the firſt Race of Heroes. His principal Actor is the Son of a Goddeſs, not to mention the Off-ſpring of other Deities, who have likewiſe a Place in his Poem, and the venerable Trojan Prince who was the Father of ſo many Kings and Heroes. There is in theſe ſeveral Characters of Homer, a certain Dignity as well as Novelty, which adapts them in a more peculiar Manner to the Nature of an heroic Poem. Tho' at the ſame Time, to give them the greater Variety, he has deſcribed a Vulcan, that is, a Buffoon among his Gods, and a Therſites among his Mortals.

VIRGIL falls infinitely ſhort of Homer in the Characters of his Poem, both as to their Variety and Novelty. Aeneas is indeed a perfect Character, but as for Achates, tho' he is ſtiled the Heroe's Friend, he does nothing in the whole Poem which may deſerve that Title. Gyas, Mneſtheus, Sergeſtus, and Cloenthus, are all of them Men of the ſame Stamp and Character, —fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthum: Virg.

THERE are indeed ſeveral very natural Incidents in the Part of Aſcanius; as that of Dido cannot be ſufficiently admired. I do not ſee any Thing new or particular in Turnus. Pallas and Evander are remote Copies of Hector and Priam, as Lauſus and Mezentius are almoſt Parallels to Pallas and Evander. The Characters of Niſus and Eurialus are beautiful, but common. We muſt not forget the Parts of Sinon, Camilla, and ſome few others, which are fine Improvements on the Greek Poet. In ſhort, there is neither that Variety nor Novelty in the Perſons of the Aeneid, which we meet with in thoſe of the Iliad.

IF we look into the Characters of Milton, we ſhall find that he has introduced all the Variety his Fable was capable of receiving. The whole Species of Mankind was in two Perſons at the Time to which the Subject of his Poem is confined. We have, however, four diſtinct Characters in theſe two Perſons. We ſee Man and Woman in the higheſt Innocence and Perfection, and in the moſt abject State of Guilt and Infirmity. The two laſt Characters are, indeed, very common and obvious, but the two firſt are not only more magnificent, but more new than any Characters either in Virgil or Homer, or indeed in the whole Circle of Nature.

MILTON was ſo ſenſible of this Defect in the Subject of his Poem, and of the few Characters it would afford him, that he has brought into it two Actors of a ſhadowy and fictitious Nature, in the Perſons of Sin and Death, by which Means he has wrought into the Body of his Fable a very beautiful and well-invented Allegory. Vid. Spect. 279.But notwithſtanding the Fineneſs of this Allegory may atone for it in ſome Meaſure; I cannot think that Perſons of ſuch a chimerical Exiſtence are proper Actors in an Epic Poem; becauſe there is not that Meaſure of Probability annexed to them, which is requiſite in Writings of this Kind, as I ſhall ſhew more at large hereafter.

VIRGIL has, indeed, admitted Fame as an Actreſs in the Aeneid, but the Part ſhe acts is very ſhort, and none of the moſt admired Circumſtances in that Divine Work. We find in Mock-Heroic Poems, particularly in the Diſpenſary and the Lutrin, ſeveral allegorical Perſons of this Nature, which are very beautiful in thoſe Compoſitions, and may, perhaps, be uſed as an Argument, that the Authors of them were of Opinion, ſuch Characters might have a Place in an Epic Work. For my own Part, I ſhould be glad the Reader would think ſo, for the Sake of the Poem I am now examining, and muſt further add, that if ſuch empty unſubſtantial Beings may be ever made Uſe of on this Occaſion, never were any more nicely imagined, and employed in more proper Actions, than thoſe of which I am now ſpeaking.

ANOTHER principal Actor in this Poem is the great Enemy of Mankind. The Part of Ʋlyſſes in Homer's Odyſſey is very much admired by Ariſtotle, as perplexing that Fable with very agreeable Plots and Intricacies, not only by the many Adventures in his Voyage, and the Subtilty of his Behaviour, but by the various Concealments and Diſcoveries of his Perſon in ſeveral Parts of that Poem. But the crafty Being I have now mentioned, makes a much longer Voyage than Ʋlyſſes, puts in Practice many more Wiles and Stratagems, and hides himſelf under a greater Variety of Shapes and Appearances, all of which are ſeverally detected, to the great Delight and Surptiſe of the Reader.

WE may likewiſe obſerve with how much Art the Poet has varied ſeveral Characters of the Perſons that ſpeak in his infernal Aſſembly. On the contrary, how has he repreſented the whole Godhead exerting it ſelf towards Man in its full Benevolence under the Three-fold Diſtinction of a Creator, a Redeemer, and a Comforter!

NOR muſt we omit the Perſon of Raphael, who, amidſt his Tenderneſs and Friendſhip for Man, ſhews ſuch a Dignity and Condeſcention in all his Speech and Behaviour, as are ſuitable to a ſuperior Nature. The Angels are indeed as much diverſified in Milton, and diſtinguiſhed by their proper Parts, as the Gods are in Homer or Virgil. The Reader will find nothing aſcribed to Ʋriel, Gabriel, Michael, or Raphael, which is not in a particular manner ſuitable to their reſpective Characters.

THERE is another Circumſtance in the principal Actors of the Iliad and Aeneid, which give a peculiar Beauty to thoſe two Poems, and was therefore contrived with very great Judgment. I mean the Authors having choſen for their Heroes Perſons who were ſo nearly related to the People for whom they wrote. Achilles was a Greek, and Aeneas the remote Founder of Rome. By this Means their Countrymen (whom they principally propoſed to themſelves for their Readers) were particularly attentive to all the Parts of their Story, and ſympathized with their Heroes in all their Adventures. A Roman could not but rejoice in the Eſcapes, Succeſſes, and Victories of Aeneas, and be grieved at any Defeats, Misfortunes, or Diſappointments that befel him; as a Greek muſt have had the ſame Regard for Achilles. And it is plain, that each of thoſe Poems have loſt this great Advantage, among thoſe Readers to whom their Heroes are as Strangers, or indifferent Perſons.

MILTON's Poem is admirable in this reſpect, ſince it is impoſſible for any of its Readers, whatever Nation, Country or People he may belong to, not to be related to the Perſons who are the principal Actors in it; but what is ſtill infinitely more to its Advantage, the principal Actors in this Poem are not only our Progenitors, but our Repreſentatives. We have an Actual Intereſt in every Thing they do, and no leſs than our utmoſt Happineſs is concerned, and lies at Stake in all their Behaviour.

I ſhall ſubjoin as a Corollary to the foregoing Remark, an admirable Obſervation out of Ariſtotle, which hath been very much miſrepreſented in the Quotations of ſome Modern Criticks. 'If a Man of perfect and conſummate Virtue falls into a Misfortune, it raiſes our Pity, but not our Terror, becauſe we do not fear that it may be our own Caſe, who do not reſemble the ſuffering Perſon.' But as that great Philoſopher adds, 'If we ſee a Man of Virtue, mixt with Infirmities, fall into any Misfortune, it does not only raiſe our Pity but our Terror; becauſe we are afraid that the like Misfortunes may happen to our ſelves, who reſemble the Character of the ſuffering Perſon.'

I ſhall only remark in this Place, that the foregoing Obſervation of Ariſtotle, tho' it may be true in other Occaſions, does not hold in this; becauſe in the preſent Caſe, though the Perſons who fall into Misfortune are of the moſt perfect and conſummate Virtue, it is not to be conſidered as what may poſſibly be, but what actually is our own Caſe; ſince we are embark'd with them on the ſame Bottom, and muſt be Partakers of their Happineſs or Miſery.

IN this, and ſome other very few Inſtances, Ariſtotle's Rules for Epic Poetry (which he had drawn from his Reflections upon Homer) cannot be ſuppoſed to ſquare exactly with the heroic Poems which have been made ſince his Time; ſince it is evident to every impartial Judge his Rules would ſtill have been more perfect, could he have peruſed the Aeneid which was made ſome hundred years after his Death.

IN my next, I ſhall go through other Parts of Miltan's Poem; and hope that what I ſhall there advance, as well as what I have already written, will not only ſerve as a Comment upon Milton, but upon Ariſtotle.

SPECTATOR, No 279. Reddere perſonae ſcit convenientia cuique. Hor.

WE have already taken a general Survey of the Fable and Characters in Milton's Paradiſe Loſt: The Parts which remain to be conſider'd, according to Ariſtotle's Method, are the Sentiments and the Language. Before I enter upon the firſt of theſe, I muſt advertiſe my Reader, that it is my Deſign as ſoon as I have finiſhed my general Reflections on theſe four ſeveral Heads, to give particular Inſtances out of the Poem now before us of Beauties and Imperfections which may be obſerved under each of them, as alſo of ſuch other Particulars as may not properly fall under any of them. This I thought fit to premiſe, that the Reader may not judge too haſtily of this Piece of Criticiſm, or look upon it as imperfect, before he has ſeen the whole Extent of it.

THE Sentiments in an Epic Poem are the Thoughts and Behaviour which the Author aſcribes to the Perſons whom he introduces, and are juſt when they are conformable to the Characters of the ſeveral Perſons. The Sentiments have likewiſe a Relation to Things as well as Perſons, and are then perfect when they are ſuch as are adapted to the Subject. If in either of theſe Caſes the Poet endeavours to argue or explain, to magnifie or diminiſh, to raiſe Love or Hatred, Pity or Terror, or any other Paſſion, we ought to conſider whether the Sentiments he makes Uſe of are proper for thoſe Ends. Homer is cenſured by the Criticks for his Defect as to this Particular in ſeveral Parts of the Iliad and Odyſſey, tho' at the ſame Time thoſe who have treated this great Poet with Candour, have attributed this Defect to the Times in which he lived. It was the Fault of the Age, and not of Homer, if there wants that Delicacy in ſome of his Sentiments, which now appears in the Works of Men of a much inferior Genius. Beſides, if there are Blemiſhes in any particular Thoughts, there is an infinite Beauty in the greateſt Part of them. In ſhort, if there are many Poets who would not have fallen into the Meanneſs of ſome of his Sentiments, there are none who could have riſen up to the Greatneſs of others. Virgil has excelled all others in the Propriety of his Sentiments. Milton ſhines likewiſe very much in this Particular: Nor muſt me omit one Conſideration which adds to his Honour and Reputation. Homer and Virgil introduced Perſons whoſe Characters are commonly known among Men, and ſuch as are to be met with either in Hiſtory, or in ordinary Converſation. Milton's Characters, moſt of them, lie out of Nature, and were to be formed purely by his own Invention. It ſhews a greater Genius in Shakeſpear to have drawn his Calyban, than this Hotſpur or Julius Caeſar: The one was to be ſupplied out of his own Imagination, whereas the other might have been formed upon Tradition, Hiſtory and Obſervation. It was much eaſier therefore for Homer to find proper Sentiments for an Aſſembly of Grecian Generals, than for Milton to diverſifie his infernal Council with proper Characters, and inſpire them with a Variety of Sentiments. The Loves of Dido and Aeneas are only Copies of what has paſſed between other Perſons. Adam and Eve before the Fall, are a different Species from that of Mankind, who are deſcended from them; and none but a Poet of the moſt unbounded Invention, and the moſt exqu ſite Judgment, cou'd have filled their Converſation and Behaviour with ſo many apt Circumſtances during their State of Innocence.

NOR is it ſufficient for an Epic Poem to be filled with ſuch Thoughts as are natural, unleſs it abound alſo with ſuch as are ſublime. Virgil in this Particular falls ſhort of Homer. He has not indeed ſo many Thoughts that are low and vulgar; but at the ſame Time has not ſo many Thoughts that are ſublime and noble. The Truth of it is, Virgil ſeldom riſes into very aſtoniſhing Sentiments, where he is not fired by the Iliad. He every where charms and pleaſes us by the Force of his own Genius; but ſeldom elevates and tranſports us where he does not fetch his Hints from Homer.

MILTON's chief Talent, and indeed his diſtinguiſhing Excellence lies in the Sublimity of his Thoughts. There are others of the Moderns who rival him in every other Part of Poetry; but in the Greatneſs of his Sentiments he triumphs over all the Poets both Modern and Ancient, Homer only excepted. It is impoſſible for the Imagination of Man to diſtend it ſelf with greater Ideas, than thoſe which he has laid together in his firſt, ſecond and ſixth Books. The ſeventh, which deſcribes the Creation of the World, is likewiſe wonderfully ſublime, tho' not ſo apt to ſtir up Emotion in the Mind of the Reader, nor conſequently ſo perfect in the Epic Way of Writing, becauſe it is filled with leſs Action. Let the judicious Reader compare what Longinus has obſerved on ſeveral Paſſages in Homer, and he will find Parallels for moſt of them in the Paradiſe Loſt.

FROM what has been ſaid we may infer, that as there are two Kinds of Sentiments, the Natural and the Sublime, which are always to be purſued in an heroic Poem, there are alſo two Kinds of Thoughts which are carefully to be avoided. The firſt are ſuch as are affected and unnatural; the ſecond ſuch as are mean and vulgar. As for the firſt Kind of Thoughts we meet with little or Nothing that is like them in Virgil: He has none of thoſe trifling Points and Puerilities that are ſo often to be met with in Ovid, none of the Epigrammatick Turns of Lucan, none of thoſe ſwelling Sentiments which are ſo frequently in Statius and Claudian, none of thoſe mixed Embelliſhments of Taſſo. Every Thing is juſt and natural. His Sentiments ſhew that he had a perfect Inſight into humane Nature, and that he knew every Thing which was the moſt proper to affect it.

Mr. Dryden has in ſome Places, which I may hereafter take Notice of, miſrepreſented Virgil's Way of Thinking as to this Particular, in the Tranſlation he has given us of the Aeneid. I do not remember that Homer any where falls into the Faults abovementioned, which were indeed the falſe Refinements of later Ages. Milton, it muſt be confeſt, has ſometimes erred in this Reſpect, as I ſhall ſhew more at large in another Paper; tho' conſidering all the Poets of the Age in which he writ, were infected with this wrong Way of Thinking, he is rather to be admired that he did not give more into it, than that he did ſometimes comply with the vicious Taſte which ſtill prevails ſo much among modern Writers.

BUT ſince ſeveral Thoughts may be natural which are low and groveling, an Epic Poet ſhould not only avoid ſuch Sentiments as are unnatural or affected, but alſo ſuch as are mean and vulgar. Homer has opened a great Field of Raillery to Men of more Delicacy than Greatneſs of Genius, by the Homelineſs of ſome of his Sentiments. But, as I have before ſaid, theſe are rather to be imputed to the Simplicity of the Age in which he lived, to which I may alſo add, of that which he deſcribed, than to any Imperfection in that Divine Poet. Zoilus, among the Ancients, and Monſieur Perrault, among the Moderns, puſhed their Ridicule very far upon him, on Account of ſome ſuch Sentiments. There is no Blemiſh to be obſerved in Virgil, under this Head, and but a very few in Milton.

I ſhall give but one Inſtance of this Impropriety of Thought in Homer, and at the ſame Time compare it with an Inſtance of the ſame Nature, both in Virgil and Milton. Sentiments which raiſe Laughter, can very ſeldom be admitted with any Decency into an heroic Poem, whoſe Buſineſs is to excite Paſſions of a much nobler Nature. Homer, however, in his Characters of Vulcan and Therſites, in his Story of Mars and Venus, in his Behaviour of Irus, and in other Paſſages, has been obſerved to have lapſed into the Burleſque Character, and to have departed from that ſerious Air which ſeems eſſential to the Magnificence of an Epic Poem. I remember but one Laugh in the whole Aeneid, which riſes in the fifth Book upon Monoetes, where he is repreſented as thrown overboard, and drying himſelf upon a Rock. But this Piece of Mirth is ſo well timed, that the ſevereſt Critick can have Nothing to ſay againſt it, for it is in the Book of Games and Diverſions, where the Reader's Mind may be ſuppoſed to be ſufficiently relaxed for ſuch an Entertainment. The only Piece of Pleaſantry in Paradiſe Loſt, is where the evil Spirits are deſcribed as rallying the Angels upon the Succeſs of their new invented Artillery. This Paſſage I look upon to be the moſt exceptionable in the whole Poem, as being nothing elſe but a String of Puns, and thoſe too very indifferent. —Satan beheld their Plight, And to his Mates thus in Deriſion call'd. O Friends, why come not on theſe Victors proud! Ere while they fierce were coming, and when we, To entertain them fair with open Front, And Breaſt, (what could we more) propounded Terms Of Compoſition; ſtraight they changed their Minds, Flew off, and into ſtrange Vagaries fell, As they would dance, yet for a Dance they ſeem'd Somewhat extravagant and wild, perhaps For Joy of offer'd Peace; but I ſuppoſe If our Propoſals once again were heard, We ſhould compell them to a quick Reſult. To whom thus Belial in like gameſome Moode. Leader, the Terms we ſent, were Terms of Weight, Of hard Contents, and full of Force urg'd Home, Such as we might perceive amus'd them all, And ſtumbled many; who receives them right, Had need, from Head to Foot, well underſtand; Not underſtood, this Gift they have beſides, They ſhew us when our Foes walk not upright. Thus they among themſelves in pleaſant Vein Stood ſcoffing—

SPECTATOR, No 285. Ne quicunque Deus, quicunque adhibebitur heros, Regali conſpectus in auro nuper et oſtro, Migret in Obſcuras humili ſermone tabernas: Aut dum vitat humum, nubes et inania captet. Hor.

HAVING already treated of the Fable, the Characters and Sentiments in the Paradiſe loſt, we are in the laſt Place to conſider the Language; and as the learned World is very much divided upon Milton as to this Point, I hope they will excuſe me if I appear particular in any of my Opinions, and encline to thoſe who judge the moſt advantagiouſly of the Author.

IT is requiſite that the Language of an Heroic Poem ſhould be both Perſpicuous and Sublime. In Proportion as either of theſe two Qualities are wanting, the Language is imperfect. Perſpicuity is the firſt and moſt neceſſary Qualification; inſomuch that a good-natur'd Reader ſometimes overlooks a little Slip even in the Grammer or Syntax, where it is impoſſible for him to miſtake the Poet's Senſe. Of this kind is that Paſſage in Milton, wherein he ſpeaks of Satan. —God and his Son except, Created thing nought valu'd he nor ſhunn'd. And that in which he deſcribes Adam and Eve. Adam the goodlieſt Man of Men ſince born His Sons, the faireſt of her Daughters Eve.

IT is plain, that in the former of theſe Paſſages, according to the natural Syntax, the Divine Perſons mentioned in the firſt Line are repreſented as created Beings; and that in the other, Adam and Eve are confounded with their Sons and Daughters. Such little Blemiſhes are theſe, when the Thought is great and natural, we ſhould, with Horace, impute to a pardonable Inadvertency, or to the Weakneſs of Human Nature, which cannot attend to each minute Particular, and give the laſt finiſhing to every Circumſtance in ſo long a Work. The Ancient Criticks therefore, who were acted by a Spirit of Candour, rather than that of Cavilling, invented certain Figures of Speech, on purpoſe to palliate little Errors of this Nature in the Writings of thoſe Authors who had ſo many greater Beauties to attone for them.

IF Clearneſs and Perſpicuity were only to be conſulted, the Poet would have nothing elſe to do but to cloath his Thoughts in the moſt plain and natural Expreſſions. But ſince it often happens that the moſt obvious Phraſes, and thoſe which are uſed in ordinary Converſation, become too familiar to the Ear, and contract a kind of Meanneſs by paſſing through the Mouths of the Vulgar, a Poet ſhould take particular Care to guard himſelf againſt Idiomatick Ways of ſpeaking. Ovid and Lucan have many Poorneſſes of Expreſſion upon this account, as taking up with the firſt Phraſes that offered, without putting themſelves to the Trouble of looking after ſuch as would not only be natural, but alſo elevated and ſublime. Milton has but a few Failings in this kind, of which, however, you may meet with ſome Inſtances, as in the following Paſſages. Embrio's and Idiots, Eremites and Fryars White, Black and Grey, with all their Trumpery, Here Pilgrims roam— —A while Diſcourſe they hold, No Fear leaſt Dinner cool; when thus began Our Author— Who of all Ages to ſucceed, but feeling The Evil on him brought by me, will curſe My Head, ill fare our Anceſtor impure, For this we may thank Adam— The great Maſters in Compoſition know very well that many an elegant Phraſe becomes improper for a Poet or an Orator, when it has been debaſed by common Uſe. For this Reaſon the Works of Ancient Authors, which are written in dead Languages, have a great Advantage over thoſe which are written in Languages that are now ſpoken. Were there any Mean Phraſes or Idioms in Virgil and Homer, they would not ſhock the Ear of the moſt delicate Modern Reader, ſo much as they would have done that of an old Greek or Roman, becauſe we never hear them pronounced in our Streets, or in ordinary Converſation.

IT is not therefore ſufficient, that the Language of an Epic Poem be Perſpicuous, unleſs it be alſo Sublime. To this End it ought to deviate from the common Forms and ordinary Phraſes of Speech. The Judgment of a Poet very much diſcovers it ſelf in ſhunning the common Roads of Expreſſion, without falling into ſuch ways of Speech as may ſeem ſtiff and unnatural; he muſt not ſwell into a falſe Sublime, by endeavouring to avoid the other Extream. Among the Greeks, Aeſchylus, and ſome times Sophocles were guilty of this Fault; among the Latins, Claudian and Statius; and among our own Countrymen, Shakeſpear and Lee. In theſe Authors the Affectation of Greatneſs often hurts the Perſpicuity of the Stile, as in many others the Endeavour after Perſpicuity prejudices its Greatneſs.

ARISTOTLE has obſerved, that the Idiomatick Stile may be avoided, and the Sublime formed, by the following Methods. Firſt, by the Uſe of Metaphors: ſuch are thoſe in Milton. Imparadiſed in anothers Arms, —And in his Hand a Reed Stood waving tipt with Fire;— The graſſie Clods now calv'd.— Spangled with Eyes—

IN theſe and innumerable other Inſtances, the Metaphors are very bold but juſt; I muſt however obſerve, that the Metaphors are not thick ſown in Milton, which always favours too much of Wit; that they never claſh with one another, which, as Ariſtotle obſerves, turns a Sentence into a Kind of an Enigma or Riddle; and that he ſeldom has Recourſe to them where the proper and natural Words will do as well.

ANOTHER way of raiſing the Language, and giving it a Poetical Turn, is to make Uſe of the Idioms of other Tongues. Virgil is full of the Greek Forms of Speech, which the Criticks call Helleniſms, as Horace in his Odes abounds with them much more than Virgil. I need not mention the ſeveral Dialects which Homer has made uſe of for this End. Milton in Conformity with the Practice of the Ancient Poets, and with Ariſtotle's Rule, has infuſed a great many Latiniſms as well as Graciſms, and ſometimes Hebraiſms, into the Language of his Poem; as towards the Beginning of it, Nor did they not perceive the evil plight In which they were, or the fierce Pains not feel. Yet to their Gen'ral's Voice they ſoon obey'd. —Who ſhall tempt with wandring Fees The dark unbottom'd Infinite Abyſs, And through the palpable Obſcure find out His uncouth way, or ſpread his airy Flight Ʋpborn with indefatigable Wings Over the vaſt Abrupt! —So both aſcend In the Viſions of God— B. 11.

UNDER this Head may be reckoned the placing the Adjective after the Subſtantive, the Tranſpoſition of Words, the turning the Adjective into a Subſtantive, with ſeveral other Foreign Modes of Speech, which this Poet has naturalized to give his Verſe the greater Sound, and throw it out of Proſe.

THE third Method mentioned by Ariſtotle, is what agrees with the Genius of the Greek Language more than with that of any other Tongue, and is therefore more uſed by Homer than by any other Poet. I mean the lengthning of a Phraſe by the Addition of Words, which may either be inſerted or omitted, as alſo by the extending or contracting of particular Words by the Inſertion or Omiſſion of certain Syllables. Milton has put in practice this Method of raiſing his Language, as far as the Nature of our Tongue will permit, as in the Paſſage above-mentioned, Eremite, for what is Hermite, in common Diſcourſe. If you obſerve the Meaſure of his Verſe, he has with great Judgment ſuppreſſed a Syllable in ſeveral Words, and ſhortned thoſe of two Syllables into one, by which Method, beſides the above-mentioned Advantage, he has given a greater Variety to his Numbers. But this Practice is more particularly remarkable in the Names of Perſons and of Countries, as Beëlzebub, Heſſebon, and in many other Particulars, wherein he has either changed the Name, or made uſe of that which is not the moſt commonly known, that he might the better depart from the Language of the Vulgar.

THE ſame Reaſon recommended to him ſeveral old Words, which alſo makes his Poem appear the more venerable, and gives it a greater Air of Antiquity.

I muſt likewiſe take notice, that there are in Milton ſeveral Words of his own Coining, as Cerberean, miſcreated, hell-doom'd, Embryon Atoms, and many others. If the Reader is offended at this Liberty in our Engliſh Poet, I would recommend him to a Diſcourſe in Plutarch, which ſhews us how frequently Homer has made uſe of the ſame Liberty.

MILTON by the above-mentioned Helps, and by the Choice of the nobleſt Words and Phraſes which our Tongue would afford him, has carried our Language to a greater height than any of the Engliſh Poets have ever done before or after him, and made the Sublimity of his Stile equal to that of his Sentiments,

I have been the more particular in theſe Obſervations on Milton's Stile, becauſe it is that part of him in which he appears the moſt ſingular. The Remarks I have here made upon the Practice of other Poets, with my Obſervations out of Ariſtotle, will perhaps alleviate the Prejudice which ſome have taken to his Poem upon this Account; tho' after all, I muſt confeſs, that I think his Stile, tho' admirable in general, is in ſome places too much ſtiffened and obſcured by the frequent Uſe of thoſe Methods, which Ariſtotle has preſcribed for the raiſing of it.

THIS Redundancy of thoſe ſeveral Ways of Speech which Ariſtotle calls foreign Language, and with which Milton has ſo very much enriched, and in ſome places darkned the Language of his Poem, was the more proper for his uſe, becauſe his Poem is written in Blank Verſe. Rhyme, without any other Aſſiſtance, throws the Language off from Proſe, and very often makes an indifferent Phraſe paſs unregarded; but where the Verſe is not built upon Rhymes, there Pomp of Sound, and Energy of Expreſſion, are indiſpenſably neceſſary to ſupport the Stile, and keep it from falling into the Flatneſs of Proſe.

THOSE who have not a Taſte for this Elevation of Stile, and are apt to ridicule a Poet when he goes out of the common Forms of Expreſſion, would do well to ſee how Ariſtotle has treated an Ancient Author, called Euclid, for his inſipid Mirth upon this Occaſion. Mr. Dryden uſed to call this ſort of Men his Proſe-Criticks.

I ſhould, under this Head of the Language, conſider Milton's Numbers, in which he has made uſe of ſeveral Eliſions, that are not cuſtomary among other Engliſh Poets, as may be particularly obſerved in his cutting off the Letter Y, when it precedes a Vowel. This, and ſome other Innovations in the Meaſure of his Verſe, has varied his Numbers, in ſuch a manner, as makes them incapable of ſatiating the Ear and cloying the Reader, which the ſame uniform Meaſure would certainly have done, and which the perpetual Returns of Rhyme never fail to do in long Narrative Poems. I ſhall cloſe theſe Reflections upon the Language of Paradiſe Loſt, with obſerving that Milton has copied after Homer, rather than Virgil, in the length of his Periods, the Copiouſneſs of his Phraſes, and the running of his Verſes into one another.

SPECTATOR, No 291. —Ʋbi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis Offendor maculis, quas aut Incuria fudit, Aut Humana parum cavit Natura— Hor.

I Have now conſider'd Milton's Paradiſe Loſt under thoſe four great Heads of the Fable, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the Language; and have ſhewn that he excels, in general, under each of theſe Heads. I hope that I have made ſeveral Diſcoveries which may appear new, even to thoſe who are verſed in Critical Learning. Were I indeed to chuſe my Readers, by whoſe Judgment I would ſtand or fall, they ſhould not be ſuch as are acquainted only with the French and Italian Criticks, but alſo with the Antient and Modern who have written in either of the learned Languages. Above all, I would have them well verſed in the Greek and Latin Poets, without which a Man very often fancies that he underſtands a Critick, when in reality he does not comprehend his Meaning.

IT is in Criticiſm, as in all other Sciences and Speculations; one who brings with him any implieit Notions and Obſervations which he has made in his reading of the Poets, will find his own Reflections methodized and explained, and perhaps ſeveral little Hints that had paſſed in his Mind, perfected and improved in the Works of a good Critick; whereas one who has not theſe previous Lights, is very often an utter Stranger to what he reads, and apt to put a wrong Interpretation upon it.

NOR is it ſufficient, that a Man who ſets up for a Judge in Criticiſm, ſhould have peruſed the Authors above-mentioned, unleſs he has alſo a clear and logical Head. Without this Talent he is perpetually puzzled and perplexed amidſt his own Blunders, miſtakes the Senſe of thoſe he would confute, or if he chances to think right, does not know how to convey his Thoughts to another with Clearneſs and Perſpicuity. Ariſtotle, who was the beſt Critick, was alſo one of the beſt Logicians that ever appeared in the World.

Mr. Lock's Eſſay on Human Underſtanding would be thought a very odd Book for a Man to make himſelf Maſter of, who would get a Reputation by Critical Writings; though at the ſame Time it is very certain, that an Author who has not learned the Art of diſtinguiſhing between Words and Things, and of ranging his Thoughts, and ſetting them in proper Lights, whatever Notions he may have, will loſe himſelf in Confuſion and Obſcurity. I might further obſerve, that there is not a Greek or Latin Critick who has not ſhewn, even in the Stile of his Criticiſms, that he was a Maſter of all the Elegance and Delicacy of his Native Tongue.

THE Truth of it is, there is nothing more abſurd than for a Man to ſet up for a Critick, without a good Inſight into all the Parts of Learning; whereas many of thoſe who have endeavoured to ſignalize themſelves by Works of this Nature among our Engliſh Writers, are not only defective in the abovementioned Particulars, but plainly diſcover by the Phraſes which they make uſe of, and by their confuſed way of thinking, that they are not acquainted with the moſt common and ordinary Syſtems of Arts and Sciences. A few general Rules extracted out of the French Authors, with a certain Cant of Words, has ſometimes ſet up an illiterate heavy Writer for a moſt judicious and formidable Critick.

ONE great Mark, by which you may diſcovet a Critick who has neither Taſte nor Learning, is this, that he ſeldom ventures to praiſe any Paſſage in an Author which has not been before received and applauded by the Publick, and that his Criticiſm turns wholly upon little Faults and Errors. This Part of a Critick is ſo very eaſy to ſucceed in, that we find every ordinary Reader, upon the publiſhing of a new Poem, has Wit and Ill-nature enough to turn ſeveral Paſſages of it into Ridicule, and very often in the right Place. This Mr. Dryden has very agreeably remarked in thoſe two celebrated Lines, Errors, like Straws, upon the Surface flow; He who would ſearch for Pearls muſt dive below.

A true Critick ought to dwell rather upon Excellencies than Imperfections, to diſcover the concealed Beauties of a Writer, and communicate to the World ſuch Things as are worth their Obſervation. The moſt exquiſite Words and fineſt Strokes of an Author are thoſe which very often appear the moſt doubtful and exceptionable, to a Man who wants a Reliſh for polite Learning; and they are theſe, which a ſoure undiſtinguiſhing Critick generally attacks with the greateſt Violence. Tully obſerves, that it is very eaſy to brand or fix a Mark upon what he calls Verbum ardens, or, as it may be rendered into Engliſh, a glowing bold Expreſſion, and to turn it into Ridicule by a cold ill-natured Criticiſm. A little Wit is equally capable of expoſing a Beauty, and of aggravating a Fault; and though ſuch a Treatment of an Author naturally produces Indignation in the Mind of an underſtanding Reader, it has however its Effect among the Generality of thoſe whoſe Hands it falls into, the Rabble of Mankind being very apt to think that every thing which is laughed at with any Mixture of Wit, is ridiculous in it ſelf.

SUCH a Mirth as this, is always unſeaſonable in a Critick, as it rather prejudices the Reader than convinces him, and is capable of making a Beauty, as well as a Blemiſh, the Subject of Deriſion. A Man, who cannot write with Wit on a proper Subject, is dull and ſtupid, but one who ſhews it in an improper Place, is as impertinent and abſurd. Beſides, a Man who has the Gift of Ridicule, is apt to find Fault with any Thing that gives him an Opportunity of exerting his beloved Talent, and very often cenſures a Paſſage, not becauſe there is any Fault in it, but becauſe he can be merry upon it. Such Kinds of Pleaſantry are very unfair and diſingenuous in Works of Criticiſm, in which the greateſt Maſters, both antient and modern, have always appeared with a ſerious and inſtructive Air.

AS I intend in my next Paper to ſhew the Defects in Milton's Paradiſe Loſt, I thought fit to premiſe theſe few Particulars, to the End that the Reader may know I enter upon it, as on a very ungrateful Work, and that I ſhall juſt point at the Imperfections, without endeavouring to enflame them with Ridicule. I muſt alſo obſerve with Longinus, that the Productions of a great Genius, with many Lapſes and Inadvertencies, are infinitely preferable to the Works of an inferior Kind of Author, which are ſcrupulouſly exact and conformable to all the Rules of correct Writing.

I ſhall conclude my Paper with a Story out of Boccalini, which ſufficiently ſhews us the Opinion that judicious Author entertained of the Sort of Criticks I have been here mentioning. A famous Critick, ſays he, having gathered together all the Faults of an eminent Poet, made a Preſent of them to Apollo, who received them very graciouſly, and reſolved to make the Author a ſuitable Return for the Trouble he had been at in collecting them. In Order to this, he ſet before him a Sack of Wheat, as it had been juſt threſhed out of the Sheaf. He then bid him pick out the Chaff from among the Corn, and lay it aſide by itſelf. The Critick applied himſelf to the Task with great Induſtry and Pleaſure, and after having made the due Separation, was preſented by Apollo with the Chaff for his Pains.

SPECTATOR, No 297. —velut ſi Egregio inſperſos reprendas corpore naevos. Hor.

AFTER what I have ſaid in my laſt Saturday's Paper, I ſhall enter on the Subject of this without farther Preface, and remark the ſeveral Defects which appear in the Fable, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the Language of Milton's Paradiſe Loſt; not doubting but the Reader will pardon me, if I alledge at the ſame Time whatever may be ſaid for the Extenuation of ſuch Defects. The firſt Imperfection which I ſhall obſerve in the Fable is, that the Event of it is unhappy.

THE Fable of every Poem is according to Aritatle's Diviſion either Simple or Implex. It is called Simple when there is no Change of Fortune in it, Implex when the Fortune of the chief Actor changes from Bad to Good, or from Good to Bad. The Implex Fable is thought the moſt perfect; I ſuppoſe, becauſe it is more proper to ſtir up the Paſſions of the Reader, and to ſurprize him with a greater Variety of Accidents.

THE Implex Fable is therefore of two Kinds: In the firſt the chief Actor makes his Way through a long Series of Dangers and Difficulties, 'till he arrives at Honour and Proſperity, as we ſee in the Story of Ʋliſſes. In the ſecond, the chief Actor in the Poem falls from ſome eminent Pitch of Honour and Proſperity, into Miſery and Diſgrace. Thus we ſee Adam and Eve ſinking from a State of Innocence and Happineſs, into the moſt abject Condition of Sin and Sorrow.

THE moſt taking Tragedies among the Antients were built on this laſt Sort of Implex Fable, particularly the Tragedy of OEdipus, which proceeds upon a Story, if we may believe Ariſtotle, the moſt proper for Tragedy that could be invented by the Wit of Man. I have taken ſome Pains in a former Paper to ſhew, that this Kind of Implex Fable, wherein the Event is unhappy, is more apt to affect an Audience than that of the firſt Kind; notwithſtanding many excellent Pieces among the Antients, as well as moſt of thoſe which have been written of late Years in our own Country, are raiſed upon contrary Plans. I muſt however own, that I think this Kind of Fable, which is the moſt perfect in Tragedy, is not ſo proper for an Heroick Poem.

MILTON ſeems to have been ſenſible of this Imperfection in his Fable, and has therefore endeavoured to cure it by ſeveral Expedients; particularly by the Mortification which the great Adverſary of Mankind meets with upon his Return to the Aſſembly of Infernal Spirits, as it is deſcribed in a beautiful Paſſage of the tenth Book; and likewiſe by the Viſion, wherein Adam at the Cloſe of the Poem ſees his Off-ſpring triumphing over his great Enemy, and himſelf reſtored to a happier Paradiſe than that from which he fell.

THERE is another Objection againſt Milton's Fable, which is indeed almoſt the ſame with the former, tho' placed in a different Light, namely, That the Hero in the Paradiſe Loſt is unſucceſsful, and by no Means a Match for his Enemies. This gave Occaſion to Mr. Dryden's Reflection, that the Devil was in reality Milton's Hero. I think I have obviated this Objection in my firſt Paper. The Paradiſe Loſt is an Epic, or a Narrative Poem, and he that looks for an Hero in it, ſearches for that which Milton never intended; but if he will needs fix the Name of an Hero upon any Perſon in it, 'tis certainly the Meſſiah who is the Hero, both in the Principal Action, and in the chief Epiſodes. Paganiſm could not furniſh out a real Action for a Fable greater than that of the Iliad or Aeneid, and therefore an Heathen could not form a higher Notion of a Poem than one of that Kind which they call an Heroic. Whether Milton's is not of a ſublimer Nature I will not preſume to determine: It is ſufficient, that I ſhew there is in the Paradiſe Loſt all the Greatneſs of Plan, Regularity of Deſign, and maſterly Beauties which we diſcover in Homer and Virgil.

I muſt in the next Place obſerve, that Milton has interwoven in the Texture of his Fable ſome Particulars which do not ſeem to have Probability enough for an Epic Poem, particularly in the Actions which he aſcribes to Sin and Death, and the Picture which he draws of the Limbo of Vanity, with other Paſſages in the ſecond Book. Such Allegories rather ſavour of the Spirit of Spenſer and Arioſto, than of Homer and Virgil.

IN the Structure of his Poem he has likewiſe admitted of too many Digreſſions. It is finely obſerved by Ariſtotle, that the Author of an Heroic Poem ſhould ſeldom ſpeak himſelf, but throw as much of his Work as he can into the Mouths of thoſe who are his principal Actors. Ariſtotle has given no Reaſon for this Precept; but I preſume it is becauſe the Mind of the Reader is more awed and elevated when he hears Aeneas or Achilles ſpeak, than when Virgil or Homer talk in their own Perſons. Beſides that aſſuming the Character of an eminent Man is apt to fire the Imagination, and raiſe the Ideas of the Author. Tully tells us, mentioning his Dialogue of old Age, in which Cato is the chief Speaker, that upon a Review of it he was agreeably impoſed upon, and fancied that it was Cato, and not he himſelf, who uttered his Thoughts on that Subject.

IF the Reader would be at the Pains to ſee how the Story of the Iliad and Aeneid is delivered by thoſe Perſons who act in it, he will be ſurpriſed to find how little in either of theſe Poems proceeds from the Authors. Milton has, in the general Diſpoſition of his Fable, very finely obſerved this great Rule; inſomuch, that there is ſcarce a third Part of it which comes from the Poet; the reſt is ſpoken either by Adam and Eve, or by ſome Good or Evil Spirit who is engaged either in their Deſtruction or Defence.

FROM what has been here obſerved, it appears, that Digreſſions are by no Means to be allowed of in an Epic Poem. If the Poet, even in the ordinary Courſe of his Narration, ſhould ſpeak as little as poſſible, he ſhould certainly never let his Narration ſleep for the ſake of any Reflections of his own. I have often obſerved, with a ſecret Admiration, that the longeſt Reflection in the Aeneid is in that Paſſage of the Tenth Book, where Turnus is repreſented as dreſſing himſelf in the Spoils of Pallas, whom he had ſlain. Virgil here lets his Fable ſtand ſtill for the Sake of the following Remark. How is the Mind of Man ignorant of Futurity, and unable to bear proſperous Fortune with Moderation? The Time will come when Turnus ſhall wiſh that he had left the Body of Pallas untouched, and curſe the Day on which he dreſſed himſelf in theſe Spoils. As the great Event of the Aeneid, and the Death of Turnus, whom Aeneas ſlew, becauſe he ſaw him adorned with the Spoils of Pallas, turns upon this Incident, Virgil went out of his Way to make this Reflection upon it, without which ſo ſmall a Circumſtance might poſſibly have ſlipped out of his Reader's Memory. Lucan, who was an Injudicious Poet, lets drop his Story very frequently for the Sake of his unneceſſary Digreſſions, or his Diverticula, as Scaliger calls them. If he gives us an Account of the Prodigies which preceded the Civil War, he declaims upon the Occaſion, and ſhews how much happier it would be for Man, if he did not feel his evil Fortune before it comes to paſs, and ſuffer not only by its real Weight, but by the Apprehenſion of it. Milton's Complaint for his Blindneſs, his Panegyrick on Marriage, his Reflections on Adam and Eve's going naked, of the Angels eating, and ſeveral other Paſſages in his Poem, are liable to the ſame Exception, tho' I muſt confeſs there is ſo great a Beauty in theſe very Digreſſions that I would not with them our of his Poem.

I have, in a former Paper, ſpoken of the Characters of Milton's Paradiſe Loſt, and declared my Opinion, as to the Allegorical Perſons who are introduced in it.

IF we look into the Sentiments, I think they are ſometimes defective under the following Heads; Firſt, as there are ſeveral of them too much pointed, and ſome that degenerate even into Punns. Of this laſt Kind, I am afraid is that in the Firſt Book, where, ſpeaking of the Pigmies, he calls them —The ſmall Infantry Warr'd on by Cranes—

ANOTHER Blemiſh that appears in ſome of his Thoughts, is his frequent Alluſion to Heathen Fables, which are not certainly of a Piece with the Divine Subject, of which he treats. I do not find Fault with theſe Alluſions, where the Poet himſelf repreſents them as fabulous, as he does in ſome Places, but where he mentions them as Truths and Matters of Fact. The Limits of my Paper will not give me Leave to be particular in Inſtances of this Kind: The Reader will eaſily remark them in his Peruſal of the Poem.

A Third Fault in his Sentiments, is an unneceſſary Oſtentation of Learning, which likewiſe occurs very frequently. It is certain, that both Homer and Virgil were Maſters of all the Learning of their Times, but it ſhews itſelf in their Works, after an indirect and concealed Manner. Milton ſeems ambitions of letting us know, by his Excurſions on Free-Will and Predeſtination, and his many Glances upon Hiſtory, Aſtronomy, Geography and the like, as well as by the Terms and Phraſes he ſometimes makes Uſe of, that he was acquainted with the whole Circle of Arts and Sciences.

IF, in the laſt Place, we conſider the Language of this great Poet, we muſt allow what I have hinted in a former Paper, that it is often too much laboured, and ſometimes obſcured by old Words, Tranſpoſitions, and Foreign Idioms. Seneca's Objection to the Stile of a great Author, Rigot ojus oratio, nihil in ea placidum nihil lene, is what many Criticks make to Milton: As I cannot wholly refute it, ſo I have already apologized for it in another Paper; to which I may further add, that Milton's Sentiments and Ideas were ſo wonderfully ſublime, that it would have been impoſſible for him to have repreſented them in their full Strength and Beauty, without having Recourſe to theſe Foreign Aſſiſtances. Our Language ſunk under him, and was unequal to that Greatneſs of Soul, which furniſhed him with ſuch glorious Conceptions.

A ſecond Fault in his Language is, that he often affects a Kind of Jingle in his Words, as in the following Paſſages, and many others: And brought into the World a World of Woe. —Begirt th' Almighty Throne Beſeeching or beſieging— This tempted our Attempt— At one ſlight Bound high over-leapt all Bound.

I know there are Figures for this Kind of Speech, that ſome of the greateſt Antients have been guilty of it, and that Ariſtotle himſelf has given it a Place in his Rhetorick among the Beauties of that Art. But as it is in itſelf poor and trifling, it is I think at preſent univerſally exploded by all the Maſters of polite Writing.

THE laſt Fault which I ſhall take Notice of in Milton's Stile, is the frequent Uſe of what the Learned call Technical Words, or Terms of Art. It is one of the great Beauties of Poetry, to make hard Things intelligible, and to deliver what is abſtruſe of it ſelf in ſuch eaſy Language as may be underſtood by ordinary Readers: Beſides, that the Knowledge of a Poet ſhould rather ſeem born with him, or inſpired, than drawn from Books and Syſtems. I have often wondered, how Mr. Dryden could tranſlate a Paſſage out of Virgil, after the following Manner, Tack to the Larboard, and ſtand off to Sea, Veer Star-board Sea and Land.— Milton makes Uſe of Larboard in the ſame Manner. When he is upon Building, he mentions Doric Pillars, Pilaſters, Cornice, Freeze, Architrave. When he talks of Heavenly Bodies, you meet with Ecliptic, and Eccentric, the Trepidation, Stars dropping from the Zenith, Rays culminating from the Equator. To which might be added many Inſtances of the like Kind in ſeveral other Arts and Sciences.

Iſhall in my next Papers give an Account of the many particular Beauties in Milton, which would have been too long to inſert under thoſe general Heads I have already treated of, and with which I intend to conclude this Piece of Criticiſm.

SPECTATOR, No 303. —volet haec ſub luce videri, Judicis argutum quae. non formidat acumen. Hor.

I Have ſeen in the Works of a modern Philoſopher, a Map of the Spots in the Sun. My laſt Paper of the Faults and Blemiſhes in Milton's Paradiſe Loſt, may be conſidered as a Piece of the ſame Nature. To purſue the Alluſion: As it is obſerved, that among the bright Parts of the luminous Body above-mentioned, there are ſome which glow more intenſely, and dart a ſtronger Light than others; ſo, notwithſtanding I have already ſhewn Milton's Poem to be very beautiful in general, I ſhall now proceed to take Notice of ſuch Beauties as appear to me more exquiſite than the reſt. Milton has propoſed the Subject of his Poem in the following Verſes. Of Mans firſt diſobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree whoſe mortal taſte Brought Death into the world and all our woe, With loſs of Eden, 'till one greater Man Reſtore us, and regain the bliſsful Seat, Sing Heav'nly Muſe—

THESE Lines are perhaps as plain, ſimple and unadorned as any of the whole Poem, in which Particular the Author has conform'd himſelf to the Example of Homer, and the Precept of Horace.

HIS Invocation to a Work which turns in a great Meaſure upon the Creation of the World, is very properly made to the Muſe who inſpired Moſes in thoſe Books from whence our Author drew his Subject, and to the Holy Spirit who is therein repreſented as operating after a particular Manner in the firſt Production of Nature. This whole Exordium riſes very happily into noble Language and Sentiment, as I think the Tranſition to the Fable is exquiſitely beautiful and natural.

THE Nine-days Aſtoniſhment, in which the Angels lay entranced after their dreadful Overthrow and Fall from Heaven, before they could recover either the Uſe of Thought or Speech, is a noble Circumſtance, and very finely imagined.Vid. Heſiod. The Diviſion of Hell into Seas of Fire, and into firm Ground impregnated with the ſame furious Element, with that particular Circumſtance of the Excluſion of Hope from thoſe infernal Regions, are Inſtances of the ſame great and fruitful Invention.

THE Thoughts in the firſt Speech and Deſcription of Satan, who is one of the principal Actors in this Poem, are wonderfully proper to give us a full Idea of him. His Pride, Envy and Revenge, Obſtinacy, Deſpair and Impenitence, are all of them very artfully interwoven. In ſhort, his firſt Speech is a Complication of all thoſe Paſſions which diſcover themſelves ſeparately in ſeveral other of his Speeches in the Poem. The whole Part of this great Enemy of Mankind is filled with ſuch Incidents as are very apt to raiſe and terrify the Reader's Imagination. Of this Nature, in the Book now before us, is his being the firſt that awakens out of the general Trance, with his Poſture on the burning Lake, his riſing from it, and the Deſcription of his Shield and Spear. Thus Satan talking to his neareſt mate, With head up-life above the wave, and eyes That ſparkling blazed, his other parts beſide Prone on the Flood, extended long and large, Lay floating many a rood— Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool His mighty Stature; on each hand the flames Driv'n backward ſlope their pointing Spires, and rowl'd In Billows leave i'th' midſt a horrid vale. Then with expanded Wings he ſteers his flight Aloſt, incumbent on the dusky Air That felt unuſual weight— —His pondrous Shield, Ethereal temper, maſſie, large and round, Behind him caſt; the broad Circumference Hung on his Shoulders like the Moon, whoſe orb Thro' Optick Glaſs tho Tuſcan Artiſts view At Ev'ning from the top of Feſole, Or in Valdatno to deſory new Lands, Rivers or Mountains on her ſpotty Globe. His Spear to equal which the talleſt pine Hewn on Norwegian Hills to be the Maſt Of ſome great Ammiral, were but a wand, He walk'd with to ſupport uneaſy Steps Over the burning Marl—

TO which we may add his Call to the fallen Angels that lay plunged and ſtupified in the Sea of Fire. He call'd ſo loud, that all the hollow deep Of Hell reſounded—

BUT there is no ſingle Paſſage in the whole Poem worked up to a greater Sublimity, than that wherein his Perſon is deſcribed in thoſe celebrated Lines: —He, above the reſt In Shape and Geſture proudly eminent Stood like a Tower, &c.

HIS Sentiments are every way anſwerable to his Character, and ſuitable to a created Being of the moſt exalted and moſt depraved Nature. Such is that in which he takes Poſſeſſion of his Place of Torments. —Hail Horrors, hail Infernal World, and thou profoundeſt Hill Receive thy new Poſſeſſor, one who brings A Mind not to be changed by place or time. And afterwards, —Here at leeſt We ſhall be free; th' Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reign ſecure, and in my choice To reign is worth ambition, tho' in Hell: Better to reign in Hell, than ſerve in Heaven.

AMIDST thoſe Impieties which this Enraged Spirit utters in other Places of the Poem, the Author has taken Care to introduce none that is not big with Abſurdity, and incapable of ſhocking a Religious Reader; his Words, as the Poet deſcribes them, bearing only a Semblance of Worth, not Subſtance. He is likewiſe with great Art deſcribed as owning his Adverſary to be Almighty. Whatever perverſe Interpetation he puts on the Juſtice, Mercy, and other Attributes of the Supreme Being, he frequently confeſſes his Omnipotence, that being the Perfection he was forced to allow him, and the only Conſideration which could ſupport his Pride under the Shame of his Defeat.

NOR muſt I here omit that beautiful Circumſtance of his burſting out in Tears, upon his Survey of thoſe innumerable Spirits whom he had involved in the ſame Guilt and Ruin with himſelf. —He now prepared To ſpeak; whereat their doubled Ranks they bend From Wing to Wing and half encloſe him round With all his Peers: Attention held them mute. Thrice he aſſay'd, and thrice in ſpite of Scorn Tears, ſuch as Angels weep, burſt forth—

THE Catalogue of Evil Spirits has Abundance of Learning in it, and a very agreeable Turn of Poetry, which riſes in a great meaſure from its deſcribing the Places where they were worſhipped, by thoſe beautiful Marks of Rivers, ſo frequent among the Antient Poets. The Author had doubtleſs in this Place Homer's Catalogue of Ships, and Virgil's Lift of Warriors in his view. The Characters of Moloch and Belial prepare the Reader's Mind for their reſpective Speeches and Behaviour in the ſecond and ſixth Book. The Account of Thammuz is finely Romantick, and ſuitable to what we read among the Antients of the Worſhip which was paid to that Idol. —Thammuz came next behind, Whoſe annual Wound in Lebanon allur'd The Syrian Damſels to lament his fate, In am'rous Ditties all a Summer's day, While ſmooth Adonis from his native Rock Ran purple to the Sea, ſuppos'd with Blood Of Thammuz yearly wounded: the Love-tale, Infected Sion's Daughters with like Heat, Whoſe wanton Paſſions in the ſacred Porch Ezekiel ſaw, when by the Viſion led His Eye ſurvey'd the dark Idolatries Of alienated Judah.—

The Reader will pardon me if I inſert as a Note on this beautiful Paſſage, the Account given us by the late ingenious Mr. Maundrell of this Antient Piece of Worſhip, and probably the firſt Occaſion of ſuch a Superſtition. 'We came to a fair large River—doubtleſs the Antient River Adonis, ſo famous for the Idolatrous Rites perform'd here in Lamentation of Adonis. We had the Fortune to ſee what may be ſuppoſed to be the Occaſion of that Opinion which Lucian relates, concerning this River, viz. That this Stream, at certain Seaſons of the Year, eſpecially about the Feaſt of Adonis, is of a bloody Colour; which the Heathens looked upon as proceeding from a kind of Sympathy in the River for the Death of Adonis, who was killed by a wild Boar in the Mountains, out of which this Stream riſes. Something like this we ſaw actually come to paſs; for the Water was ſtain'd to a ſurpriſing redneſs; and, as we obſerv'd in Travelling, had diſcolour'd the Sea a great way into a reddiſh Hue, occaſion'd doubtleſs by a ſort of Minium, or red Earth, waſhed into the River by the violence of the Rain, and not by any ſtain from Adonis's Blood.'

THE Paſſage in the Catalogue, explaining the manner how Spirits transform themſelves by Contraction, or Enlargement of their Dimenſions, is introduced with great Judgment, to make way for ſeveral ſurpriſing Accidents in the Sequel of the Poem. There follows one, at the very End of the Firſt Book, which is what the French Criticks call Marvellous, but at the ſame Time probable by reaſon of the Paſſage laſt mentioned. As ſoon as the Infernal Palace is finiſhed, we are told the Multitude and Rabble of Spirits immediately ſhrunk themſelves into a ſmall Compaſs, that there might be Room for ſuch a numberleſs Aſſembly in this capacious Hall. But it is the Poet's Refinement upon this Thought, which I moſt admire, and which is indeed very noble in its ſelf. For he tells us, that notwithſtanding the vulgar, among the fallen Spirits, contracted their Forms, thoſe of the firſt Rank and Dignity ſtill preſerved their natural Dimenſions. Thus incorporeal Spirits to ſmalleſt Forms Reduc'd their Shapes immenſe, and were at large Though without Number ſtill amidſt the Hall Of that infernal Court. But far within, And in their own Dimenſions like themſelves, The Great Seraphick Lords and Cherubim, In cloſe receſs and ſecret conclave ſate, A thouſand Demy-Gods on Golden Seats, Frequent and full—

THE Character of Mammon, and the Deſcription of the Pandamonium, are full of Beauties.

THERE are ſeveral other Strokes in the Firſt Book wonderfully poetical, and Inſtances of that Sublime Genius ſo peculiar to the Author. Such is the Deſcription of Azazel's Stature, and of the Infernal Standard, which he unfurls; as alſo of that ghaſtly Light, by which the Fiends appear to one another in their Place of Torments. The Seat of Doſolation, void of Light, Save what the glimm'ring of thoſe livid Flames Caſts pale and dreadful—

THE Shout of the whole Hoſt of fallen Angels when drawn up in Battel Array: —The Ʋniverſal Hoſt up ſent A Shout that tore Hell's Concave, and beyond Frighted the Reign of Chaos and old Night.

THE Review, which the Leader makes of his Infernal Army: —He thro' the armed files Darts his experienc'd Eye, and ſoon traverſe The whole Battalion views, their order due, Their Viſages and Stature as of Gods, Their number laſt he ſums, and now his Heart Diſtends with Pride, and hard'ning in his Strength Glories—

THE Flaſh of Light, which appeared upon the drawing of their Swords; He ſpake: and to confirm his Words outflew Millions of flaming Swords, drawn from the Thighs Of mighty Cherubim; the ſudden Blaze Far round illumin'd Hell—

THE ſudden Production of the Pandaemoniune; Anon out of the Earth a Fabrick huge Roſe like an Exhalation, with the Sound Of dulcet Symphonies and Voices ſweet.

THE artificial Illuminations made in it. —From the arched Roof Pendent by ſubtle Magick, many a Row Of Starry Lamps and blazing Creſcets, fed With Naphtha and Aſphaltus, yielded Light As from a Sky—

THERE are alſo ſeveral noble Similies and Alluſions in the firſt Book of Paradiſe Loſt. And here I muſt obſerve, that when Milton alludes either to Things or Perſons, he never quits his Simile till it riſes to ſome very great Idea, which is often foreign to the Occaſion that gave Birth to it. The Reſemblance does not, perhaps, laſt above a Line or two, but the Poet runs on with the Hint, till he has raiſed out of it ſome glorious Image or Sentiment, proper to inflame the Mind of the Reader, and to give it that ſublime Kind of Entertainment, which is ſuitable to the Nature of an Heroic Poem. Thoſe, who are acquainted with Homer's and Virgil's Way of Writing, cannot but be pleaſed with this Kind of Structure in Milton's Similitudes. I am the more particular on this Head, becauſe ignorant Readers, who have formed their Taſte upon the quaint Similies, and little Turns of Wit, which are ſo much in Vogue among modern Poets, cannot reliſh theſe Beauties which are of a much higher Nature, and are therefore apt to cenſure Milton's Compariſons, in which they do not ſee any ſurpriſing Points of Likeneſs. Monſieur Perrault was a Man of this vitiated Reliſh, and for that very Reaſon has endeavoured to turn into Ridicule ſeveral of Homer's Similitudes, which he calls Comparaiſons a longue queue, Long-tail'd Compariſons. I ſhall conclude this Paper on the Firſt Book of Milton with the Anſwer which Monſieur Boileau makes to Perrault on this Occaſion; 'Compariſons, ſays he, in Odes and Epic Poems are not introduced only to illuſtrate and embelliſh the Diſcourſe, but to amuſe and relax the Mind of the reader, by frequently diſengaging him from too painful an Attention to the principal Subject, and by leading him into other agreeable Images. Homer, ſays he, excelled in this Particular, whoſe Compariſons abound with ſuch Images of Nature as are proper to relieve and diverſifie his Subjects. He continually inſtructs the Reader, and makes him take notice, even in Objects which are every Day before our Eyes, of ſuch Circumſtances as we ſhould not otherwiſe have obſerved. To this he adds, as a Maxim univerſally acknowledged, that it is not neceſſary in Poetry for the Points of the Compariſon to correſpond with one another exactly, but that a general Reſemblance is ſufficient, and that too much Nicety in this Particular ſavours of the Rhetorician and Epigrammatiſt.'

IN ſhort, if we look into the Conduct of Homer, Virgil and Milton, as the great Fable is the Soul of each Poem, ſo to give their Works an agreeable Variety, their Epiſodes are ſo many ſhort Fables, and their Similes ſo many ſhort Epiſodes; to which you may add, if you pleaſe, that their Metaphors are ſo many ſhort Similes. If the Reader conſiders the Compariſons in the firſt Book of Milton, of the Sun in an Eclipſe, of the fleeping Leviathan, of the Bees ſwarming about their Hive, of the fairy Dance, in the View wherein I have here placed them, he will eaſily diſcover the great Beauties that are in each of thoſe Paſſages.

SPECTATOR, No 309. Di, quibus imperium eſt animarum, umbraeque ſilentes, Et Chaos, et Phlegethon, loca nocte ſilentia late; Sit mihi fas audite loqui! fit numine veſtro Pandere res alta terra et caligine merſas. Virg.

I Have before obſerved in general, that the Perſons whom Milton introduces into his Poem always diſcover ſuch Sentiments and Behaviour, as are in a peculiar Manner conformable to their reſpective Characters. Every Circumſtance in their Speeches and Actions, is with great Juſtneſs and Delicacy adapted to the Perſons who ſpeak and act. As the Poet very much excels in this Conſiſtency of his Characters, I ſhall beg Leave to conſider ſeveral Paſſages of the Second Book in this Light. That ſuperior Greatneſs, and Mock-Majeſty, which is aſcribed to the Prince of the fallen Angels, is admirably preſerved in the Beginning of this Book. His opening and cloſing the Debate; his taking on himſelf that great Enterprize at the Thought of which the whole infernal Aſſembly trembled; his encountring the hideous Phantom who guarded the Gates of Hell, and appeared to him in all his Terrors; are Inſtances of that proud and daring Mind which could not brook Submiſſion even to Omnipotence. SATAN was now at Hand, and from his Seat The Monſter moving onward came as faſt With horrid Strides, Hell trembled as he ſtrode, Th' undaunted Fiend what this might be admir'd, Admir'd, not fear'd—

THE ſame Boldneſs and Intrepidity of Behaviour diſcovers it ſelf in the ſeveral Adventures, which he meets with during his Paſſage through the Regions of unformed Matter, and particularly in his Addreſs to thoſe tremendous Powers who are deſcribed as preſiding over it.

THE Part of Moloch is likewiſe in all its Circumſtances full of that Fire and Fury, which diſtinguiſh this Spirit from the reſt of the fallen Angels. He is deſcribed in the firſt Book as beſmeared with the Blood of humane Sacrifices, and delighted with the Tears of Parents and the Cries of Children. In the ſecond Book he is marked out as the fierceſt Spirit that fought in Heaven; and if we conſider the Figure which he makes in the ſixth Book, where the Battel of the Angels is deſcribed, we find it every Way anſwerable to the ſame furious enraged Character. —Where the might of Gabriel fought, And with fierce Enſigns pierc'd the deep array Of Molec, furious King, who him defy'd, And at his Chariot wheels to drag him bound Threaten'd, nor from the holy one of Heav'n Refrain'd his Tongue blaſphemous; but anon Down cloven to the waſte, with ſhatter'd arms And uncouth pain fle'd bellowing.—

IT may be worth while to obſerve, that Milton has repreſented this violent impetuous Spirit, who is hurried on by ſuch precipitate Paſſions, as the firſt that riſes in that Aſſembly, to give his Opinion upon their preſent Poſture of Affairs. Accordingly he declares himſelf abruptly for War, and appears incenſed at his Companions, for loſing ſo much Time as even to deliberate upon it. All his Sentiments are raſh, audacious and deſperate. Such is that of arming themſelves with their Tortures, and turning their Puniſhments upon him who inflicted them. —No, let us rather chuſe, Arm'd with Hell-flames and fury, all at once O'er Heav'ns high tow'rs to force reſiſtleſs Way, Turning our Tortures into horrid Arms Againſt the Tort'rer; when to meet the Noiſe Of his almighty Engine he ſhall hear Infernal Thunder, and for Lightning ſee Black fire and horror ſhot with equal Rage Among his Angels; and his Throne it ſelf Mixt with Tartarean Sulphur, and ſtrange Fire, His own invented Torments—

HIS preferring Annihilation to Shame or Miſery, is alſo highly ſuitable to his Character; as the Comfort he draws from their diſturbing the Peace of Heaven, that if it be not Victory it is Revenge, is a Sentiment truly diabolical, and becoming the Bitterneſs of this implacable Spirit.

BELIAL is deſcribed, in the firſt Book, as the Idol of the lewd and luxurious. He is in the ſecond Book, purſuant to that Deſcription, characteriſed as timorous and ſlothful; and if we look into the ſixth Book, we find him celebrated in the Battel of Angels for Nothing but that Scoffing Speech which he makes to Satan, on their ſuppoſed Advantage over the Enemy. As his Appearance is uniform, and of a piece in theſe three ſeveral Views, we find his Sentiments in the infernal Aſſembly every Way conformable to his Character. Such are his Apprehenſions of a ſecond Battel, his Horrors of Annihilation, his preferring to be miſerable rather than not to be. I need not obſerve, that the Contraſt of Thought in this Speech, and that which precedes it, gives an agreeable Variety to the Debate.

MAMMON's Character is ſo fully drawn in the firſt Book, that the Poet adds Nothing to it in the Second. We were before told, that he was the firſt who taught Mankind to ranſack the Earth for Gold and Silver, and that he was the Architect of Pandaemonium, or the infernal Palace, where the evil Spirits were to meet in Council. His Speech in this Book is every where ſuitable to ſo depraved a Character. How proper is that Reflection, of their being unable to taſte the Happineſs of Heaven were they actually there, in the Mouth of one, who while he was in Heaven is ſaid to have had his Mind dazled with the outward Pomps and Glories of the Place, and to have been more intent on the Riches of the Pavement, than on the beatifick Viſion. I ſhall alſo leave the Reader to judge how agreeable the following Sentiments are to the ſame Character. —This deep World Of Darkneſs do we dread? How oft amidſt Thick Cloud and dark doth Heav'ns all-ruling Size Chuſe to reſide, his Glory unobſcured, And with the Majeſty of Darkneſs round Covers his Throne; from whence deep Thunders rear Muſtring their Rage, and Heav'n reſembles Hell? As he our Darkneſs, cannot we his Light Imitate when we pleaſe? This Deſart Soil Wants not her hidden Luſtre, Gems and Gold; Nor want we Skill or Art, from whence to raiſe Magnificence, and what can Heav'n ſhew more?

BEELZEBƲB, who is reckon'd the ſecond in Dignity that fell, and is in the firſt Book, the ſecond that awakens out of the Trance, and confers with Satan upon the Situation of their Affairs, maintains his Rank in the Book now before us. There is a wonderful Majeſty deſcribed in his riſing up to ſpeak. He acts as a Kind of Moderator between the two oppoſite Parties, and propoſes a third Undertaking, which the whole Aſſembly gives into. The Motion he makes of detaching one of their Body in Search of a new World is grounded upon a Project deviſed by Satan, and curſorily propoſed by him in the following Lines of the firſt Book. Space may produce new Worlds, whereof ſo riſe There went a Fame in Heav'n, that he e'er long Intended to create, and therein plant A Generation, whom his choice regard Should favour equal to the Sons of Heav'n: Thither, if but to pry, ſhall be perhaps Our firſt Eruption, thither or elſewhere: For this infernal Pit ſhall never hold Celeſtial Spirits in bondage, nor th' Abyſs Long under Darkneſs cover. But theſe Thoughts Full Counſel muſt mature:—

IT is on this Project that Beelzebub grounds his Propoſal. —What if we find Some eaſier Enterprize? There is a Place (If ancient and prophetic Fame in Heav'n Err not) another World, the happy Seat Of ſome new Race call'd MAN, about this Time To be created like to us, though leſs In Power and Excellence, but favour'd more Of him who rules above; ſo was his Will Pronounc'd among the Gods, and by an Oath, That ſhook Heav'ns whole Circumference, confirm'd.

THE Reader may obſerve how juſt it was, not to omit in the firſt Book the Project upon which the whole Poem turns: As alſo that the Prince of the fall'n Angels was the only proper Perſon to give it Birth, and that he next to him in Dignity was the fitteſt to ſecond and ſupport it.

THERE is beſides, I think, ſomething wonderfully beautiful, and very apt to affect the Reader's Imagination, in this antient Prophecy or Report in Heaven, concerning the Creation of Man. Nothing could ſhew more the Dignity of the Species, than this Tradition which ran of them before their Exiſtence. They are repreſented to have been the Talk of Heaven, before they were created. Virgil, in compliment to the Roman Common-wealth, makes the Heroes of it appear in their State of Pre-exiſtence; but Milton does a far greater Honour to Mankind in general, as he gives us a Glimpſe of them even before they are in Being.

THE riſing of this great Aſſembly is deſcribed in a very ſublime and poetical Manner. Their riſing all at once was as the ſound Of Thunder heard remote—

THE Diverſions of the fallen Angels, with the particular Account of their Place of Habitation, are deſcribed with great Pregnancy of Thought, and Copiouſneſs of Invention. The Diverſions are every way ſuitable to Beings who had Nothing left them but Strength and Knowledge miſapplied. Such are their Contentions at the Race, and in Feats of Arms, with their Entertainment in the following Lines. Others with vaſt Typhaean Rage more fell Rend up both Rocks and Hills, and ride the Air In Whirlwind; Hell ſcarce holds the wild uproar.

THEIR Muſick is employed in celebrating their own criminal Exploits, and their Diſcourſe in ſounding the unfathomable Depths of Fate, Free-will, and Fore-knowledge.

THE ſeveral Circumſtances in the Deſcription of Hell are finely imagined; as the four Rivers which diſgorge themſelves into the Sea of Fire, the Extreams of Cold and Heat, and the River of Oblivion. The monſtrous Animals produced in that infernal World are repreſented by a ſingle Line, which gives us a more horrid Idea of them, than a much longer Deſcription would have done. —Nature breeds, Perverſe, all monſtrous, all prodigious Things, Abominable, inutterable, and worſe Than Fables yet have feign'd, or fear conceiv'd, Gorgons, and Hydra's, and Chimera's dire.

THIS Epiſode of the fallen Spirits, and their Place of Habitation, comes in very happily to unbend the Mind of the Reader from its Attention to the Debate. An ordinary Poet would indeed have ſpun out ſo many Circumſtances to a great Length, and by that Means have weakned, inſtead of illuſtrated, the principal Fable.

THE Flight of Satan to the Gates of Hell is finely imaged.

I have already declared my Opinion of the Allegory concerning Sin and Death, which is however a very finiſhed Piece in its Kind, when it is not conſidered as a Part of an Epic Poem. The Genealogy of the ſeveral Perſons is contrived with great Delicacy. Sin is the Daughter of Satan, and Death the Offspring of Sin. The inceſtuous Mixture between Sin and Death produces thoſe Monſters and Hellhounds which from Time to Time enter into their Mother, and tear the Bowels of her who gave them Birth. Theſe are the Terrors of an evil Conſcience, and the proper Fruits of Sin, which naturally riſe from the Apprehenſions of Death. This laſt beautiful Moral is, I think, clearly intimated in the Speech of Sin, where complaining of this her dreadful Iſſue, ſhe adds, Before mine Eyes in Oppoſition ſits, Grim Death thy Son and Foe who ſets them on. And me his Parent would full ſoon devour For want of other Prey, but that he knows His End with mine involv'd—

I need not mention to the Reader the beautiful Circumſtance in the laſt Part of this Quotation. He will likewiſe obſerve how naturally the three Perſons concerned in this Allegory are tempted by one common Intereſt to enter into a Confederacy together, and how properly Sin is made the Portreſs of Hell, and the only Being that can open the Gates to that World of Tortures.

THE deſcriptive Part of this Allegory is likewiſe very ſtrong, and full of ſublime Ideas. The Figure of Death, the Regal Crown upon his Head, his Menace of Satan, his advancing to the Combat, the Outcry at his Birth, are Circumſtances too noble to be paſt over in Silence, and extreamly ſuitable to this King of Terrors. I need not Mention the Juſtneſs of Thought which is obſerved in the Generation of theſe ſeveral Symbolical Perſons, that Sin was produced upon the firſt Revolt of Satan, that Death appeared ſoon after he was caſt into Hell, and that the Terrors of Conſcience were conceived at the Gate of this Place of Torments. The Deſcription of the Gates is very poetical, as the opening of them is full of Milton's Spirit. —ON a ſudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring ſound Th' infernal Doors, and on their Hinges grate Harſh Thunder, that the loweſt bottom ſhook, Of Erebus. She open'd, but to ſhut Excell'd her Power; the Gates wide open ſtood, That with extended Wings a banner'd Hoſt Ʋnder ſpread Enſigns marching might paſs through With Horſe and Chariots rank'd in looſe array; So wide they ſtood, and like a Furnace Mouth Caſt forth redounding Smoak and ruddy Flame.

IN Satan's Voyage through the Chaos there are ſeveral imaginary Perſons deſcribed, as reſiding in that immenſe Waſte of Matter. This may perhaps be conformable to the Taſte of thoſe Criticks who are pleaſed with Nothing in a Poet which has not Life and Manners aſcribed to it; but for my own Part, I am pleaſed moſt with thoſe Paſſages in this Deſcription which carry in them a greater Meaſure of Probability, and are ſuch as might poſſibly have happened. Of this Kind is his firſt Mounting in the Smoak, that riſes from the infernal Pit, his falling into a Cloud of Nitre, and the like combuſtible Materials, that by their Exploſion ſtill hurried him forward in his Voyage; his ſpringing upward like a Pyramid of Fire, with his laborious Paſſage through that Confuſion of Elements, which the Poet calls The Womb of Nature and perhaps her Grave.

THE Glimmering Light which ſhot into the Chaos from the utmoſt Verge of the Creation, with the diſtant Diſcovery of the Earth that hung cloſe by the Moon, are wonderfully beautiful and poetical.

SPECTATOR, No 315. Nec dcus interſit, niſi dignus vindice nodus Inciderit— Hor.

HORACE adviſes a Poet to conſider thoroughly the Nature and Force of his Genius. Milton ſeems to have known, perfectly well wherein his Strength lay, and has therefore choſen a Subject entirely conformable to thoſe Talents, of which he was Maſter. As his Genius was wonderfully turned to the Sublime, his Subject is the nobleſt that could have entered into the Thoughts of Man. Every Thing that is truly great and aſtoniſhing, has a Place in it. The whole Syſteme of the intellectual World, the Chaos, and the Creation; Heaven, Earth and Hell; enter into the Conſtitution of his Poem.

HAVING in the Firſt and Second Book repreſented the Infernal World with all its Horrours, the Thread of his Fable naturally leads him into the oppoſite Regions of Bliſs and Glory,

IF Milton's Majeſty forſakes him any where, it is in thoſe Parts of his Poem, where the Divine Perſons are introduced as Speakers. One may, I think, obſerve that the Author proceeds with a Kind of Fear and Trembling, whilſt he deſcribes the Sentiments of the Almighty. He dares not give his Imagination its full Play, but chuſes to confine himſelf to ſuch Thoughts as are drawn from the Books of the moſt Orthodox Divines, and to ſuch Expreſſions as may be met with in Scripture. The Beauties, therefore, which we are to look for in theſe Speeches, are not of a poetical Nature, nor ſo proper to fill the Mind with Sentiments of Grandeur, as with Thoughts of Devotion. The Paſſions, which they are deſigned to raiſe, are a Divine Love and Religious Fear. The particular Beauty of the Speeches in the Third Book, conſiſts in that Shortneſs and Perſpicuity of Stile, in which the Poet has couched the greateſt Myſteries of Chriſtianity, and drawn together, in a regular Scheme, the whole Diſpenſation of Providence, with reſpect to Man. He has repreſented all the abſtruſe Doctrines of Predeſtination, Free-Will and Grace, as alſo the great Points of Incarnation and Redemption, (which naturally grow up in a Poem that treats of the Fall of Man,) with great Energy of Expreſſion, and in a clearer and ſtronger Light than I ever met with in any other Writer. As theſe Points are dry in themſelves to the Generality of Readers, the conciſe and clear Manner in which he has treated them is very much to be admired, as is likewiſe that particular Art which he has made uſe of, in the interſperſing of all thoſe Graces of Poetry, which the Subject was capable of receiving.

THE Survey of the whole Creation, and of every Thing that is tranſacted in it, is a Proſpect worthy of Omniſcience; and as much above that, in which Virgil has drawn his Jupiter, as the Chriſtian Idea of the Supream Being is more Rational and Sublime than that of the Heathens. The particular Objects on which he is deſcribed to have caſt his Eye, are repreſented in the moſt beautiful and lively Manner. Now had th' Almighty Father from above, From the pure Empyrean where he ſits High thron'd above all height, bent down his Eye, His own Works and their Works at once to View. About him all the Sanctities of Heav'n Stood thick as Stars, and from his Sight receiv'd Beatitude paſt utterance: On his Right The radiant Image of his Glory ſat, His only Son; On Earth he firſt beheld Our two firſt Parents, yet the only two Of Mankind, in the happy Garden plac'd, Reaping immortal fruits of Joy and Love, Ʋninterrupted Joy, unrival'd Love, In blisful Solitude; he then ſurvey'd Hell and the Gulf between, and Satan there Coaſting the Wall of Heav'n on this Side Night In the dun air ſublime, and ready now To ſtoop with wearied Wings and willing Feet On the bare outſide of this World, that ſeem'd Firm Land imboſom'd without firmament, Ʋncertain which, in Ocean or in Air. Him God beholding from his proſpect high, Wherein paſt, preſent, future he beholds, Thus to his only Son foreſeeing ſpake.

SATAN's Approach to the Confines of the Creation, is finely imaged in the Beginning of the Speech, which immediately follows. The Effects of this Speech in the bleſſed Spirits, and in the divine Perſon to whom it was addreſſed, cannot but fill the Mind of the Reader with a ſecret Pleaſure and Complacency. Thus while God ſpake, ambroſial Fragrance fill'd All Heav'n, and in the bleſſed Spirits elect Senſe of new Joy ineffable diffus'd! Beyond compare the Son of God was ſeen Moſt glorious, in him all his Father ſhone Subſtantially expreſs'd, and in his Face Divine Compaſſion viſibly appear'd, Love without End, and without Meaſure Grace.

I need not Point out the Beauty of that Circumſtance, wherein the whole Hoſt of Angels are repreſented as ſtanding mute; nor ſhow how proper the Occaſion was to produce ſuch a Silence in Heaven. The Cloſe of this Divine Colloquy, with the Hymn of Angels that follows upon it, are ſo wonderfully beautiful and poetical, that I ſhould not forbear inſerting the whole Paſſage, if the Bounds of my Paper would give me leave. No ſooner had th' Almighty ceas'd, but all The multitudes of Angels with a ſhout, Loud as from Numbers without Number, ſweet As from bleſt Voices utt'ring Joy, Heav'n rung With Jubilee, and loud Hoſanna's fill'd Th' eternal Regions; &c, &c,—

SATAN's Walk upon the Outſide of the Univerſe, which, at a Diſtance appeared to him of a Globular Form, but, upon his nearer Approach, looked like an unbounded Plain, is natural and noble. As his Roaming upon the Frontiers of the Creation, between that Maſs of Matter, which was wrought into a World, and that ſhapeleſs unformed Heap of Materials, which ſtill lay in Chaos and Confuſion, ſtrikes the Imagination with ſomething aſtoniſhingly great and wild. I have before ſpoken of the Limbo of Vanity, which the Poet places upon this outermoſt Surface of the Univerſe, and ſhall here explain my ſelf more at large on that, and other Parts of the Poem, which are of the ſame ſhadowy Nature.

ARISTOTLE obſerves, that the Fable of an Epic Poem ſhould abound in Circumſtances that are both credible and aſtoniſhing; or, as the French Criticks chuſe to phraſe it, the Fable ſhould be filled with the Probable and the Marvellous. This Rule is as fine and juſt as any in Ariſtole's whole Art of Poetry.

IF the Fable is only probable, it differs Nothing from a true Hiſtory; if it is only marvellous, it is no better than a Romance. The great Secret therefore of Heroick Poetry, is to relate ſuch Circumſtances, as may produce in the Reader at the ſame Time both Belief and Aſtoniſhment. This is brought to paſs in a well choſen Fable, by the Account of ſuch Things as have really happened, or at leaſt of ſuch Things as have happened according to the received Opinions of Mankind. Milton's Fable is a Maſter-piece of this Nature; as the War in Heaven, the Condition of the fallen Angels, the State of Innocence, the Temptation of the Serpent, and the Fall of Man, though they are very aſtoniſhing in themſelves, are not only credible, but actual Points of Faith.

THE next Method of reconciling Miracles with Credibility, is by a happy Invention of the Poet; as in particular, when he introduces Agents of a ſuperior Nature, who are capable of effecting what is wonderful, and what is not to be met with in the ordinary Courſe of Things. Ʋlyſſes's Ship being turn'd into a Rock, and Aeneas's Fleet into a Shoal of Water Nymphs, though they are very ſurpriſing Accidents, are nevertheleſs probable, when we are told that they were the Gods who thus transformed them. It is this Kind of Machinery which fills the Poems both of Homer and Virgil with ſuch Circumſtances as are wonderful, but not impoſſible, and ſo frequently produce in the Reader the moſt pleaſing Paſſion that can riſe in the Mind of Man, which is Admiration. If there be any Inſtance in the Aeneid liable to Exception upon this Account, it is in the Beginning of the Third Book, where Aeneas is repreſented as tearing up the Myrtle that dropped Blood. To qualifie this wonderful Circumſtance, Polydorus tells a Story from the Root of the Myrtle, that the barbarous Inhabitants of the Country having pierced him with Spears and Arrows, the Wood which was left in his Body took Root in his Wounds, and gave Birth to that bleeding Tree. This Circumſtance ſeems to have the Marvellous without the Probable, becauſe it is repreſented as proceeding from natural Cauſes, without the Interpoſition of any God, or rather ſupernatural Power capable of producing it: The Spears and Arrows grow of themſelves, without ſo much as the modern Help of an Enchantment. If we look into the Fiction of Milton's Fable, though we find it full of ſurpriſing Incidents, they are generally ſuited to our Notions of the Things and Perſons deſcribed, and tempered with a due Meaſure of Probability. I muſt only make an Exception to the Limbo of Vanity, with his Epiſode of Sin and Death, and ſome of the imaginary Perſons in his Chaos. Theſe Paſſages are aſtoniſhing, but not credible; the Reader cannot ſo far impoſe upon himſelf as to ſee a Poſſibility in them; they are the Deſcription of Dreams and Shadows, not of Things or Perſons. I know that many Criticks look upon the Stories of Circe, Polyphemt, the Sirens, nay the whole Odiſſey and Iliad to be Allegories; but allowing this to be true, they are Fables, which conſidering the Opinions of Mankind that prevailed in the Age of the Poets, might poſſibly have been according to the Letter. The Perſons are ſuch as might have acted what is aſcribed to them, as the Circumſtances, in which they are repreſented, might poſſibly have been Truths and Realities. This Appearance of Probability is ſo abſolutely requiſite in the greater Kinds of Poetry, that Ariſtotle obſerves the ancient Tragick Writers made uſe of the Names of ſuch great Men as had actually lived in the World, tho' the Tragedy proceeded upon Adventures they were never engaged in, on Purpoſe to make the Subject more credible. In a Word, beſides the hidden Meaning of an Epic Allegory, the plain literal Senſe ought to appear probable. The Story ſhould be ſuch as an ordinary Reader may acquieſce in, whatever natural, moral, or political Truth may be diſcovered in it by Men of greater Penetration.

SATAN after having long wandred upon the Surface, or outmoſt Wall of the Univerſe, diſcovers at laſt a wide Gap in it, which led into the Creation, and is deſcribed as the Opening through which the Angels paſs to and fro into the lower World, upon their Errands to Mankind. His Sitting upon the Brink of this Paſſage, and taking a Survey of the whole Face of Nature, that appeared to him new and freſh in all its Beauties, with the Simile illuſtrating this Circumſtance, fills the Mind of the Reader with as ſurpriſing and glorious an Idea as any that ariſes in the whole Poem. He looks down into that vaſt Hollow of the Univerſe with the Eye, or (as Milton calls it in his firſt Book) with the Kenn of an Angel. He ſurveys all the Wonders in this immenſe Amphitheatre that lye between both the Poles of Heaven, and takes in at one View the whole Round of the Creation.

HIS Flight between the ſeveral Worlds that ſhined on every Side of him, with the particular Deſcription of the Sun, are ſet forth in all the Wantonneſs of a luxuriant Imagination. His Shape, Speech and Behaviour upon his transforming himſelf into an Angel of Light, are touched with exquiſite Beauty. The Poet's Thought of directing Satan to the Sun, which in the Vulgar Opinion of Mankind is the moſt conſpicuous Part of the Creation, and the placing in it an Angel, is a Circumſtance very finely contrived, and the more adjuſted to a poetical Probability, as it was a received Doctrine among the moſt famous Philoſophers, that every Orb had its Intelligence; and as an Apoſtle in ſacred Writ is ſaid to have ſeen ſuch an Angel in the Sun. In the Anſwer which this Angel returns to the diſguiſed Evil Spirit, there is ſuch a becoming Majeſty as is altogether ſuitable to a ſuperior Being. The Part of it in which he repreſents himſelf as preſent at the Creation, is very noble in it ſelf, and not only proper where it is introduced, but requiſite to prepare the Reader for what follows in the Seventh Book. I ſaw when at his Word the formleſs Maſs, This World's Material Mould, came to a Heap: Confuſion heard his Voice, and wild uproar Stood rul'd, ſtood vaſt infinitude confin'd; Till at his ſecond bidding Darkneſs fled, Light ſhon, &c.

IN the following Part of the Speech he points out the Earth with ſuch Circumſtances, that the Reader can ſcarce forbear fancying himſelf employed on the ſame diſtant View of it. Look downward on the Globe whoſe hither Side With light from hence, tho' but reflected, ſhines; That Place is Earth, the Seat of Man, that light His day, &c.

I muſt not conclude my Reflections upon this third Book of Paradiſe Loſt, without taking Notice of that celebrated Complaint of Milton with which it opens, and which certainly deſerves all the Praiſes that have been given it; tho' as I have before hinted, it may rather be looked upon as an Excreſcence, than as an eſſential Part of the Poem. The ſame Obſervation might be applied to that beautiful Digreſſion upon Hypocriſie, in the ſame Book.

SPECTATOR, No 321. Nec ſatis eſt pulchra eſſe poemata, dulcia ſunto. Hor.

THOSE, who know how many Volumes have been written on the Poems of Homer and Virgil, will eaſily pardon the Length of my Diſcourſe upon Milton. The Paradiſe Loſt is looked upon, by the beſt Judges, as the greateſt Production, or at leaſt the nobleſt Work of Genius, in our Language, and therefore deſerves to be ſet before an Engliſh Reader in its full Beauty. For this Reaſon, tho' I have endeavoured to give a general Idea of its Graces and Imperfections in my ſix firſt Papers, I thought my ſelf obliged to beſtow one upon every Book in particular. The Three firſt Books I have already diſpatched, and am now entring upon the Fourth. I need not acquaint my Reader, that there are Multitudes of Beauties in this great Author, eſpecially in the deſcriptive Parts of his Poem, which I have not touched upon; it being my Intention to point out thoſe only, which appear to me the moſt exquiſite, or thoſe which are not ſo obvious to ordinary Readers. Every one that has read the Criticks, who have written upon the Odiſſy, the Iliad, and the Aeneid, knows very well, that though they agree in their Opinions of the great Beauties in thoſe Poems, they have nevertheleſs each of them diſcovered ſeveral Maſter-Strokes, which have eſcaped the Obſervation of the reſt. In the ſame Manner, I queſtion not, but any Writer, who ſhall treat on this Subject after me, may find ſeveral Beauties in Milton, which I have not taken notice of. I muſt likewiſe obſerve, that as the greateſt Maſters of critical Learning differ among one another, as to ſome particular Points in an Epic Poem, I have not bound my ſelf ſcrupulouſly to the Rules which any one of them has laid down upon that Art, but have taken the Liberty ſometimes to join with one, and ſometimes with another, and ſometimes to differ from all of them, when I have thought that the Reaſon of the Thing was on my Side.

WE may conſider the Beauties of the Fourth Book under three Heads. In the firſt are thoſe Pictures of Still-Life, which we meet with in the Deſcriptions of Eden, Paradiſe, Adam's Bower, &c. In the next are the Machines, which comprehend the Speeches and Behaviour of the good and bad Angels. In the laſt is the Conduct of Adam and Eve, who are the principal Actors in the Poem.

IN the Deſcription of Paradiſe, the Poet has obſerved Ariſtotle's Rule of laviſhing all the Ornaments of Diction on the weak unactive Parts of the Fable, which are not ſupported by the Beauty of Sentiments and Characters. Accordingly the Reader may obſerve, that the Expreſſions are more florid and elaborate in theſe Deſcriptions, than in moſt other Parts of the Poem. I muſt further add, that tho' the Drawings of Gardens, Rivers, Rainbows, and the like dead Pieces of Nature, are juſtly cenſured in an heroic Poem, when they run out into an unneceſſary Length; the Deſcription of Paradiſe would have been faulty, had not the Poet been very particular in it, not only as it is the Scene of the principal Action, but as it is requiſite to give us an Idea of that Happineſs from which our firſt Parents fell. The Plan of it is wonderfully beautiful, and formed upon the ſhort Sketch which we have of it, in Holy Writ. Milton's Exuberance of Imagination has poured forth ſuch a Redundancy of Ornaments on this Seat of Happineſs and Innocence, that it would be endleſs to point out each Particular.

I muſt not quit this Head, without further obſerving, that there is ſcarce a Speech of Adam or Eve in the whole Poem, wherein the Sentiments and Alluſions are not taken from this their delightful Habitation. The Reader, during their whole Courſe of Action, always finds himſelf in the Walks of Paradiſe. In ſhort, as the Criticks have remarked, that in thoſe Poems, wherein Shepherds are Actors, the Thoughts ought always to take a Tincture from the Woods, Fields and Rivers; ſo we may obſerve, that our firſt Parents ſeldom loſe Sight of their happy Station in any Thing they ſpeak or do; and, if the Reader will give me Leave to uſe the Expreſſion, that their Thoughts are always paradiſiacal.

WE are in the next Place to conſider the Machines of the Fourth Book. Satan being now within Proſpect of Eden, and looking round upon the Glories of the Creation, is filled with Sentiments different from thoſe which he diſcovered whilſt he was in Hell. The Place inſpires him with Thoughts more adapted to it: He reflects upon the happy Condition from whence he fell, and breaks forth into a Speech that is ſoftned with ſeveral tranſient Touches of Remorſe and Self-Accuſation: But at length, he confirms himſelf in Impenitence, and in his Deſign of drawing Men into his own State of Guilt and Miſery. This Conflict of Paſſions is raiſed with a great deal of Art, as the Opening of his Speech to the Sun is very bold and noble. O thou that with ſurpaſſing Glory crown'd Look'ſt from thy ſole Dominion like the God Of this new World, at whoſe Sight all the Stars Hide their diminiſh'd Heads, to thee I call But with no friendly Voice, and add thy Name O Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy Beams That bring to my Remembrance from what State I fell, how glorious once above thy Sphere.

THIS Speech is, I think, the fineſt that is aſcribed to Satan in the whole Poem. The Evil Spirit afterwards proceeds to make his Diſcoveries concerning our firſt Parents, and to learn after what Manner they may be beſt attacked. His bounding over the Walls of Paradiſe; his ſitting in the Shape of a Cormorant upon the Tree of Life, which ſtood in the Center of it, and over-topped all the other Trees of the Garden; his alighting among the Herd of Animals, which are ſo beautifully repreſented as playing about Adam and Eve; together with his transforming himſelf into different Shapes, in order to hear their Converſation; are Circumſtances that give an agreeable Surprize to the Reader, and are deviſed with great Art, to connect that Series of Adventures in which the Poet has engaged this great Artificer of Fraud.

THE Thought of Saian's Transformation into a Cormorant, and placing himſelf on the Tree of Life, ſeems raiſed upon that Paſſage in the Ilaid, where two Deities are deſcribed, as perching on the Top of an Oak in the Shape of Vulturs.

HIS planting himſelf at the Ear of Eve under the Form of a Toad, in order to produce vain Dreams and Imaginations, is a Circumſtance of the ſame Nature; as his ſtarting up in his own Form is wonderfully fine, both in the literal Deſcription, and in the Moral which is concealed under it. His Anſwer upon his being diſcovered, and demanded to give an Account of himſelf, is conformable to the Pride and Intrepidity of his Character. Know ye not then, ſaid Satan, fill'd with Scorn, Know ye not Me? ye knew me once ne Mate For You, there ſitting where you durſt not ſoare; Not to know Me argues your-ſelves unknown, The loweſt of your throng;—

ZEPHON's Rebuke, with the Influence it had on Satan, is exquiſitely graceful and moral. Satan is afterwards led away to Gabriel, the chief of the guardian Angels, who kept Watch in Paradiſe. His diſdainful Behaviour on this Occaſion is ſo remarkable a Beauty, that the moſt ordinary Reader cannot but take Notice of it. Gabriel's diſcovering his Approach at a Diſtance, is drawn with great Strength and Livelineſs of Imagination. O Friends, I hear the tread of nimble Feet Haſt'ning this Way, and now by glimps diſcern Ithuriel and Zephon through the ſhade; And with them comes a third of regal Port, But faded ſplendor wan; who by his gait And fierce demeanor ſeems the Prince of Hell, Not likely to part hence without conteſt; Stand firm, for in his look defiance lours.

THE Conference between Gabriel and Satan abounds with Sentiments proper for the Occaſion, and ſuitable to the Perſons of the two Speakers. Satan's cloathing himſelf with Terror, when he Prepares for the Combat, is truly ſublime, and at leaſt equal to Homer's Deſcription of Diſcord celebrated by Longinus, or to that of Fame in Virgil, who are both repreſented with their Feet ſtanding upon the Earth, and their Heads reaching above the Clouds. While thus he ſpake, th' Angelic Squadron bright Turn'd fiery red, ſharpning in mooned Horns Their Phalanx, and began to hem him round With ported Spears, &c. —On th' other Side, Satan alarm'd, Collecting all his might dilated ſtood Like Teneriff or Atlas unremov'd. His Stature reach'd the Sky, and on his Creſt Sat horrour plum'd;—

I muſt here take notice, that Milton is every where full of Hints, and ſometimes literal Tranſlations, taken from the greateſt of the Greek and Latin Poets. But this I may reſerve for a Diſcourſe by it ſelf, becauſe I would not break the Thread of theſe Speculations, that are deſigned for Engliſh Readers, with ſuch Reflections as would be of no Uſe but to the Learned.

I muſt however obſerve in this Place, that the breaking off the Combat between Gabriel and Satan, by the hanging out of the golden Scales in Heaven, is a Refinement upon Homer's Thought, who tells us, that before the Battle between Hector and Achilles, Jupiter weighed the Event of it in a Pair of Scales. The Reader may ſee the whole Paſſage in the 22d Iliad.

VIRGIL, before the laſt deciſive Combat, deſcribes Jupiter in the ſame Manner, as weighing the Fates of Turnus and Aeneas. Milton, though he fetched this beautiful Circumſtance from the Iliad and Aeneid, does not only inſert it as a poetical Embelliſhment, like the Authors above-mentioned; but makes an artful Uſe of it for the proper carrying on of his Fable, and for the breaking off the Combat between the two Warriors, who were upon the Point of engaging. To this we may further add, that Milton is the more juſtified in this Paſſage, as we find the ſame noble Allegory in Holy Writ, where a wicked Prince, ſome few Hours before he was aſſaulted and ſlain, is ſaid to have been weigh'd in the Scales, and to have been found wanting.

I muſt here take Notice under the Head of the Machines, that Ʋriel's gliding down to the Earth upon a Sun-beam, with the Poet's Device to make him deſcend, as well in his Return to the Sun, as in his coming from it, is a Prettineſs that might have been admired in a little fanciful Poet, but ſeems below the Genius of Milton. The Deſcription of the Hoſt of armed Angels walking their nightly Round in Paradiſe, is of another Spirit; So ſaying, on he led his radiant files, Dazling the Moon; as that Account of the Hymns, which our firſt Parents uſed to hear them ſing in theſe their Midnight-Walks, is altogether Divine, and inexpreſſibly amuſing to the Imagination.

WE are, in the laſt Place, to conſider the Parts which Adam and Eve act in the fourth Book. The Deſcription of them as they firſt appeared to Satan, is exquiſitely drawn, and ſufficient to make the fallen Angel gaze upon them with all that Aſtoniſhment, and thoſe Emotions of Envy, in which he is repreſented. Two of far nobler Shape erect and tall, God-like erect, with native honour clad In naked Majeſty ſeem'd lords of all, And worthy ſeem'd, for in their looks Divine The Image of their glorious Maker ſhon, Truth, Wiſdom, Sanctitude ſevere and pure; Severe, but in true filial Freedom plac'd: For Contemplation he and valour form'd, For ſoftneſs ſhe and ſweet attractive Grace; He for God only, ſhe for God in him: His fair large Front, and Eye ſublime declar'd Abſolute Rule; and Hyacinthin Locks Round from his parted forelock manly hung Cluſtring, but not beneath his Shoulders broad; She as a Vail down to her ſlender Waſte Her unadorned golden Treſſes wore Diſ-ſhevel'd, but in wanton Ringlets wav'd. So paſs'd they naked on, nor ſhun'd the Sight Of God or Angel, for they Thought no ill: So Hand in Hand they paſs'd, the lovelieſt Pair That ever ſince in love's Embraces met.

THERE is a fine Spirit of Poetry in the Lines which follow, wherein they are deſcribed as ſitting on a Bed of Flowers by the Side of a Fountain, amidſt a mixed Aſſembly of Animals.

THE Speeches of theſe two firſt Lovers flow equally from Paſſion and Sincerity. The Profeſſions they make to one another are full of Warmth; but at the ſame Time founded on Truth. In a Word, they are the Gallantries of Paradiſe. —When Adam firſt of Men— Sole Partner and ſole Part of all theſe Joys Dearer thy ſelf than all;— But let us ever praiſe him, and extol His bounty, following our delightful task, To prune thoſe growing plants, and tend theſe flowers, Which were it toilſome, yet with thee were ſweet. To whom thus Eve reply'd, O thou for whom And from whom I was form'd, Fleſh of thy Fleſh, And without whom am to no end, my Guide And Head, what thou haſt ſaid is juſt and right. For we to him indeed all Praiſes owe, And daily Thanks, I chiefly who enjoy So far the happier Lot, enjoying thee Praeeminent by ſo much odds, while thou Like Conſort to thy ſelf canſt no where find, &c.

THE remaining Part of Eve's Speech, in which ſhe gives an Account of her ſelf upon her firſt Creation, and the Manner in which ſhe was brought to Adam, is I think as beautiful a Paſſage as any in Milton, or perhaps in any other Poet whatſoever. Theſe Paſſages are all worked off with ſo much Art, that they are capable of pleaſing the moſt delicate Reader, without offending the moſt ſevere. That Day I oft remember, when from Sleep, &c.

A Poet of leſs Judgment and Invention than this great Author, would have found it very difficult to have filled theſe tender Parts of the Poem with Sentiments proper for a State of Innocence; to have deſcribed the Warmth of Love, and the Profeſſions of it, without Artifice or Hyperbole; to have made the Man ſpeak the moſt endearing Things, without deſcending from his natural Dignity, and the Woman receiving them without Departing from the Modeſty of her Character; in a Word, to adjuſt the Prerogatives of Wiſdom and Beauty, and make each appear to the other in its proper Force and Lovelineſs. This mutual Subordination of the two Sexes is wonderfully kept up in the whole Poem, as particularly in the Speech of Eve I have before-mentioned, and upon the Concluſion of it in the following Lines; So ſpake our general Mother, and with Eyes Of conjugal Attraction unreprov'd, And meek ſurrender, half embracing lean'd On our firſt Father, half her ſwelling breaſt Naked met his under the flowing Gold Of her looſe Treſſes hid; he in Delight Both of her Beauty and ſubmiſſive Charms Smil'd with Superior Love,—

THE Poet adds, that the Devil turned away with Envy at the Sight of ſo much Happineſs.

WE have another View of our firſt Parents in their evening Diſcourſes, which is full of pleaſing Images, and Sentiments ſuitable to their Condition and Characters. The Speech of Eve, in particular, is dreſſed up in ſuch a ſoft and natural Turn of Words and Sentiments, as cannot be ſufficiently admired.

I ſhall cloſe my Reflections upon this Book, with obſerving the maſterly Tranſition which the Poet makes to their Evening Worſhip, in the following Lines. Thus at their ſhadie lodge arriv'd, both ſtood, Both turn'd, and under open Sky ador'd The God that made both Sky, Air, Earth and Heav'n Which they beheld, the Moons reſplendent Globe, And Starry Pole: Thou alſo mad'ſt the Night, Maker omnipotent, and thou the Day, &c.

MOST of the modern heroic Poets have imitated the Ancients, in beginning a Speech without premiſing that the Perſon ſaid thus or thus: but as it is eaſie to imitate the Ancients in the Omiſſion of two or three Words, it requires Judgment to do it in ſuch a Manner as they ſhall not be miſſed, and that the Speech may begin naturally without them. There is a fine Inſtance of this Kind out of Homer, in the Twenty Third Chapter of Longinus.

SPECTATOR, No 327. —Major rerum mihi naſcitur ordo. Virg.

WE were told in the foregoing Book how the Evil Spirit practiſed upon Eve as ſhe lay aſleep, in order to inſpire her with Thoughts of Vanity, Pride and Ambition. The Author, who ſhews a wonderful Art throughout his whole Poem, in preparing the Reader for the ſeveral Occurrences that ariſe in it, founds upon the above mention'd Circumſtance the Firſt Part of the Fifth Book. Adam upon his Awaking finds Eve ſtill aſleep, with an unuſual Diſcompoſure in her Looks. The Poſture in which he regards her, is deſcribed with a Tenderneſs not to be expreſs'd, as the Whiſper with which he awakens her is the ſofteſt that ever was conveyed to a Lover's Ear. His wonder was to find unwaken'd Eve With Treſſes diſcompos'd, and glowing cheek As through unquiet reſt: he on his ſide Leaning half-rais'd, with looks of cordial love Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty which, whether waking or aſleep, Shot forth peculiar Graces; then with voice Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes, Her Hand ſoft touching, whiſper'd thus: Awake My faireſt, my eſpous'd, my lateſt found, Heav'ns laſt beſt gift, my ever new delight, Awake: the morning ſhines, and the freſh field Calls us, we loſe the prime to mark how ſpring Our tended plants, how blows the Citron Grove, What drops the Myrrhe, and what the balmie Reed; How Nature paints her colours; how the Bee Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid ſweet. Such Whiſpering wak'd her, but with ſtartled Eye On Adam, whom embracing, thus ſhe ſpake. O Sole in whom my thoughts find all Repoſe, My glory, my perfection, glad I ſee Thy face, and morn return'd—

I cannot but take Notice that Milton, in the Conferences between Adam and Eve, had his Eye very frequently upon the Book of Canticles, in which there is a noble Spirit of Eaſtern Poetry, and very often not unlike what we meet with in Homer, who is generally placed near the Age of Solomon. I think there is no Queſtion but the Poet in the preceding Speech remember'd thoſe two Paſſages which are ſpoken on the like Occaſion, and fill'd with the ſame pleaſing Images of Nature. MY beloved ſpake, and ſaid unto me, Riſe up, my love, my fair one, and come away; For lo, the winter is paſt, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the Earth; the time of the ſinging of birds is come, and the Voice of the Turtle is heard in our Land. The fig-tree putteth forth her green figs, and the Vines with the tender grape give a good ſmell. Ariſe, my Love, my fair one, and come away. COME, my beloved, let us go forth into the Field; let us get up early to the Vineyards, let us ſee if the Vine flouriſh, whether the tender Grape appear, and the Pomegranates bud forth.

HIS preferring the Garden of Eden to that —Where the Sapient King Held Dalliance with his fair Egyptian Spouſe, ſhews that the Poet had this delightful Scene in his Mind.

EVE's Dream is full of thoſe high Conceits engendring Pride, which, we are told, the Devil endeavoured to inſtill into her. Of this Kind is that Part of it where ſhe fancies herſelf awaken'd by Adam in the following beautiful Lines. Why ſleep'ſt thou Eve? now is the pleaſant time, The cool, the ſilent, ſave where ſilence yields To the night-warbling bird, that now awake Tunes ſweeteſt his love-labour'd ſong; now reigns Full orb'd the moon, and with more pleaſing light Shadowy ſets off the face of things: In vain If none regard; Heav'n wakes with all his eyes. Whom to behold but thee, Nature's deſire, In whoſe ſight all things joy, with raviſhment Attracted by thy beauty ſtill to gaze!

AN injudicious Poet would have made Adam talk thro' the whole Work, in ſuch Sentiments as theſe. But Flattery and Falſhood are not the Courtſhip of Milton's Adam, and could not be heard by Eve in her State of Innocence, excepting only in a Dream produc'd on purpoſe to taint her Imagination. Other vain Sentiments of the ſame Kind in this Relation of her Dream, will be obvious to every Reader. Tho' the Cataſtrophe of the Poem is finely preſaged on this Occaſion, the Particulars of it are ſo artfully ſhadow'd, that they do not anticipate the Story which follows in the Ninth Book. I ſhall only add, that tho' the Viſion it ſelf is founded upon Truth, the Circumſtances of it are full of that Wildneſs and Inconſiſtency which are natural to a Dream. Adam, conformable to his ſuperior Character for Wiſdom, inſtructs and Comforts Eve upon this Occaſion. So chear'd he his fair Spouſe, and ſhe was chear'd, But ſilently a gentle tear let fall From either eye, and wip'd them with her hair; Two other precious drops that ready ſtood, Each in their chryſtal ſluice, he e'cr they fell Kiſs'd, as the gracious Signs of ſweet remorſe And pious awe, that fear'd to have offended.

THE Morning Hymn is written in Imitation of one of thoſe Pſalms, where, in the Overflowings of Gratitude and Praiſe, the Pſalmiſt calls not only upon the Angels, but upon the moſt conſpicuous Parts of the inanimate Creation, to joyn with him in extolling their Common Maker. Invocations of this Nature fill the Mind with glorious Ideas of God's Works, and awaken that divine Euthuſiaſm, which is ſo natural to Devotion. But if this Calling upon the dead Parts of Nature is at all Times a proper Kind of Worſhip, it was in a particular Manner ſuitable to our firſt Parents, who had the Creation freſh upon their Minds, and had not ſeen the various Diſpenſations of Providence, nor conſequently could be acquainted with thoſe many Topicks of Praiſe which might afford Matter to the Devotions of their Poſterity. I need not remark the beautiful Spirit of Poetry, which runs through this whole Hymn, nor the Holineſs of that Reſolution with which it concludes.

HAVING already mentioned thoſe Speeches which are aſſigned to the Perſons in this Poem, I proceed to the Deſcription which the Poet gives of Raphael. His Departure from before the Throne, and his Flight thro' the Choirs of Angels, is finely imaged. As Milton every where fills his Poem with Circumſtances that are marvellous and aſtoniſhing, he deſcribes the Gate of Heaven as framed after ſuch a Manner, that it open'd of it ſelf upon the Approach of the Angel who was to paſs through it. —'till at the Gate Of Heav'n arriv'd, the gate ſelf-open'd wide, On golden Hinges turning, as by work Divine the Sovereign Architect had framed.

THE Poet here ſeems to have regarded two or three Paſſages in the 18th Iliad, as that in particular, where, ſpeaking of Vulcan, Homer ſays, that he had made twenty Tripodes running on Golden Wheels, which, upon Occaſion, might go of themſelves to the Aſſembly of the Gods, and, when there was no more Uſe for them, return again after the ſame Manner. Scaliger has rallied Homer very ſeverely upon this Point, as M. Dacier has endeavoured to defend it. I will not pretend to determine, whether in this Particular of Homer, the Marvellous does not loſe Sight of the Probable. As the miraculous Workmanſhip of Milton's Gates is not ſo extraordinary as this of the Tripodes, ſo I am perſuaded he would not have mentioned it, had not he been ſupported in it by a Paſſage in the Scripture, which ſpeaks of Wheels in Heav'n that had Life in them, and moved of themſelves, or ſtood ſtill, in Conformity with the Cherubims, whom they accompanied.

THERE is no Queſtion but Milton had this Circumſtance in his Thoughts, becauſe in the following Book he deſcribes the Chariot of the Meſſiah with living Wheels, according to the Plan in Ezekiel's Viſion. —Forth ruſh'd with whirlwind ſound The Chariot of Paternal Deity, Flaſhing thick flames, wheel within wheel undrawn, It ſelf inſtinct with Spirit—

I queſtion not but Boſſu, and the two Daciers, who are for vindicating every Thing that is cenſured in Homer, by ſomething parallel in Holy Writ, would have been very well pleaſed had they thought of confronting Vulcan's Tripodes with Ezekiel's Wheels.

RAPHAEL's Deſcent to the Earth, with the Figure of his Perſon, is repreſented in very lively Colours. Several of the French, Italian, and Engliſh Poets have given a Looſe to their Imaginations in the Deſcription of Angels: But I do not remember to have met with any ſo finely drawn, and ſo conformable to the Notions which are given of them in Scripture, as this in Milton. After having ſet him forth in all his heavenly Plumage, and repreſented him as alighting upon the Earth, the Poet concludes his Deſcription with a Circumſtance, which is altogether new, and imagined with the greateſt Strength of Fancy. —Like Maia's Son he ſtood And ſhook his plumes, that Heav'nly fragrance fill'd The Circuit wide—

RAPHAEL's Reception by the Guardian Angels; his paſſing through the Wilderneſs of Sweets; his diſtant Appearance to Adam; have all the Graces that Poetry is capable of beſtowing. The Author afterwards gives us a particular Deſcription of Eve in her Domeſtick Employments. So ſaying, with diſpatchful looks in haſte. She turns, on hoſpitable thoughts intent, What choice to chuſe for delicacy beſt, What order, ſo contriv'd as not to mix Taſtes, not well joyn'd inelegant, but bring Taſte after taſte, upheld with kindlieſt change; Beſtirs her then, &c.—

THOUGH in this, and other Parts of the ſame Book, the Subject is only the Houſewifry of our Firſt Parent, it is ſet off with ſo many pleaſing Images and ſtrong Expreſſions, as make it none of the leaſt agreeable Parts in this Divine Work.

THE natural Majeſty of Adam, and at the ſame Time his ſubmiſſive Behaviour to the ſuperior Being, who had vouchſafed to be his Gueſt; the ſolemn Hail which the Angel beſtows upon the Mother of Mankind, with the Figure of Eve miniſtring at the Table, are Circumſtances which deſerve to be admired.

RAPHAEL's Behaviour is every Way ſuitable to the Dignity of his Nature, and to that Character of a Sociable Spirit, with which the Author has ſo judiciouſly introduced him. He had received Inſtructions to converſe with Adam, as one Friend converſes with another, and to warn him of the Enemy, who was contriving his Deſtruction: Accordingly he is repreſented as ſitting down at a Table with Adam, and eating of the Fruits of Paradiſe. The Occaſion naturally leads him to his Diſcourſe on the Food of Angels. After having thus entered into Converſation with Man upon more indifferent Subjects, he warns him of this Obedience, and makes a natural Tranſition to the Hiſtory of that fallen Angel, who was employed in the Circumvention of our firſt Parents.

HADI follow'd Monſieur Boſſu's Method, in my firſt Paper on Milton, I ſhould have dated the Action of Paradiſe Loſt from the Beginning of Raphael's Speech in this Book, as he ſuppoſes the Action of the Aeneid to begin in the ſecond Book of that Poem. I could alledge many Reaſons for my drawing the Action of the Aeneid rather from its immediate Beginning in the firſt Book, than from its remote Beginning in the ſecond, and ſhew why I have conſidered the ſacking of Troy as an Epiſode, according to the common Acceptation of that Word. But as this would be a dry unentertaining Piece of Criticiſm, and perhaps unneceſſary to thoſe who have read my firſt Paper, I ſhall not enlarge upon it. Which-ever of the Notions be true, the Unity of Milton's Action is preſerved according to either of them; whether we conſider the Fall of Man in its immediate Beginning, as proceeding from the Reſolutions taken in the infernal Council; or in its more remote Beginning, as proceeding from the firſt Revolt of the Angels in Heaven. The Occaſion which Milton aſſigns for this Revolt, as it is founded on Hints in Holy Writ, and on the Opinion of ſome great Writers, ſo it was the moſt proper that the Poet could have made uſe of.

THE Revolt in Heaven is deſcribed with great Force of Indignation, and a fine Variety of Circumſtances. The learned Reader cannot but be pleaſed with the Poet's Imitation of Homer in the laſt of the following Lines. At length into the limits of the North They came, and Satan took his Royal Seat High on a Hill, far blazing, as a Mount Rais'd on a Mount, with Pyramids and Tow'rs From Diamond Quarries hewn, and Rocks of Gold, The Palace of great Lucifer, (ſo call That Structure in the Dialect of Men Interpreted)—

HOMER mentions Perſons and Things, which he tells us in the Language of the Gods are call'd by different Names from thoſe they go by in the Language of Men. Milton has imitated him with his uſual Judgment in this particular Place, wherein he has likewiſe the Authority of Scripture to juſtify him. The Part of Abdiel, who was the only Spirit that in this infinite Hoſt of Angels preſerved his Allegiance to his Maker, exhibits to us a noble Moral of religious Singularity. The Zeal of the Seraph breaks forth in a becoming Warmth of Sentiments and Expreſſions, as the Character which is given us of him denotes that generous Scorn and Intrepidity which attends heroic Virtue. The Author doubtleſs deſigned it as a Pattern to thoſe who live among Mankind in their preſent State of Degeneracy and Corruption. So ſpake the Seraph Abdiel faithful found, Among the faithleſs, faithful only he; Among innumerable falſe, unmov'd, Ʋnſhaken, unſeduc'd, unterrify'd; His Loyalty he kept, his Love, his Zeal: Nor Number, nor Example with him wrought To ſwerve from Truth, or change his conſtant mind Though ſingle. From amidſt them forth he paſs'd, Long Way through hoſtile Scorn, which he ſuſtain'd Superior, nor of Violence fear'd ought; And with retorted Scorn his Back he turn'd On thoſe proud Tow'rs to ſwift Diſtruction doom'd.

SPECTATOR, No 333. —vocat in certamina Divos. Virg.

WE are now entering upon the Sixth Book of Paradiſe Loſt, in which the Poet deſcribes the Battel of Angels; having raiſed his Reader's Expectation, and prepar'd him for it by ſeveral Paſſages in the preceding Books. I omitted quoting theſe Paſſages in my Obſervations on the former Books, having purpoſely reſerved them for the Opening of this, the Subject of which gave Occaſion to them. The Author's Imagination was ſo inflamed with this great Scene of Action, that wherever he ſpeaks of it, he riſes, if poſſible, above himſelf. Thus where he mentions Satan in the Beginning of his Poem. —Him the Almighty Power Hurt'd headlong flaming from th' Etherial Skie, With hideous ruin and combuſtion down To bottomleſs perdition, there to dwell In Adamantine Chains and Penal Fire, Who durſt defie the Omnipotent to Arms.

WE have likewiſe ſeveral noble Hints of it in the infernal Conference. O Prince, O Chief of many throned Powers That led th' embattel'd Seraphim to War, Too well I ſee and rue the dire event, That with ſad overthrow and foul defect Hath loſt us Heav'n and all this mighty hoſt In horrible deſtruction laid thus low. But ſee the angry Victor has recall'd His Miniſters of vengeance and purſuit Back to the gates of Heav'n: The Sulphurous hail, Shot after us in Storm, o'erblown hath laid The fiery Surge, that from the Precipice Of Heav'n receiv'd us falling, and the Thunder Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage, Perhaps hath ſpent his Shafts, and ceaſes now To bellow through the vaſt and boundleſs Deep.

THERE are ſeveral other very ſublime Images on the ſame Subject in the Firſt Book, as alſo in the Second. What when we fled amain, purſu'd and ſtrook With Heav'n's afflicting Thunder, and beſought The Deep to ſhelter us; this Hell then ſeem'd A refuge from thoſe wounds—

IN ſhort, the Poet never mentions any thing of this Battel, but in ſuch Images of Greatneſs and Terrour as are ſuitable to the Subject. Among ſeveral others, I cannot forbear quoting that Paſſage where the Power, who is deſcrib'd as preſiding over the Chaos, ſpeaks in the Third Book. Thus Satan; and him thus the Anarch old With faultring ſpeech and viſage incompos'd Anſwer'd, I know thee, Stranger, who thou art, That mighty leading Angel, who of late Made head againſt Heav'ns King, tho' overthrown. I ſaw and hoard; for ſuch a numerous Hoſt Fled not in Silence through the frighted Deep With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confuſion worſe confounded; and Heav'ns Gates Pour'd out by Millions her victorious Bands Purſuing.—

IT required great Pregnacy of Invention, and Strength of Imagination, to fill this Battel with ſuch Circumſtances as ſhould raiſe and aſtoniſh the Mind of the Reader; and, at the ſame time, an Exactneſs of Judgment to avoid every thing that might appear light or trivial. Thoſe who look into Homer, are ſurpriz'd to find his Battels ſtill riſing one above another, and improving in Horrour, to the Concluſion of the Iliad. Milton's Fight of Angels is wrought up with the ſame Beauty. It is uſher'd in with ſuch Signs of Wrath as are ſuitable to Omnipotence incenſed. The firſt Engagement is carried on under a Cope of Fire, occaſion'd by the Flights of innumerable burning Darts and Arrows which are diſcharged from either Hoſt. The ſecond Onſet is ſtill more terrible, as it is filled with thoſe artificial Thunders, which ſeem to make the Victory doubtful, and produce a kind of Conſternation even in the Good Angels. This is follow'd by the tearing up of Mountains and Promontories; 'till, in the laſt Place, Meſſiah comes forth in the Fullneſs of Majeſty and Terrour. The Pomp of his Appearance, amidſt the Roarings of his Thunders, the Flaſhes of his Lightnings, and the Noiſe of his Chariot-Wheels, is deſcribed with the utmoſt Flights of Humane Imagination.

THERE is nothing in the firſt and laſt Day's Engagement which does not appear natural, and agreeable enough to the Ideas moſt Readers would conceive of a Fight between two Armies of Angels.

THE ſecond Day's Engagement is apt to ſtartle an Imagination, which has not been raiſed and qualified for ſuch a Deſcription, by the reading of the antient Poets, and of Homer in particular. It was certainly a very bold Thought in our Author, to aſcribe the firſt Uſe of Artillery to the Rebel Angels. But as ſuch a pernicious Invention may be well ſuppoſed to have proceeded from ſuch Authors, ſo it entered very properly into the Thoughts of that Being, who is all along deſcribed as aſpiring to the Majeſty of his Maker. Such Engines were the only Inſtruments he could have made uſe of to imitate thoſe Thunders, that in all Poetry, both Sacred and Prophane, are repreſented as the Arms of the Almighty. The tearing up the Hills was not altogether ſo daring a Thought as the former. We are, in ſome meaſure, prepared for ſuch an Incident by the Deſcription of the Giants War, which we meet with among the ancient Poets. What ſtill made this Circumſtance the more proper for the Poet's Uſe, is the Opinion of many Learned Men, that the Fable of the Giants War, which makes ſo great a Noiſe in Antiquity, and gave Birth to the ſublimeſt Deſcription in Heſiod's Works, was an Allegory founded upon this very Tradition of a Fight between the good and bad Angels.

IT may, perhaps, be worth while to conſider with what Judgment Milton, in this Narration, has avoided every thing that is mean and trivial in the Deſcriptions of the Latin and Greek Poets; and, at the ſame time, improv'd every great Hint which he met with in their Works upon this Subject. Homer in that Paſſage, which Longinus has celebrated for its Sublimeneſs, and which Virgil and Ovid have copied after him, tells us that the Giants threw Oſſa upon Olympus, and Pelion upon Oſſa. He adds an Epithet to Pelion ( 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 ) which very much ſwells the Idea, by bringing up to the Reader's Imagination all the Woods that grew upon it. There is further a great Beauty in his ſingling out by Name theſe three remarkable Mountains, ſo well known to the Greeks. This laſt is ſuch a Beauty as the Scene of Milton's War could not poſſibly furniſh him with. Cloudian, in his Fragment upon the Gyants War, has given full Scope to that Wildneſs of Imagination which was natural to him. He tells us, that the Giants tore up whole Iſlands by the Roots, and threw them at the Gods. He deſcribes one of them in particular taking up Lemnos in his Arms, and whirling it to the Skies, with all Vulcan's Shop in the midſt of it. Another tears up Mount Ida, with the River Enipeus, which ran down the Sides of it; but the Poet, not content to deſcribe him with this Mountain upon his Shoulders, tells us, that the River flow'd down his Back, as he held it up in that Poſture. It is viſible to every judicious Reader, that ſuch Ideas favour more of Burleſque than of the Sublime. They proceed from a Wantonneſs of Imagination, and rather divert the Mind than aſtoniſh it. Milton has taken every thing that is Sublime in theſe ſeveral Paſſages, and compoſes out of them the following great Image. From their Foundations looſning to and fro They pluck'd the ſeated Hills with all their load, Rocks, Waters, Woods, and by the ſhaggy tops Ʋp-lifting bore them in their Hands:—

WE have the full Majeſty of Homer in this ſhort Deſcription, improved by the Imagination of Claudian, without its Puerilities.

I need not point out the Deſcription of the fallen Angels ſeeing the Promontories hanging over their Heads in ſuch a dreadful Manner, with the other numberleſs Beauties in this Book, which are ſo conſpicuous, that they cannot eſcape the Notice of the moſt ordinary Reader.

THERE are indeed ſo many wonderful Strokes of Poetry in this Book, and ſuch a Variety of ſublime Ideas, that it would have been impoſſible to have given them a Place within the Bounds of this Paper. Beſides that, I find it in a great meaſure done to my Hand at the End of my Lord Roſcommon's Eſſay on tranſlated Poetry. I ſhall refer my Reader thither for ſome of the Maſter-Strokes in the Sixth Book of Paradiſe Loſt, though at the ſame time there are many others which that noble Author has not taken notice of.

MILTON, notwithſtanding the ſublime-Genius he was Maſter of, has in this Book drawn to his Aſſiſtance all the Helps he could meet with among the ancient Poets. The Sword of Michael, which makes ſo great a Havock among the bad Angels, was given him, we are told; out of the Armory of God. —But the Sword Of Michael from the Armory of God Was giv'n him temper'd ſo, that neither keen Nor ſolid might reſiſt that edge: it met The Sword of Satan with ſteep force to ſmite Deſcending, and in half cut ſheere,—

THIS Paſſage is a Copy of that in Virgil, wherein the Poet tells us, that the Sword of AEneas, which was given him by a Deity, broke into Pieces the Sword of Turnus, which came from a mortal Forge. As the Moral in this Place is Divine, ſo by the way we may obſerve, that the beſtowing on a Man who is favour'd by Heav'n ſuch an Allegorical Weapon, is very conformable to the old Eaſtern Way of Thinking. Not only Homer has made uſe of it, but we find the Jewiſh Hero in the Book of Maccabees, who had fought the Battels of the choſen People with ſo much Glory and Succeſs, receiving in his Dream a Sword from the Hand of the Prophet Jeremiah. The following Paſſage, wherein Satan is deſcribed as wounded by the Sword of Michael, is in Imitation of Homer. The griding Sword with diſcontinuous wound Paſs'd through him, but th' Ethereal ſubſtance cloſed Not long diviſible, and from the gaſh A ſtream of Nectarous humour iſſuing flow'd Sanguin, ſuch as celeſtial Spirits may bleed, • nd all his Armour ſtain'd—

HOMER tells us in the ſame manner, that upon Diomedes wounding the Gods, there flow'd from the Wound an Ichor, or pure kind of Blood, which was not bred from Mortal Viands; and that tho' the Pain was exquiſitely great, the Wound ſoon cloſed up and healed in thoſe Beings who are veſted with Immortality.

I queſtion not but Milton in his Deſcription of his furious Moloc flying from the Battel, and bellowing with the Wound he had received, had his Eye on Mars in the Iliad, who, upon his being wounded, is repreſented as retiring out of the Fight, and making an Outcry louder than that of a whole Army when it begins the Charge. Homer adds, that the Greeks and Trojans, who were engaged in a general Battel, were terrified on each Side with the bellowing of this wounded Deity. The Reader will eaſily obſerve how Milton has kept all the Horrour of this Image without running into the Ridicule of it. —Where the might of Gabriel fought, And with fierce Enſigns pierc'd the deep array Of Moloc furious King, who him defy'd, And at his Chariot wheels to drag him bound Threaten'd, nor from the Holy One of Heav'n Refrain'd his tongue blaſphemous; but anon Down cloven to the waſte, with ſhatter'd Arms And uncouth pain fled bellowing.—

MILTON has likewiſe raiſed his Deſcription in this Book with many Images taken out of the Poetical Parts of Scripture. The Meſſiah's Chariot, as I have before taken Notice, is form'd upon a Viſion of Ezekiel, who, as Grotius obſerves, has very much in him of Homer's Spirit in the Poetical Parts of his Prophecy.

THE following Lines in that glorious Commiſſion which is given the Meſſiah to extirpate the Hoſt of Rebel Angels, is drawn from a ſublime Paſſage in the Pſalms. Go then thou mightieſt in thy Father's might Aſcend my Chariot, guide the rapid wheels That ſhake Heaven's baſis, bring forth all my War, My Bow, my Thunder, my almighty Arms, Gird on thy Sword on thy puiſſant Thigh.

THE Reader will eaſily diſcover many other Stroaks of the ſame Nature.

THERE is no queſtion but Milton had heated his Imagination with the Fight of the Gods in Homer, before he entered upon this Engagement of the Angels. Homer there gives us a Scene of Men, Heroes, and Gods mixed together in Battel. Mars animates the contending Armies, and lifts up his Voice in ſuch a manner, that it is heard diſtinctly amidſt all the Shouts and Confuſion of the Fight. Jupiter at the ſame time thunders over their Heads; while Neptune raiſes ſuch a Tempeſt, that the whole Field of Battel, and all the Tops of the Mountains, ſhake about them. The Poet tells us, that Pluto himſelf, whoſe Habitation was in the very Center of the Earth, was ſo affrighted at the Shock, that he leapt from his Throne. Homer afterwards deſcribes Vulcan as pouring down a Storm of Fire upon the River Xanthus, and Minerva as throwing a Rock at Mars; who, he tells us, covered ſeven Acres in his Fall.

AS Homer has introduced into his Battel of the Gods every thing that is great and terrible in Nature, Milton has filled his Fight of Good and Bad Angels with all the like Circumſtances of Horrour. The Shout of Armies, the Ratling of Brazen Chariots, the Hurling of Rocks and Mountains, the Earthquake, the Fire, the Thunder, are all of them employ'd to lift up the Reader's Imagination, and give him a ſuitable Idea of ſo great an Action. With what Art has the Poet repreſented the whole Body of the Earth trembling, even before it was created. All Heaven reſounded, and had Earth been then, All Earth had to its Center ſhook—

IN how ſublime and juſt a Manner does he afterwards deſcribe the whole Heaven ſhaking under the Wheels of the Meſſiah's Chariot, with that Exception to the Throne of God? —Ʋnder his burning Wheels The ſteadfaſt Empyrean ſhook throughout, All but the Throne it ſelf of God—

NOTWITHSTANDING the Meſſiah appears cloathed with ſo much Terrour and Majeſty, the Poet has ſtill found Means to make his Readers conceive an Idea of him beyond what he himſelf was able to deſcribe. Yet half his Strength he put not forth, but checkt His thunder in mid Volly, for he meant Not to deſtroy, but root them out of Heav'n.

IN a Word, Milton's Genius, which was ſo great in it ſelf, and ſo ſtrenghened by all the Helps of Learning, appears in this Book every way equal to his Subject, which was the moſt ſublime that could enter into the Thoughts of a Poet. As he knew all the Arts of Affecting the Mind, he knew it was neceſſary to give it certain Reſting-places and Opportunities of recovering it ſelf from Time to Time: He has therefore with great Addreſs interſperſed ſeveral Speeches, Reflections, Similitudes, and the like Reliefs, to diverſifie his Narration, and eaſe the Attention of the Reader, that he might come freſh to his great Action; and by ſuch a Contraſt of Ideas, have a more lively Taſte of the nobler Parts of his Deſcription.

SPECTATOR, No 339. —Ʋt his exordia primis Omnia, et ipſe tener Mundi concreverit orbis. Tum durare ſolum et diſcludere Nerea ponto Coeperit, et rerum paullatim ſumere formas. Virg.

LONGINƲS has obſerved, that there may be a Loftineſs in Sentiments, where there is no Paſſion, and brings Inſtances out of ancient Authors to ſupport this his Opinion. The Pathetick, as that great Critick obſerves, may animate and inflame the Sublime, but is not eſſential to it. Accordingly, as he further remarks, we very often find that thoſe who excel moſt in ſtirring up the Paſſions, very often want the Talent of writing in the great and ſublime Manner; and ſo on the contrary. Milton has ſhewn himſelf a Maſter in both theſe Ways of Writing. The ſeventh Book, which we are now entering upon, is an Inſtance of that Sublime which is not mixt and work'd up with Paſſion. The Author appears in a kind of compoſed and ſedate Majeſty; and tho' the Sentiments do not give ſo great an Emotion as thoſe in the former Book, they abound with as magnificent Ideas. The ſixth Book, like a troubled Ocean, repreſents Greatneſs in Confuſion; the ſeventh affects the Imagination like the Ocean in a Calm, and Fills the Mind of the Reader, without producing in it any Thing like Tumult or Agitation.

THE Critick above-mentioned, among the Rules which he lays down for ſucceeding in the ſublime way of writing, propoſes to his Reader, that he ſhould imitate the moſt celebrated Authors who have gone before him, and been engaged in Works of the ſame Nature; as in particular that if he writes on a poetical Subject, he ſhould conſider how Homer would have ſpoken on ſuch an Occaſion. By this Means one great Genius often catches the Flame from another, and writes in his Spirit without copying ſervilely after him. There are a thouſand ſhining Paſſages in Virgil, which have been lighted up by Homer.

MILTON, tho' his own natural Strength of Genius was capable of furniſhing out a perfect Work, has doubtleſs very much raiſed and ennobled his Conceptions, by ſuch an Imitation as that which Longinus has recommended.

IN this Book, which gives us an Account of the Six Days Works, the Poet received but very few Aſſiſtances from Heathen Writers, who were Strangers to the Wonders of Creation. But as there are many glorious Strokes of Poetry upon this Subject in Holy Writ, the Author has numberleſs Alluſions to them through the whole Courſe of this Book. The great Critick I have before mentioned, though an Heathen, has taken Notice of the ſublime Manner in which the Law-giver of the Jews has deſcribed the Creation in the Firſt Chapter of Geneſis; and there are many other Paſſages in Scripture, which riſe up to the ſame Majeſty, where this Subject is touched upon. Milton has ſhewn his Judgment very remarkably, in making uſe of ſuch of theſe as were proper for his Poem, and in duly qualifying thoſe high Strains of Eaſtern Poetry, which were ſuited to Readers whoſe Imaginations were ſet to an higher Pitch, than thoſe of colder Climates.

ADAM's Speech to the Angel, wherein he deſires an Account of what had paſſed within the Regions of Nature before the Creation, is very great and ſolemn. The following Lines, in which he tells him, that the Day is not too far ſpent for him to enter upon ſuch a Subject, are exquiſite in their Kind. And the Great Light of Day yet wants to run Much of his race though ſteep, ſuſpenſe in Heav'n Held by thy voice, thy potent voice he hears, And longer will delay to hear thee tell His Generation, &c.—

THE Angel's encouraging our Firſt Parents in a modeſt Purſuit after Knowledge, with the Cauſes which he aſſigns for the Creation of the World, are very juſt and beautiful. The Meſſiah, by whom, as we are told in Scripture, the Worlds were made, comes forth in the Power of his Father, ſurrounded with an Hoſt of Angels, and cloathed with ſuch a Majeſty as becomes his entering upon a Work, which, according to our Conceptions, appears the utmoſt Exertion of Omnipotence. What a beautiful Deſcription has our Author raiſed upon that Hint in one of the Prophets; And behold there came four Chariots out from between two Mountains, and the Mountains were Mountains of Braſs? About his Chariot numberleſs were pour'd Cherub and Seraph, Potentates and Thrones, And Virtues, winged Spirits, and Chariots wing'd, From the Armoury of God, where ſtand of old Myriads between two brazen Mountains lodg'd Againſt a ſolemn day, harneſt at hand; Celeſtial Equipage; and now came forth Spontaneous, for within them Spirit liv'd Attendant on their Lord: Heav'n open'd wide Her ever during Gates, Harmonious ſound On golden Hinges moving—

I have before taken Notice of theſe Chariots of God, and of theſe Gates of Heaven, and ſhall here only add, that Homer gives us the ſame Idea of the latter as opening of themſelves, tho' he afterwards takes off from it, by telling us, that the Hours firſt of all removed thoſe prodigious Heaps of Clouds which lay as a Barrier before them.

I do not know any thing in the whole Poem more ſublime than the Deſcription which follows, where the Meſſiah is repreſented at the Head of his Angels, as looking down into the Chaos, calming its Confuſion, riding into the midſt of it, and drawing the firſt Out-Line of the Creation. On Heav'nly ground they ſtood, and from the ſhore They view'd the vaſt immeaſurable Abyſs Outrageous as a Sea, dark waſteful, wild, Ʋp from the bottom turn'd by furious winds And ſurging waves, as Mountains to aſſault Heav'ns height, and with the Center mix the Pole. Silence ye troubled Waves, and thou Deep, Peace, Said then th' Omnific word, your Diſcord end: Nor ſtaid, but on the wings of Cherubim Ʋp-lifted, in Paternal Glory rode Far into Chaos, and the world unborn; For Chaos heard his voice: him all his train Follow'd in bright Proceſſion to behold Creation, and the wonders of his might. Then ſtaid the fervid Wheels, and in his hand He took the golden Compaſſes, prepared In God's eternal Store, to circumſcribe This Ʋniverſe, and all created things: One foot he center'd, and the other turn'd, Round through the vaſt profundity obſcure, And ſaid, thus far extend, thus far thy bounds, This be thy juſt Circumference, O World.

THE Thought of the Golden Compaſſes is conceiv'd altogether in Homer's Spirit, and is a very noble Incident in this wonderful Deſcription. Homer, when he ſpeaks of the Gods, aſcribes to them ſeveral Arms and Inſtruments with the ſame Greatneſs of Imagination. Let the Reader only peruſe the Deſcription of Minerva's Aegis, or Buckler, in the Fifth Book of the Iliad, with her Spear which would overturn whole Squadrons, and her Helmet, that was ſufficient to cover an Army drawn out of an hundred Cities: The Golden Compaſſes in the abovementioned Paſſage appear a very natural Inſtrument in the Hand of him, whom Plato ſomewhere calls the Divine Geometrician. As Poetry delights in cloathing abſtracted Ideas in Allegories and ſenſible Images, we find a magnificent Deſcription of the Creation form'd after the ſame manner in one of the Prophets, wherein he deſcribes the Almighty Architect as meaſuring the Waters in the Hollow of his Hand, meteing out the Heavens with his Span, comprehending the Duſt of the Earth in a Meaſure, weighing the Mountains in Scales, and the Hills in a Balance. Another of them deſcribing the Supreme Being in this great Work of Creation, repreſents him as laying the Foundations of the Earth, and ſtretching a Line upon it. And in another Place as garniſhing the Heavens, ſtretching out the North over the empty Place, and hanging the Earth upon Nothing. This laſt noble Thought Milton has expreſs'd in the following Verſe. And Earth ſelf-balanc'd on her Center hung.

THE Beauties of Deſcription in this Book lie ſo very thick, that it is impoſſible to enumerate them in this Paper. The Poet has employ'd on them the whole Energy of our Tongue. The ſeveral great Scenes of the Creation riſe up to view one after another, in ſuch a Manner, that the Reader ſeems preſent at this wonderful Work, and to aſſiſt among the Choirs of Angels, who are the Spectators of it. How glorious is the Concluſion of the firſt Day. —Thus was the firſt day Ev'n and Morn. Nor paſt uncelebrated, nor unſung By the Celeſtial Quires, when Orient light Exhaling firſt from Darkneſs they beheld; Birth-day of Heav'n and Earth; with joy and ſhout The hollow univerſal Orb they fill'd.

WE have the ſame Elevation of Thought in the third Day; when the Mountains were brought forth, and the Deep was made. Immediately the Mountains huge appear Emergent, and their broad bare backs up-heave Into the Clouds, their tops aſcend the Sky: So high as heav'd the tumid hills, ſo low Down ſunk a hollow bottom broad and deep, Capacious bed of Waters—

WE have alſo the Riſing of the whole vegetable World deſcrib'd in this Day's Work, which is filled with all the Graces that other Poets have laviſhed on their Deſcription of the Spring, and leads the Reader's Imagination into a Theatre equally ſurprizing and beautiful.

THE ſeveral Glories of the Heavens make their Appearance on the fourth Day. Firſt in his Eaſt the glorious lamp was ſeen Regent of day, and all the Horizon round Inveſted with bright rays, jocund to run His Longitude thro' Heav'ns high rode: the Gray • awn, and the Pleiades before him danced Shedding ſweet influence: leſs bright the Moon, But oppoſite in levell'd Weſt was ſet, His Mirror, with full face borrowing her light From him, for other light ſhe needed none In that aſpect, and ſtill the diſtance keeps Till night; then in the Eaſt her turn ſhe ſhines Revolv'd on Heav'ns great Axle, and her reign With thouſand leſſer lights dividual holds, With thouſand thouſand ſtars that then appear'd Spangling the Hemiſphere—

ONE would wonder how the Poet could be ſo conciſe in his Deſcription of the Six Days Works, as to comprehend them within the Bounds of an Epiſode, and at the ſame Time ſo particular, as to give us a lively Idea of them. This is ſtill more remarkable in his Account of the fifth and ſixth Days, in which he has drawn out to our View the whole Animal Creation, from the Reptil to the Behemoth. As the Lion and the Leviathan are two of the nobleſt Productions in the World of living Creatures, the Reader will find a moſt exquiſite Spirit of Poetry in the Account which our Author gives us of them. The Sixth Day concludes with the Formation of Man, upon which the Angel takes Occaſion, as he did after the Battel in Heaven, to remind Adam of his Obedience, which was the principal Deſign of this his Viſit.

THE Poet afterwards repreſents the Meſſiah returning into Heaven, and taking a Survey of his great Work. There is ſomething inexpreſſibly ſublime in this part of the Poem, where the Author deſcribes that great Period of Time, filled with ſo many glorious Circumſtances; when the Heavens and Earth were finiſhed; when the Meſſiah aſcended up in Triumph through the Everlaſting Gates; when he looked down with Pleaſure upon his new Creation; when every Part of Nature ſeem'd to rejoice in its Exiſtence; when the Morning Stars ſang together, and all the Sons of God ſhouted for Joy. So Ev'n and Morn accompliſh'd the Sixth day: Yet not till the Creator from his Work Deſiſting, tho' unwearied, up return'd, Ʋp to the Heav'n of Heav'ns his high abode, Thence to behold this new created World Th' Addition of his Empire; how it ſhew'd In proſpect from his throne, how good, how fair, Anſwering his great Idea. Ʋp he rode Follow'd with acclamation and the Sound Symphonious of ten thouſand harps that tuned Angelic Harmonies: the earth, the air Reſoxnding, (thou remember'ſt, for thou heard'ſt) The Heavens and all the Conſtellations rung, The Planets in their Station liſt'ning ſtood, While the bright pomp aſcended jubilant. Open ye everlaſting gates, they ſung, Open ye Heav'ns, your living doors, let in The great Creator from his work return'd Magnificent, his ſix days work a World.

I cannot conclude this Book upon the Creation, without mentioning a Poem which has lately appear'd under that Title. The Work was undertaken with ſo good an Intention, and is executed with ſo great a Maſtery, that it deſerves to be looked upon as one of the moſt uſeful and noble Productions in our Engliſh Verſe. The Reader cannot but be pleaſed to find the Depths of Philoſophy enlivened with all the Charms of Poetry, and to ſee ſo great a Strength of Reaſon, amidſt ſo beautiful a Redundancy of the Imagination. The Author has ſhewn us that Deſign in all the Works of Nature, which neceſſarily leads us to the Knowledge of its firſt Cauſe. In ſhort, he has illuſtrated, by numberleſs and inconteſtable Inſtances, that divine Wiſdom, which the Son of Sirach has ſo nobly aſcribed to the Supreme Being in his Formation of the World, when he tells us, that He created her, and ſaw her, and numbered her, and poured her out upon all his Works.

SPECTATOR, No 345. Sanctius hic animal, mentiſque capacius altae- Decrat adhuc, et quod dominari in caetera poſſet. Natus homo eſt— Ov. Met.

THE Accounts which Raphael gives of the Battel of Angels, and the Creation of the World, have in them thoſe Qualifications which the Criticks judge requiſite to an Epiſode. They are nearly related to the principal Action, and have a juſt Connection with the Fable.

THE Eighth Book opens with a Beautiful Deſcription of the Impreſſion which this Diſcourſe of the Arch-Angel made on our firſt Parents. Adam afterwards, by a very natural Curioſity, enquries concerning the Motions of thoſe Celeſtial Bodies which make the moſt glorious Appearance among the ſix Days Works. The Poet here, with a great deal of Art, repreſents Eve as withdrawing from this Part of their Converſation to Amuſements more ſuitable to her Sex. He well knew, that the Epiſode in this Book, which is filled with Adam's Account of his Paſſion and Eſteem for Eve, would have been improper for her Hearing, and has therefore deviſed very juſt and beautiful Reaſons for her retiring. So ſpake our Sire, and by his Count'nance ſeem'd Entring on ſtudious Thoughts abſtruſe: which Eve Perceiving where ſhe ſat retired in ſight, With Lowlineſs majeſtick from her Seat, And Grace that won who ſaw to wiſh her Stay, Roſe, and went forth among her Fruits and Flowers, To viſit how they proſper'd, Bud and Bloom, Her Nurſery: they at her Coming ſprung, And touch'd by her fair Tendance gladlier grew. Yet went ſhe not, as not with ſuch Diſcourſe Delighted, or not capable her Ear Of what was high: Such Pleaſure ſhe reſerv'd, Adam relating, ſhe ſole Auditreſs; Her Husband the Relater ſhe preferr'd Before the Angel, and of him to ask Choſe father: he, ſhe knew, would intermix Grateful Digreſſions, and ſolve high Diſpute With Conjugal Careſſes; from his Lip Not Words alone pleaſed her. O when meet now Such Pairs in Love, and mutual Honour joyn'd!

THE Angel's returning a doubtful Anſwer to Adam's Enquiries, was not only proper for the moral Reaſon which the Poet aſſigns, but becauſe it would have been highly abſurd to have given the Sanction of an Arch-angel to any particular Syſtem of Philoſophy. The chief Points in the Ptolemaick and Copernican Hypotheſis are deſcribed with great Conciſeneſs and Perſpicuity, and at the ſame Time dreſſed in very pleaſing and poetical Images.

ADAM, to detain the Angel, enters afterwards upon his own Hiſtory, and relates to him the Circumſtances in which he found himſelf upon his Creation; as alſo his Converſation with his Maker and his firſt meeting with Eve. There is no Part of the Poem more apt to raiſe the Attention of the Reader, than this Diſcourſe of our great Anceſtor; as nothing can be more ſurprizing and delightful to us, than to hear the Sentiments that aroſe in the Firſt Man while he was yet new and freſh from the Hands of his Creator. The Poet has interwoven every thing which is delivered upon this Subject in Holy Writ with ſo many beautiful Imaginations of his own, that nothing can be conceived more juſt and natural than this whole Epiſode. As our Author knew this Subject could not but be agreeable to his Reader, he would not throw it into the Relation of the ſix Days Works, but reſerved it for a diſtinct Epiſode, that he might have an Opportunity of expatiating upon it more at large. Before I enter on this Part of the Poem, I cannot but take Notice of two ſhining Paſſages in the Dialogue between Adam and the Angel. The firſt is that wherein our Anceſtor gives an Account of the Pleaſure he took in converſing with him, which contains a very noble Moral. For while I ſit with thee, I ſeem in Heav'n, And ſweeter thy Diſcourſe is to my Ear Than Fruits of Palm-tree pleaſanteſt to Thirſt And Hunger, both from Labour, at the Hour Of ſweet Repaſt; they ſatiate, and ſoon fill, Tho' pleaſant; but thy Words with Grace divine Imbu'd, bring to their Sweetneſs no Satiety.

THE other I ſhall mention is that in which the Angel gives a Reaſon why he ſhould be glad to hear the Story Adam was about to relate. For I that Day was abſent, as befell, Bound on a Voyage uncouth and obſcure, Far on Excurſion towards the Gates of Hell, Squar'd in full Legion (ſuch command we had) To ſee that none thence iſſued forth a Spy, Or Enemy, while God was in his Work, Leſt he incenſt at ſuch Eruption bold, Deſtruction with Creation might have mix'd.

THERE is no Queſtion but our Poet drew the Image in what follows from that in Virgil's Sixth Book, where Aeneas and the Sybil ſtand before the Adamantine Gates, which are there deſcrib'd as ſhut upon the Place of Torments, and liſten to the Groans, the Clank of Chains, and the Noiſe of Iron Whips, that were heard in thoſe Regions of Pain and Sorrow. —Faſt we found, faſt ſhut The diſmal Gates, and barricadoed ſtrong; But long e'er our approaching heard within Noiſe, other than the Sound of Dance or Song, Torment, and loud Lament, and furious Rage.

ADAM then proceeds to give an Account of his Condition and Sentiments immediately after his Creation. How agreeably does he repreſent the Poſture in which he found himſelf, the delightful Landskip that ſurrounded him, and the Gladneſs of Heart which grew up in him on that Occaſion. —As new waked from ſoundeſt Sleep, Soft on the flowry Herb I found me laid In balmy Sweat, which with his Beams the Sun Soon dried, and on the reaking Moiſture fed. Streight toward Heav'n my wondering Eyes I turn'd, And gaz'd a while the amply Sky, till rais'd By quick inſtinctive Motion up I ſprung, As thitherward endeavouring, and upright Stood on my Feet: About me round I ſaw Hill, Dale, and ſhady Woods, and ſunny Plains, And liquid Lapſe of murmuring Streams; by theſe, Creatures that liv'd, and mov'd, and walk'd, or flew, Birds on the Branches warbling; all things ſmil'd: With Fragrance and with Joy my Heart o'erflow'd.

ADAM is afterwards deſcrib'd as ſurpriz'd at his own Exiſtence, and taking a Survey of himſelf, and of all the Works of Nature. He likewiſe is repreſented as diſcovering by the Light of Reaſon, that he and every thing about him muſt have been the Effect of ſome Being infinitely good and powerful, and that this Being had a Right to his Worſhip and Adoration. His firſt Addreſs to the Sun, and to thoſe Parts of the Creation which made the moſt diſtinguiſhed Figure, is very natural and amuſing to the Imagination. —Thou Sun, ſaid I, fair Light, And thou enlight'ned Earth, ſo freſh and gay, Ye Hills and Dales, ye Rivers, Woods, and Plains, And ye that live and move, fair Creatures tell, Tell if you ſaw, how came I thus, how here?

HIS next Sentiment, when upon his firſt going to ſleep he fancies himſelf loſing his Exiſtence, and falling away into nothing, can never be ſufficiently admired. His Dream, in which he ſtill preſerves the Conſciouſneſs of his Exiſtence, together with his Removal into the Garden which was prepared for his Reception, are alſo Circumſtances finely imagined, and grounded upon what is delivered in ſacred Story.

THESE and the like wonderful Incidents in this Part of the Work, have in them all the Beauties of Novelty, at the ſame Time that they have all the Graces of Nature. They are ſuch as none but a great Genius could have thought of, though, upon the Peruſal of them, they ſeem to riſe of themſelves from the Subject of which he treats. In a Word, though they are natural they are not obvious, which is the true Character of all fine Writing.

THE Impreſſion which the Interdiction of the Tree of Life left in the Mind of our firſt Parent, is deſcribed with great Strength and Judgment; as the Image of the ſeveral Beaſts and Birds paſſing in Review before him is very beautiful and lively. —Each Bird and Beaſt behold Approaching two and two, theſe cowring low With Blandiſhment; each Bird ſtoop'd on his Wing: I nam'd them as they paſs'd—

ADAM, in the next Place, deſcribes a Conference which he held with his Maker upon the Subject of Solitude. The Poet here repreſents the ſupreme Being, as making an Eſſay of his own Work, and putting to the Trial that reaſoning Faculty with which he had endued his Creature. Adam urges, in this divine Colloquy, the Impoſſibility of his being happy, tho' he was the Inhabitant of Paradiſe, and Lord of the whole Creation, without the Converſation and Society of ſome rational Creature, who ſhould partake thoſe Bleſſings with him. This Dialogue, which is ſupported chiefly by the Beauty of the Thoughts, without other poetical Ornaments, is as fine a Part as any in the whole Poem: The more the Reader examines the Juſtneſs and Delicacy of its Sentiments, the more he will find himſelf pleaſed with it. The Poet has wonderfully preſerved the Character of Majeſty and Condeſcenſion in the Creator, and at the ſame Time that of Humility and Adoration in the Creature, as particularly in the following Lines, Thus I preſumptuous; and the Viſion bright, As with a Smile more brightned, thus reply'd, &c. —I with leave of Speech implor'd And humble Deprecation thus reply'd. Let not my Words offend thee, heavenly Power, My Maker, be propitious while I ſpeak, &c.

ADAM then proceeds to give an Account of his ſecond Sleep, and of the Dream in which he beheld the Formation of Eve. The new Paſſion that was awakened in him at the Sight of her is touched very finely. Ʋnder his forming Hands a Creature grew, Manlike, but different Sex; ſo lovely fair, That what ſeem'd fair in all the World ſeem'd now Mean, or in her ſumm'd up, in her contain'd, And in her Looks, which from that time infus'd Sweetneſs into my Heart, unfelt before, And into all things from her Air inſpir d The Spirit of Love and amorous Delight.

ADAM's Diſtreſs upon loſing Sight of this beautiful Phantom, with his Exclamations of Joy and Gratitude at the Diſcovery of a real Creature, who reſembled the Apparition which had been preſented to him in his Dream; the Approaches he makes to her, and his Manner of Courtſhip, are all laid together in a moſt exquiſite Propriety of Sentiments.

THO' this Part of the Poem is work'd up with great Warmth and Spirit, the Love which is deſcribed in it is every way ſuitable to a State of Innocence If the Reader compares the Deſcription which Adam here gives of his leading Eve to the Nuptial Bower, with that which Mr. Dryden has made on the ſame Occaſion in a Scene of his Fall of Man, he will be ſenſible of the great Care which Milton took to avoid all Thoughts on ſo delicate a Subject, that might be offenſive to Religion or good Manners. The Sentiments are chaſte, but not cold, and convey to the Mind Ideas of the moſt tranſporting Paſſion, and of the greateſt Purity. What a Noble Mixture of Rapture and Innocence has the Author joined together, in the Reflection which Adam makes on the Pleaſures of Love, compared to thoſe of Senſe. Thus have I told thee all my State, and brought My Story to the Sum of earthly Bliſs Which I enjoy, and muſt confeſs to find In all things elſe Delight indeed, but ſuch As us'd or not, works in the mind no Change, Nor Vehement deſire, theſe delicacies I mean of taſte, ſight, ſmell, herbs, fruits, and flowers, Walks, and the melody of Birds; but here Far otherwiſe, tranſported I behold, Tranſported touch, here Paſſion firſt I felt, Commotion ſtrange; in all enjoyments elſe Superiour and unmov'd, here only weak Againſt the Charm of Beauty's powerful glance Or Nature fail'd in me, and left ſome part Not proof enough ſuch object to ſuſtain, Or from my ſide ſubducting, took perhaps More than enough; at leaſt on her beſtow'd Too much of Ornament, in outward ſhew Elaborate, of inward leſs exact. —When I approach Her lovelineſs, ſo abſolute ſhe ſeems And in herſelf compleat, ſo well to know Her own, that what ſhe wills to do or ſay Seems wiſeſt, virtuouſeſt, diſcreeteſt, beſt; All higher knowledge in her preſence falls Degraded: Wiſdom in diſcourſe with her Loſes diſcountenanc'd, and like folly ſhews; Authority and reaſon on her wait, As one intended firſt, not after made Occaſionally; and to conſummate all, Greatneſs of Mind, and nobleneſs their Seat Build in her lovelieſt, and create an awe About her, as a Guard angelick plac'd.

THESE Sentiments of Love, in our firſt Parent, gave the Angel ſuch an Inſight into humane Nature, that he ſeems apprehenſive of the Evils which might befal the Species in general, as well as Adam in particular, from the Exceſs of this Paſſion. He therefore fortifies him againſt it by timely Admonitions; which very artfully prepare the Mind of the Reader for the Occurrences of the next Book, where the Weakneſs, of which Adam here gives ſuch diſtant Diſcoveries, brings about that fatal Event which is the Subject of the Poem. His Diſcourſe, which follows the gentle Rebuke he receiv'd from the Angel, ſhews that his Love, however violent it might appear, was ſtill founded in Reaſon, and conſequently not improper for Paradiſe. Neither her outſide form ſo fair, nor ought In procreation common to all kinds (Though higher of the genial Bed by far, And with myſterious reverence I deem) So much delights me as thoſe graceful acts, Thoſe thouſand decencies that daily flow From all her words and actions mixt with love And ſweet compliance, which declare unfeign'd Ʋnion of Mind, or in us both one Soul; Harmony to behold in wedded pair.

ADAM's Speech, at parting with the Angel, has in it a Deference and Gratitude agreeable to an inferior Nature, and at the ſame Time a certain Dignity and Greatneſs ſuitable to the Father of Mankind in his State of Innocence.

SPECTATOR, No 351. —In te omnis domus inclinata recumbit. Virg.

IF we look into the three great Heroic Poems which have appear'd in the World, we may obſerve that they are built upon very ſlight Foundations. Homer lived near 300 Years after the Trojan War, and, as the Writing of Hiſtory was not then in uſe among the Greeks, we may very well ſuppoſe, that the Tradition of Achilles and Ʋlyſſes had brought down but very few Particulars to his Knowledge, tho' there is no Queſtion but he has wrought into his two Poems ſuch of their remarkable Adventures as were ſtill talked of among his Contemporaties,

THE Story of Aeneas, on which Virgil founded his Poem, was likewiſe very bare of Circumſtances, and by that Means afforded him an Opportunity of embelliſhing it with Fiction, and giving a full Range to his own Invention. We find, however, that he has interwoven, in the Courſe, of his Fable, the principal Particulars, which were generally believed among the Romans, of Aeneas his Voyage and Settlement in Italy.

THE Reader may find an Abridgment of the whole Story as collected out of the ancient Hiſtorians, and as it was received among the Romans, in Dionyſius Halicarnaſſeus.

SINCE none of the Criticks have conſidered Virgil's Fable, with relation to this Hiſtory of Aeneas; it may not, perhaps, be amiſs to examine it in this Light, ſo far as regards my preſent Purpoſe. Whoever looks into the Abridgment above-mentioned, will find that the Character of Aeneas is filled with Piety to the Gods, and a ſuperſtitious Obſervation of Prodigies, Oracles, and Predictions. Virgil has not only preſerved this Character in the Perſon of Aeneas, but has given a Place in his Poem to thoſe particular Prophecies which he found recorded of him in Hiſtory and Tradition. The Poet took the Matters of Fact as they came down to him, and circumſtanced them after his own Manner, to make them appear the more natural, agreeable, or ſurprizing. I believe very many Readers have been ſhocked at that ludicrous Prophecy, which one of the Harpeys pronounces to the Trojans in the Third Book, namely, that before they had built their intended City, they ſhould be reduced by Hunger to eat their very Tables. But, when they hear that this was one of the Circumſtances that had been tranſmitted to the Romans in the Hiſtory of Aeneas, they will think the Poet did very well in taking Notice of it. The Hiſtorian above-mentioned acquaints us, a Propheteſs had foretold Aeneas, that he ſhould take his Voyage Weſtward, till his Companions ſhould eat their Tables; and that accordingly, upon his landing in Italy, as they were eating their Fleſh upon Cakes of Bread, for want of other Conveniencies, they afterwards fed on the Cakes themſelves; upon which one of the Company ſaid merrily, We are eating our Tables. They immediately took the Hint, ſays the Hiſtorian, and concluded the Prophecy to be fulfilled. As Virgil did not think it proper to omit ſo material a Particular in the Hiſtory of Aeneas, it may be worth while to conſider with how much Judgment he has qualified it, and taken off every thing that might have appeared improper for a Paſſage in an Heroic Poem. The Propheteſs who foretells it is an hungry Harpy, as the Perſon who diſcovers it is young Aſcanius. Heus etiam menſas conſumimus inquit lulus!

SUCH an Obſervation, which is beautiful in the Mouth of a Boy, would have been ridiculous from any other of the Company. I am apt to think that the changing of the Trojan Fleet into Water-Nymphs, which is the moſt violent Machine in the whole Aeneid, and has given Offence to ſeveral Criticks, may be accounted for the ſame way. Virgil himſelf, before he begins that Relation, premiſes that what he was going to tell appeared incredible, but that it was juſtified by Tradition. What further confirms me that this Change of the Fleet was a celebrated Circumſtance in the Hiſtory of Aeneas is, that Ovid has given a Place to the ſame Metamorphoſis in his Account of the heathen Mythology.

NONE of the Criticks I have met with having conſidered the Fable of the Aeneid in this Light, and taken Notice how the Tradition, on which it was founded, authorizes thoſe Parts in it which appear the moſt exceptionable; I hope the Length of this Reflection will not make it unacceptable to the curious Part of my Readers.

THE Hiſtory, which was the Baſis of Milton's Poem, is ſtill ſhorter than either that of the Iliad or Aeneid. The Poet has likewiſe taken Care to inſert every Circumſtance of it in the Body of his Fable. The Ninth Book, which we are here to conſider, is raiſed upon that brief Account in Scripture, wherein we are told that the Serpent was more ſubtle than any Beaſt of the Field, that he tempted the Woman to eat of the forbidden Fruit, that ſhe was overcome by this Temptation, and that Adam followed her Example. From theſe few Particulars Milton has formed one of the moſt entertaining Fables that Invention ever produced. He has diſpoſed of theſe ſeveral Circumſtances among ſo many agreeable and natural Fictions of his own, that his whole Story looks only like a Comment upon ſacred Writ, or rather ſeems to be a full and compleat Relation of what the other is only an Epitome. I have inſiſted the longer on this Conſideration, as I look upon the Diſpoſitionand Contrivance of the Fable to be the principal Beauty of the Ninth Book, which has more Story in it, and is fuller of Incidents, than any other in the whole Poem. Satan's traverſing the Globe, and ſtill keeping within the Shadow of the Night, as fearing to be diſcovered by the Angel of the Sun, who had before detected him, is one of thoſe beautiful Imaginations with which he introduces this his ſecond Series of Adventures. Having examined the Nature of every Creature, and found out one which was the moſt proper for his Purpoſe, he again returns to Paradiſe; and, to avoid Diſcovery, ſinks by Night with a River that ran under the Garden, and riſes up again through a Fountain that iſſued from it by the Tree of Life. The Poet, who, as we have before taken Notice, ſpeaks as little as poſſible in his own Perſon, and, after the Example of Homer, fills every Part of his Work with Manners and Characters, introduces a Soliloquy of this infernal Agent, who was thus reſtleſs in the Deſtruction of Man. He is then deſcrib'd as gliding through the Garden under the Reſemblance of a Miſt, in order to find out that Creature in which he deſign'd to tempt our firſt Parents. This Deſcription has ſomething in it very poetical and ſurprizing. So ſaying, through each Thicket dank or dry Like a black Miſt, low creeping, he held on His midnight Search, where ſooneſt he might find The Serpent: him faſt ſleeping ſoon he found In Labyrinth of many a round ſelf-roll'd, His head the midſt, well ſtor'd with ſubtle wiles.

THE Author afterwards gives us a Deſcription of the Morning, which is wonderfully ſuitable to a Divine Poem, and peculiar to that firſt Seaſon of Nature: He repreſents the Earth before it was curſt as a great Altar breathing out its Incenſe from all Parts, and ſending up a pleaſant Savour to the Noſtrils of its Creator; to which he adds a noble Idea of Adam and Eve, as offering their Morning Worſhip, and filling up the Univerſal Conſort of Praiſe and Adoration. Now when as ſacred Light began to dawn In Eden on the humid Flowers, that breathed Their Morning Incenſe, when all things that breath From th' Earth's great Altar ſend up ſilent Praiſe To the Creator, and his Noſtrils fill With grateful Smell; forth came the human Pair, And joyn'd their vocal Worſhip to the Choir Of Creatures wanting Voice—

THE Diſpute which follows between our two firſt Parents is repreſented with great Art: It proceeds from a Difference of Judgment, not of Paſſion, and is managed with Reaſon, not with Heat: It is ſuch a Diſpute as we may ſuppoſe might have happened in Paradiſe, had Man continued happy and innocent. There is a great Delicacy in the Moralities which are interſperſed in Adam's Diſcourſe, and which the moſt ordinary Reader cannot but take Notice of. That Force of Love which the Father of Mankind ſo finely deſcribes in the Eighth Book, and which is inſerted in the foregoing Paper, ſhews it ſelf here in many fine Inſtances: As in thoſe fond Regards he caſt towards Eve at her parting from him. Her long with ardent look his Eye purſued Delighted, but deſiring more her ſtay. Oft he to her his Charge of quick Return Repeated; ſhe to him as oft engaged To be return'd by Noon amid the Bowre.

IN his Impatience and Amuſement during her Abſence. —Adam the while Waiting deſirous her Return, had wove Of choiceſt Flowers a Garland to adorn Her Treſſes, and her Rural Labours crown, As Reapers oft are wont their Harveſt Queen. Great Joy he promiſed to his Thoughts, and new Solace in her Return, ſo long delay'd.

BUT particularly in that paſſionate Speech, where ſeeing her irrecoverably loſt, he reſolves to periſh with her rather than to live without her. —Some curſed Fraud Or Enemy hath beguil'd thee, yet unknown, And me with thee hath ruin'd, for with Thee Certain my Reſolution is to Die; How can I live without thee, how forego Thy ſweet Converſe, and Love ſo dearly joyn'd, To live again in theſe wild Woods forlorn? Should God create another Eve, and I Another Rib afford, yet loſs of thee Would never from my Heart; no, no, I feel The link of Nature draw me: Fleſh of Fleſh, Bone of my Bone thou art, and from thy State Mine never ſhall be parted, Bliſs or Woe.

THE Beginning of this Speech, and the Preparation to it are animated with the ſame Spirit as the Concluſion, which I have here quoted,

THE ſeveral Wiles which are put in Practice by the Tempter, when he found Eve ſeparated from her Husband, the many pleaſing Images of Nature which are intermixt in this Part of the Story, with its gradual and regular Progreſs to the fatal Cataſtrophe, are ſo very remarkable, that it would be ſuperfluous to point out their reſpective Beauties.

I have avoided mentioning any particular Similitudes in my Remarks on this great Work, becauſe I have given a general Account of them in my Paper on the Firſt Book. There is one, however, in this Part of the Poem which I ſhall here quote, as it is not only very beautiful, but the cloſeſt of any in the whole Poem; I mean that where the Serpent is deſcrib'd as rolling forward in all his Pride, animated by the evil Spirit, and conducting Eve to her Deſtruction, while Adam was at too great a Diſtance from her to give her his Aſſiſtance. Theſe ſeveral Particulars are all of them wrought into the following Similitude. —Hope elevates, and Joy Brightens his Creſt; as when a wand'ring Fire Compact of unctuous Vapour, which the Night Condenſes, and the Cold invirons round, Kindled through agitation to a Flame; (Which oft, they ſay, ſome evil Spirit attends) Hovering and blazing with deluſive Light, Miſleads th' amaz'd Night-wanderer from his way To Bogs and Mires, and oft thro' Pond or Pool, There ſwallow'd up and loſt, from Succour far,

THAT ſecret Intoxication of Pleaſure, with all thoſe tranſient Fluſhings of Guilt and Joy which the Poet repreſents in our firſt Parents upon their eating the forbidden Fruit, to thoſe Flaggings of Spirit, Damps of Sorrow, and mutual Accuſations which ſucceed it, are conceiv'd with a wonderful Imagination, and deſcribed in very natural Sentiments.

WHEN Dido in the Fourth Aeneid yielded to that fatal Temptation which ruin'd her, Virgil tells us the Earth trembled, the Heavens were filled with Flaſhes of Lightning, and the Nymphs howled upon the Mountain Tops. Milton, in the ſame poetical Spirit, has deſcribed all Nature as diſturbed upon Eve's eating the forbidden Fruit. So ſaying, her raſh Hand in evil Hour Forth reaching to the Fruit, ſhe pluckt, ſhe eat: Earth felt the Wound, and Nature from her Seat Sighing thro' all her Works gave Signs of Woe That all was loſt—

UPON Adam's falling into the ſame Guilt, the whole Creation appears a ſecond time in Convulſions. —He ſcrupled not to eat Againſt his better Knowledge, not deceiv'd, But fondly overcome with Female Charm. Earth trembled from her Entrails, as again In Pangs, and Nature gave a ſecond Groan, SKY lowred, and, muttering Thunder, ſome ſad Drops Wept at compleating of the mortal Sin—

AS all Nature ſuffer'd by the Guilt of our firſt Parents, theſe Symptoms of Trouble and Conſternation are wonderfully imagined, not only as Prodigies, but as Marks of her ſympathizing in the Fall of Man.

ADAM's Converſe with Eve, after having eaten the forbidden Fruit, is an exact Copy of that between Jupiter and Juno in the Fourteenth Iliad. Juno there approaches Jupiter with the Girdle which ſhe had received from Venus; upon which he tells her, that ſhe appeared more charming and deſirable than ſhe had ever done before, even when their Loves were at the higheſt. The Poet afterwards deſcribes them as repoſing on a Summet of Mount Ida, which produced under them a Bed of Flowers, the Lotus, the Crocus, and the Hyacinth, and concludes his Deſcription with their falling aſleep.

LET the Reader compare this with the following Paſſage in Milton, which begins with Adam's Speech to Eve. For never did thy Beauty ſince the Day I ſaw thee firſt and wedded thee, adorn'd With all Perfections, ſo inflame my Senſe With Ardor to enjoy thee, fairer now Than ever, bounty of this virtuous Tree. So ſaid be, and forbore not glance or toy Of amorous Intent, well underſtood Of Eve, whoſe Eye darted contagious fire. Her hand he ſeiſed, and to a ſhady bank Thick over-head with verdant roof embowr'd He led her nothing loath: Flow'rs were the Couch, Panſies, and Violets, and Aſphodel, And Hyacinth, Earth's freſheſt ſofteſt Lap. There they their fill of Love, and Love's diſport Took largely, of their mutual guilt the Seal, The Solace of their Sin, till dewy Sleep Oppreſs'd them—

AS no Poet ſeems ever to have ſtudied Homer more, or to have reſembled him in the Greatneſs of Genius than Milton, I think I ſhould have given but a very imperfect Account of his Beauties, if I had not obſerved the moſt remarkable Paſſages which look like Parallels in theſe two great Authors. I might, in the Courſe of theſe Criticiſms, have taken Notice of many particular Lines and Expreſſions which are tranſlated from the Greek Poet; but as I thought this would have appeared too minute and over-curious, I have purpoſely omitted them. The greater Incidents, however, are not only ſet off by being ſhown in the ſame Light with ſeveral of the ſame Nature in Homer, but by that means may be alſo guarded againſt the Cavils of the Taſteleſs or Ignorant.

SPECTATOR, No 357. —quis talia fando Temperet à lacrymis?— Virg.

THE Tenth Book of Paradiſe Loſt has a greater Variety of Perſons in it than any other in the whole Poem. The Author upon the winding up of his Action introduces all thoſe who had any Concern in it, and ſhews with great Beauty the Influence which it had upon each of them. It is like the laſt Act of a well written Tragedy, in which all who had a Part in it are generally drawn up before the Audience, and repreſented under thoſe Circumſtances in which the Determination of the Action places them.

I ſhall therefore conſider this Book under four Heads, in relation to the Celeſtial, the Infernal, the Human, and the Imaginary Perſons, who have their reſpective Parts allotted in it.

TO begin with the Celeſtial Perſons: The Guardian Angels of Paradiſe are deſcribed as returning to Heaven upon the Fall of Man, in order to approve their Vigilance; their Arrival, their Manner of Reception, with the Sorrow which appeared in themſelves, and in thoſe Spirits who are ſaid to Rejoice at the Converſion of a Sinner, are very finely laid together in the following Lines. Ʋp into Heav'n from Paradiſe in haſte Th' angelick guards aſcended, mute and ſad For Man, for of his ſtate by this they knew, Much wond'ring how the ſubtle Fiend had ſtoln Entrance unſeen. Soon as th' unwelcome news From Earth arriv'd at Heaven Gate, diſpleas'd All were who heard, dim ſadneſs did not ſpare That time Celeſtial viſages, yet mixt With pity, violated not their Bliſs. About the new-arriv'd, in multitudes Th' Aethereal People ran, to hear and know How all befell: They tow'rds the Throne ſupream Accountable made haſte to make appear With righteous plea, their utmoſt vigilance, And eaſily approv'd; when the moſt High Eternal Father from his ſecret Cloud Amidſt, in thunder utter'd thus his Voice.

THE ſame Divine Perſon, who in the foregoing Parts of this Poem interceded for our firſt Parents before their Fall, overthrew the Rebel Angels, and created the World, is now repreſented as deſcending to Paradiſe, and pronouncing Sentence upon the three Offenders. The cool of the Evening, being a Circumſtance with which Holy Writ introduces this great Scene, it is Poetically deſcribed by our Author, who has alſo kept religiouſly to the Form of Words, in which the three ſeveral Sentences were paſſed upon Adam, Eve, and the Serpent. He has rather choſen to neglect the Numerouſneſs of his Verſe, than to deviate from thoſe Speeches which are recorded on this great Occaſion. The Guilt and Confuſion of our firſt Parents ſtanding naked before their Judge, is touched with great Beauty. Upon the Arrival of Sin and Death into the Works of the Creation, the Almighty is again introduced as ſpeaking to his Angels that ſurrounded him. See with what heat theſe Dogs of Hell advance To waſte and havock yonder World, which I So fair and good Created, &c.

THE following Paſſage is formed upon that glorious Image in Holy Writ, which compares the Voice of an innumerable Hoſt of Angels, uttering Hallelujahs, to the Voice of mighty Thunderings, or of many Waters. He ended, and the Heav'nly Audience loud Sung Hallelujah, as the ſound of Seas, Through multitude that ſung: "Juſt are thy ways, "Righteous are thy Decrees in all thy Works, "Who can extenuate Thee—

THOUGH the Author in the whole Courſe of his Poem, and particularly in the Book we are now examining, has infinite Alluſions to Places of Scripture, I have only taken notice in my Remarks of ſuch as are of a Poetical Nature, and which are woven with great Beauty into the Body of this Fable. Of this kind is that Paſſage in the preſent Book, where deſcribing Sin and Death as marching through the works of Nature, he adds, —Behind her Death Cloſe following pace for pace, not mounted yet On his pale Horſe!— Which alludes to that Paſſage in Scripture ſo wonderfully Poetical, and terrifying to the Imagination. And I looked, and behold a pale Horſe, and his Name that ſat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him: and Power was given unto them over the fourth Part of the Earth to kill with Sword, and with Hunger, and with Sickneſs, and with the Beaſts of the Earth. Under this firſt Head of Celeſtial Perſons we muſt likewiſe take Notice of the Command which the Angels received, to produce the ſeveral Changes in Nature, and ſully the Beauty of the Creation. Accordingly they are repreſented as infecting the Stars and Planets with malignant Influences, weakning the Light of the Sun, bringing down the Winter into the milder Regions of Nature, planting Winds and Storms in ſeveral Quarters of the Sky, ſtoring the Clouds with Thunder, and in ſhort, perverting the whole Frame of the Univerſe to the Condition of its Criminal Inhabitants. As this is a noble Incident in the Poem, the following Lines, in which we ſee the Angels heaving up the Earth, and placing it in a different Poſture to the Sun from what it had before the Fall of Man, is conceived with that ſublime Imagination which was ſo peculiar to this great Author. Some ſay he bid his Angels turn aſcance The Poles of Earth twice ten degrees and more From the Sun's Axle; they with labour puſh'd Oblique the Centrick Globe.—

WE are in the ſecond Place, to conſider the Infernal Agents under the View which Milton has given us of them in this Book. It is obſerved by thoſe who would ſet forth the Greatneſs of Virgil's Plan, that he conducts his Reader through all the Parts of the Earth which were diſcovered in his Time. Aſia, Africk, and Europe are the ſeveral Scenes of his Fable. The Plan of Milton's Poem is of an infinitely greater Extent, and fills the Mind with many more aſtoniſhing Circumſtances. Satan, having ſurrounded the Earth ſeven times, departs at length from Paradiſe. We then ſee him ſteering his Courſe among the Conſtellations, and after having traverſed the whole Creation, purſuing his Voyage thro' the Chaos, and entering into his own Infernal Dominions.

HIS firſt Appearance in the Aſſembly of Fallen Angels, is work'd up with Circumſtances which give a delightful Surprize to the Reader; but there is no Incident in the whole Poem which does this more than the Transformation of the whole Audience, that follows the Account their Leader gives them of his Expedition. The gradual Change of Satan himſelf is deſcribed after Ovid's Manner, and may vie with any of thoſe celebrated Transformations which are looked upon as the moſt Beautiful Parts in that Poet's Works. Milton never fails of improving his own Hints, and beſtowing the laſt finiſhing Touches to every Incident which is admitted into his Poem. The unexpected Hiſs which riſes in this Epiſode, the Dimenſions and Bulk of Satan ſo much ſuperior to thoſe of the Infernal Spirits who lay under the ſame Transformation, with the annual Change which they are ſuppoſed to ſuffer, are Inſtances of this Kind. The Beauty of the Diction is very remarkable in this whole Epiſode, as I have obſerved in the Sixth Paper of theſe Remarks the great Judgment with which it was contrived.

THE Parts of Adam and Eve, or the Humane Perſons, come next under our Conſideration. Milton's Art is no where more ſhewn than in his conducting the Parts of theſe our firſt Parents. The Repreſentation he gives of them, without falſifying the Story, is wonderfully contrived to influence the Reader with Pity and Compaſſion towards them. Though Adam involves the whole Species in Miſery, his Crime proceeds from a Weakneſs which every Man is inclined to pardon and commiſerate, as it ſeems rather the Frailty of Humane Nature, than of the Perſon who offended. Every one is apt to excuſe a Fault which he himſelf might have fallen into. It was the Exceſs of Love for Eve that ruin'd Adam and his Poſterity. I need not add, that the Author is Juſtify'd in this Particular by many of the Fathers, and the moſt Orthodox Writers. Milton has by this means filled a great part of his Poem with that kind of Writing which the French Criticks call the Tender, and which is in a particular manner engaging to all ſorts of Readers.

ADAM and Eve, in the Book we are now conſidering, are likewiſe drawn with ſuch Sentiments as do not only intereſt the Reader in their Afflictions, but raiſe in him the moſt melting Paſſions of Humanity and Commiſeration. When Adam ſees the ſeveral Changes in Nature produced about him, he appears in a Diſorder of Mind ſuitable to one who had forfeited both his Innocence and his Happineſs: he is filled with Horror, Remorſe, Deſpair; in the Anguiſh of his Heart he expoſtulates with his Creator for having given him an unasked Exiſtence. Did I requeſt thee, Maker, from my Clay To mould me Man, did I ſolicit thee From darkneſs to promote me, or here place In this delicious Garden? as my will Concurr'd not to my being, 'twere but right And equal to reduce me to my duſt, Deſirous to reſign, and render back All I receiv'd— He immediately after recovers from his Preſumption, owns his Doom to be juſt, and begs that the Death which is threatned him may be inflicted on him. —Why delays His Hand to execute what his decree Fix'd on this day? Why do I overlive, Why am I mock'd with Death, and lengthen'd out To Deathleſs pain? how gladly would I meet Mortality my Sentence, and be Earth Inſenſible! how glad would lay me down As in my Mother's lap? there ſhould I reſt And ſleep ſecure; his dreadful Voice no more Would thunder in my ears, no fear of worſe To me and to my Off-ſpring, would torment me With cruel expectation.—

THIS whole Speech is full of the like Emotion, and varied with all thoſe Sentiments which we may ſuppoſe natural to a Mind ſo broken and diſturb'd. I muſt not omit that generous Concern which our firſt Father ſhews in it for his Poſterity, and which is ſo proper to affect the Reader. —Hide me from the Face Of God, whom to behold was then my height Of Happineſs: yet well if here would end The Miſery, I deſerv'd it, and would bear My own deſervings; but this will not ſerve; All that I eat, or drink, or ſhall beget, Is propagated Curſe. O voice once heard Delightfully, encreaſe and multiply, Now Death to hear!— —In me all Poſterity ſtands curſt: Fair Patrimony That I muſt leave you, Sons: O were I able To waſte it all my ſelf, and leave you none? So diſinherited how would you bleſs Me now your curſe! Ah, why ſhould all Mankind For one Man's fault thus guiltleſs be condemned If guiltleſs? But from me what can proceed But all corrupt—

WHO can afterwards behold the Father of Mankind extended upon the Earth, uttering his Midnight Complaints, bewailing his Exiſtence, and wiſhing for Death, without ſympathizing with him in his Diſtreſs? Thus Adam to himſelf lamented loud Through the ſtill night, not now, as e'er Man fell Wholeſome and cool and mild, but with black Air Accompanied, with damps and dreadful gloom, Which to his evil Conſcience repreſented All things with double terrour: on the Ground Outſtretch'd he lay, on the cold Ground, and oft Curs'd his Creation, Death as oft accus'd Of tardy execution.—

THE Part of Eve in this Book is no leſs paſſionate, and apt to ſway the Reader in her Favour. She is repreſented with great Tenderneſs as approaching Adam, but is ſpurn'd from him with a Spirit of Upbraiding and Indignation conformable to the Nature of Man, whoſe Paſſions had now gained the Dominion over him. The following Paſſage wherein ſhe is deſcribed as renewing her Addreſſes to him, with the whole Speech that follows it, have ſomething in them exquiſitely moving and Pathetick. He added not, and from her turn'd: but Eve Not ſo repuls'd, with Tears that ceas'd not flowing, And Treſſes all diſorder'd, at his Feet Fell humble, and embracing them beſought His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint. Forſake me not thus Adam, witneſs Heav'n What love ſincere and reverence in my heart I bear thee, and unweeting have offended, Ʋnhappily deceiv'd; thy Suppliant I beg, and claſp thy knees; bereave me not, Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid, Thy Counfel in this uttermoſt diſtreſs, My only ſtrength and ſtay: Forlorn of thee Whither ſhall I betake me, where ſubſiſt? While yet we live, ſcarce one ſhort hour perhaps, Between us two let there be peace, &c.

ADAM's Reconcilement to her is work'd up in the ſame Spirit of Tenderneſs. Eve afterwards propoſes to her Husband, in the Blindneſs of her Deſpair, that to prevent their Guilt from deſcending upon Poſterity they ſhould reſolve to live Childleſs; or, if that could not be done, they ſhould ſeek their own Deaths by violent Methods. As thoſe Sentiments naturally engage the Reader to regard the Mother of Mankind with more than ordinary Commiſeration, they likewiſe contain a very fine Moral. The Reſolution of Dying, to end our Miſeries, does not ſhew ſuch a degree of Magnanimity as a Reſolution to bear them, and ſubmit to the Diſpenſations of Providence. Our Author has therefore, with great Delicacy, repreſented Eve as entertaining this Thought, and Adam as diſapproving it.

WE are, in the laſt Place, to conſider the Imaginary Perſons, or Death and Sin, who act a large Part in this Book. Such beautiful extended Allegories are certainly ſome of the fineſt Compoſitions of Genius; but, as I have before obſerved, are not agreeable to the Nature of an Heroic Poem. This of Sin and Death is very exquiſite in its Kind, if not conſidered as a Part of ſuch a Work. The Truths contained in it are ſo clear and open, that I ſhall not loſe Time in explaining them; but ſhall only obſerve, that a Reader who knows the Strength of the Engliſh Tongue, will be amazed to think how the Poet could find ſuch apt Words and Phraſes to deſcribe the Actions of thoſe two imaginary Perſons, and particularly in that Part where Death is exhibited as forming a Bridge over the Chaos; a Work ſuitable to the Genius of Milton.

SINCE the Subject I am upon gives me an Opportunity of ſpeaking more at large of ſuch Shadowy and Imaginary Perſons as may be introduced into Heroic Poems, I ſhall beg Leave to explain my ſelf in a Matter which is curious in its Kind, and which none of the Criticks have treated of. It is certain Homer and Virgil are full of imaginary Perſons, who are very beautiful in Poetry when they are juſt ſhewn without being engaged in any Series of Action. Homer indeed repreſents Sleep as a Perſon, and aſcribes a ſhort Part to him in his Iliad; but we muſt conſider that tho' we now regard ſuch a Perſon as entirely ſhadowy and unſubſtantial, the Heathens made Statues of him, placed him in their Temples, and looked upon him as a Real Deity. When Homer makes uſe of other ſuch Allegorical Perſons, it is only in ſhort Expreſſions, which convey an ordinary Thought to the Mind in the moſt pleaſing Manner, and may rather be looked upon as Poetical Phraſes than Allegorical Deſcriptions. Inſtead of telling us that Men naturally fly when they are terrified, he introduces the Perſons of Flight and Fear, who, he tells us, are inſeparable Companions. Inſtead of ſaying that the Time was come when Apollo ought to have received his Recompence, he tells us that the Hours brought him his Reward. Inſtead of deſcribing the Effects which Minerva's Aegis produced in Battel, he tells us that the Brims of it were encompaſſed by Terrour, Rout, Diſcord, Fury, Purſuit, Maſſacre, and Death. In the ſame Figure of ſpeaking, he repreſents Victory as following Diomedes; Diſcord as the Mother of Funerals and Mourning; Venus as dreſſed by the Graces; Bellona as wearing Terrour and Conſternation like a Garment. I might give ſeveral other Inſtances out of Homer, as well as a great many out of Virgil. Milton has likewiſe very often made uſe of the ſame way of Speaking, as where he tells us, that Victory ſat on the Right Hand of the Meſſiah when he marched forth againſt the Rebel Angels; that at the riſing of the Sun the Hours unbarr'd the Gates of Light; that Diſcord was the Daughter of Sin. Of the ſame Nature are thoſe Expreſſions, where deſcribing the Singing of the Nightingale, he adds, Silence was pleaſed; and upon the Meſſiah's bidding Peace to the Chaos, Confuſion heard his Voice. I might add innumerable Inſtances of our Poet's writing in this beautiful Figure. It is plain that theſe I have mentioned, in which Perſons of an imaginary Nature are introduced, are ſuch ſhort Allegories as are not deſigned to be taken in the literal Senſe, but only to convey particular Circumſtances to the Reader after an unuſual and entertaining Manner. But when ſuch Perſons are introduced as principal Actors, and engaged in a Series of Adventures, they take too much upon them, and are by no means proper for an Heroic Poem, which ought to appear credible in its principal Parts. I cannot forbear therefore thinking that Sin and Death are as improper Agents in a Work of this Nature, as Strength and Neceſſity in one of the Tragedies of Eſchylus, who repreſented thoſe two Perſons nailing down Prometheus to a Rock, for which he has been juſtly cenſured by the greateſt Criticks. I do not know any imaginary Perſon made uſe of in a more ſublime manner of Thinking than that in one of the Prophets, who deſcribing God as deſcending from Heaven, and viſiting the Sins of Mankind, adds that dreadful Circumſtance, Before him went the Peſtilence. It is certain this imaginary Perſon might have been deſcribed in all her purple Spots. The Fever might have marched before her, Pain might have ſtood at her Right Hand, Phrenzy on her Left, and Death in her Rear. She might have been introduced as gliding down from the Tail of a Comet, or darted upon the Earth in a Flaſh of Lightning: She might have tainted the Atmoſphere with her Breath; the very Glaring of her Eyes might have ſcattered. Infection. But I believe every Reader will think, that in ſuch ſublime Writings the mentioning of her as it is done in Scripture, has ſomething in it more juſt, as well as great, than all that the moſt fanciful Poet could have beſtowed upon her in the Richneſs of his Imagination.

SPECTATOR, No 363. —Crudelis ubique Luctus, ubique pavor, & plurima Mortis Imago. Virg.

MILTON has ſhewn a wonderful Art in deſcribing that Variety of Paſſions which ariſe in our firſt Parents upon the Breach of the Commandment that had been given them. We ſee them gradually paſſing from the Triumph of their Guilt thro' Remorſe, Shame, Deſpair, Contrition, Prayer, and Hope, to a perfect and compleat Repentance. At the End of the Tenth Book they are repreſented as proſtrating themſelves upon the Ground, and watering the Earth with their Tears: To which the Poet joins this beautiful Circumſtance, that they offer'd up their penitential Prayers on the very Place where their Judge appeared to them when he pronounced their Sentence. —They forthwith to the place Repairing where he judg'd them, proſtrate fell Before him reverent, and both confeſs'd Humbly their faults, and pardon begg'd, with tears Watering the Ground—

THERE is a Beauty of the ſame kind in a Tragedy of Sophocles, where Oedipus, after having put out his own Eyes, inſtead of breaking his Neck from the Palace Battlements (which furniſhes ſo elegant an Entertainment for our Engliſh Audience) deſires that he may be conducted to Mount Cithaeron, in order to end his Life in that very Place where he was expoſed in his Infancy, and where he ſhould then have died, had the Will of his Parents been executed.

AS the Author never fails to give a poetical Turn to his Sentiments, he deſcribes in the Beginning of this Book the Acceptance which theſe their Prayers met with, in a ſhort Allegory form'd upon that beautiful Paſſage in Holy Writ; And another Angel came and ſtood at the Altar, having a golden Cenſer; and there was given unto him much incenſe, that he ſhould offer it with the Prayers of all Saints upon the Golden Altar, which was before the Throne: And the ſmoak of the incenſe which came with the Prayers of the Saints aſcended up before God. —To Heav'n their Prayers Flew up nor miſs'd the way, by envious winds Blown vagabond or fruſtrate: in they paſs'd Dimentionleſs thro' heav'nly Doors, then clad With incenſe, where the Golden Altar fumed, By their great Interceſſor, came in ſight Before the Father's throne—

WE have the ſame Thought expreſſed a ſecond Time in the Interceſſion of the Meſſiah, which is conceived in very emphatick Sentiments and Expreſſions.

AMONG the poetical Parts of Scripture which Milton has ſo finely wrought into this Part of his Narration, I muſt not omit that wherein Ezekiel ſpeaking of the Angels who appeared to him in a Viſion, adds, that every one had four faces, and that their whole bodies, and their backs, and their hands, and their wings were full of eyes round about. —The Cohort bright Of watchful Cherubim; four faces each Had, like a double Janus, all their Shape Spangled with Eyes—

THE aſſembling of all the Angels of Heaven to hear the ſolemn Decree paſſed upon Man, is repreſented in very lively Ideas. The Almighty is here deſcrib'd as remembring Mercy in the midſt of Judgment, and commanding Michael to deliver his Meſſage in the mildeſt Terms, leaſt the Spirit of Man, which was already broken with the Senſe of his Guilt and Miſery, ſhould fail before him. —Yet leaſt they faint At the ſad Sentence rigorouſly urg'd, (For I behold them ſeftned and with tears Bewailing their exceſs,) all Terror hide.

THE Conference of Adam and Eve is full of moving Sentiments. Upon their going abroad after the melancholy Night which they had paſſed together, they diſcover the Lion and the Eagle purſuing each of them their Prey towards the Eaſtern Gates of Paradiſe. There is a double Beauty in this Incident, not only as it preſents great and juſt Omens, which are always agreeable in Poetry, but as it expreſſes that Enmity which was now produced in the Animal Creation. The Poet, to ſhew the like Changes in Nature, as well as to grace his Fable with a noble Prodigy, repreſents the Sun in an Eclipſe. This particular Incident has likewiſe a fine Effect upon the Imagination of the Reader, in regard to what follows; for at the ſame Time that the Sun is under an Eclipſe, a bright Cloud deſcends in the Weſtern Quarter of the Heavens, filled with an Hoſt of Angels, and more luminous than the Sun it ſelf. The whole Theatre of Nature is darkned, that this glorious Machine may appear in all its Luſtre and Magnificence. —Why in the Eaſt Darkneſs e'er day's mid-courſe, and morning light More orient in that weſtern Cloud that draws O'er the blue firmament a radiant white, And ſlow deſcends, with ſomething heav'nly fraught? He err'd not, for by this the heav'nly bands Down from a Sky of Jaſper lighted now In Paradiſe, and on a Hill made halt; A glorious apparition—

I need not obſerve how properly this Author, who always ſuits his Parts to the Actors whom he introduces, has employed Michael in the Expulſion of our firſt Parents from Paradiſe. The Archangel on this Occaſion neither appears in his proper Shape, nor in that familiar Manner with which Raphael the ſociable Spirit entertained the Father of Mankind before the Fall. His Perſon, his Port, and Behaviour are ſuitable to a Spirit of the higheſt Rank, and exquiſitely deſcrib'd in the following Paſſage. —Th' Archangel ſoon drew nigh, Not in his ſhape celeſtial, but as Man Clad to meet Man; over his lucid Arms A military Veſt of Purple flow'd Livelier than Melibzan, or the grain Of Sarra, worn by Kings and Heroes old In time of Truce; Iris had dipt the Wooff. His ſtarry Helm, unbuckled, ſhew'd him prime In Manhood where Youth ended; by his ſide As in a gliſtring Zodiack hung the Sword, Satan's dixe dread, and in his Hand the Spear. Adam bow'd low: He kingly from his State Inclined not, but his coming thus declared.

EVE's Complaint upon hearing that ſhe was to be removed from the Garden of Paradiſe is wonderfully Beautiful: The Sentiments are not only proper to the Subject, but have ſomething in them particularly ſoft and Womaniſh. Muſt I then leave thee, Paradiſe? thus leave Thee, native Soil, theſe happy walks and ſhades, Fit haunt of Gods? Where I had hope to ſpend Quiet, though ſad, the reſpite of that day That muſt be mortal to us both, O flow'rs That never will in other Climate grow, My Early viſitation and my laſt At Even, which I bred up with tender hand From the firſt opening bud, and gave you Names; Who now ſhall rear you to the Sun, or rank Your Tribes, and Water from th'ambroſial Fount? Thee, laſtly, nuptial Bowre, by me adorn'd With what to ſight or ſmell was ſweet: from thee How ſhall I part, and whither wander down Into a lower World, to this obſcure And wild, how ſhall we breath in other Air Leſs pure, accuſtom'd to Immortal Fruits?

ADAM's Speech abounds with Thoughts which are equally moving, but of a more maſculine and elevated Turn. Nothing can be conceived more ſublime and poetical than the following Paſſage in it. This moſt afflicts me, that departing hence As from his Face I ſhall be hid, deprived His bleſſed Count'nance; here I could frequent, With worſhip, place by place where he vouchſafed Preſence divine, and to my Sons relate, On this Mount he appear'd, under this Tree Stood viſible, among theſe Pines his Voice I heard, here with him at this Fountain talk'd: So many grateful Altars I would rear Of graſſy Turf, and pile up every Stone Of luſtre from the Brook, in memory Or Monument to Ages, and thereon Offer ſweet ſmelling Gums and Fruits and Flowers. In yonder nether World where ſhall I ſeek His bright Appearances, or Footſteps trace? For though I fled him angry, yet recall'd To life prolong'd and promiſed race I nòw Gladly behold though but his utmoſt Skirts Of Glory, and far off his Steps adore.

THE Angel afterwards leads Adam to the higheſt Mount of Paradiſe, and lays before him a whole Hemiſphere, as a proper Stage for thoſe Viſions which were to be repreſented on it. I have before obſerved how the Plan of Milton's Poem is in many particulars greater than that of the Iliad or Aeneid. Virgil's Hero, in the laſt of theſe Poems, is entertained with a ſight of all theſe who are to deſcend from him; but tho' that Epiſode is juſtly admired as one of the nobleſt Deſigns in the whole Aeneid, every one muſt allow that this of Milton is of a much higher Nature. Adam's Viſion is not confined to any particular Tribe of Mankind, but extends to the whole Species.

IN this great Review which Adam takes of all his Sons and Daughters, the firſt Objects he is preſented with exhibit to him the Story of Cain and Abel, which is drawn together with much Cloſeneſs and Propriety of Expreſſion. That Curioſity and natural Horror which ariſes in Adam at the Sight of the firſt Dying Man, is touched with great Beauty. But have I now ſeen Death? is this the way I muſt return to native duſt? O Sight Of terrour foul and ugly to behold, Horrid to Think, how horrible to Feel!

THE ſecond Viſion ſets before him the Image of Death in a great Variety of Appearances. The Angel, to give him a general Idea of thoſe Effects which his Guilt had brought upon his Poſterity, places before him a large Hoſpital, or Lazar-Houſe, fill'd with Perſons lying under all kinds of mortal Diſeaſes. How finely has the Poet told us that the ſick Perſons languiſhed under lingring and incurable Diſtempers, by an apt and judicious uſe of ſuch imaginary Beings as thoſe I mentioned in my laſt Paper. Dire was the toſſing, deep the Groans, Deſpair Tended the Sick, buſy from Couch to Couch; And over them triumphant Death his dart Shook, but delay'd to ſtrike, though oft invoked With Vows as their chief good and final hope.

THE Paſſion which likewiſe riſes in Adam on this occaſion is very natural. Sight ſo deform what Heart of rock could long Dry-eyed behold? Adam could not, but wept, Tho' not of Woman born; Compaſſion quell'd His beſt of Man, and gave him up to tears.

THE Diſcourſe between the Angel and Adam which follows, abounds with noble Morals.

AS there is nothing more delightful in Poetry than a Contraſt and Oppoſition of Incidents, the Author, after this melancholy Proſpect of Death and Sickneſs, raiſes up a Scene of Mirth, Love and Jollity. The ſecret Pleaſure that ſteals into Adam's Heart as he is intent upon this Viſion, is imagined with great Delicacy. I muſt not omit the Deſcription of the looſe female Troupe, who ſeduced the Sons of God as they are called in Scripture. For that fair female troupe thou ſaw'ſt, that ſeem'd Of Goddeſſes, ſo blithe, ſo ſmooth, ſo gay, Yet empty of all good, wherein conſiſts Woman's domeſtick honour and chief praiſe; Bred only and compleated to the taſte Of luſtful appetence, to ſing, to dance, To dreſs and troule the Tongue, and roul the Eye. To theſe that ſober race of Men, whoſe lives Religious titled them the Sons of God, Shall yield up all their Virtue, all their Fame Ignobly to the Trains and to the ſmiles Of thoſe fair Atheiſts—

THE next Viſion is of a quite contrary Nature, and filled with the Horrors of War. Adam at the Sight of it melts into Tears, and breaks out in that paſſionate Speech, —O what are theſe Death's miniſters, not Men: who thus deal death Inhumanly to Men, and multiply Ten thouſand fold the Sin of him who flew His Brother: for of whom ſuch Maſſacre Make they but of their Brethren, Men of Men?

MILTON, to keep up an agreeable Variety in his Viſions, after having raiſed in the Mind of his Reader the ſeveral Ideas of Terror which are conformable to the Deſcription of War: paſſes on to thoſe ſofter Images of Triumphs and Feſtivals, in that Viſion of Lewdneſs and Luxury which uſhers in the Flood.

AS it is viſible that the Poet had his Eye upon Ovid's Account of the univerſal Deluge, the Reader may obſerve with how much Judgment he has avoided every thing that is redundant or puerile in the Latin Poet. We do not here ſee the Wolf ſwimming among the Sheep, nor any of thoſe wanton Imaginations which Seneca found fault with, as unbecoming the great Cataſtrophe of Nature. If our Poet has imitated that Verſe in which Ovid tells us that there was nothing but Sea, and that this Sea had no Shore to it, he has not ſet the Thought in ſuch a Light as to incur the Cenſure which Criticks have paſſed upon it. The latter part of that Verſe in Ovid is idle and ſuperfluous, but juſt and beautiful in Milton. Jamque mare & tellus nullum diſcrimen habebant, Nil niſi pontus erat, deerant queque littera ponto. Ovid. —Sea cover'd Sea, Sea without Shore— Milton.

IN Milton the former part of the Deſcription does not foreſtall the latter. How much more great and ſolemn on this Occaſion is that which follows in our Engliſh Poet, —And in their Palaces Where Luxury late reign'd, Sea Monſters whelp'd And ſtabl'd— than that in Ovid, where we are told that the Sea-Calfs lay in thoſe Places where the Goats were uſed to browze? The Reader may find ſeveral other parallel paſſages in the Latin and Engliſh Deſcription of the Deluge; wherein our Poet has viſibly the Advantage. The Sky's being over charged with Clouds, the deſcending of the Rains, the riſing of the Seas, and the appearance of the Rainbow, are ſuch Deſcriptions as every one muſt take Notice of. The Circumſtance relating to Paradiſe is ſo finely imagined and ſuitable to the Opinions of many learned Authors, that I cannot forbear giving it a Place in this Paper. —Then ſhall this mount Of Paradiſe by might of waves be mov'd Out of his place, puſh'd by the horned ſtood, With all his verdure ſpoil'd, and trees adrift Down the great River to the op'ning Gulf, And there take root an Iſland ſalt and bare, The haunt of Seals and Orcs and Sea-Mews clang.

THE Tranſition which the Poet makes from the Viſion of the Deluge, to the Concern it occaſioned in Adam, is exquiſitely graceful, and copied after Virgil, though the firſt Thought it introduces is rather in the Spirit of Ovid. How didſt thou grieve then, Adam, to behold The end of all thy Off-ſpring, end ſo ſad, Depopulation; thee another Floud Of tears and ſorrow, a Floud thee alſo drown'd, And ſunk thee as thy Sons; 'till gently rear'd By th' Angel, on thy feet thou ſtoodſt at laſt Though comfortleſs, as when a Father mourns His Children, all in view deſtroy'd at once.

I have been the more particular in my Quotations out of the Eleventh Book of Paradiſe Loſt, becauſe it is not generally reckoned among the moſt ſhining Books of this Poem; for which Reaſon the Reader might be apt to overlook thoſe many Paſſages in it which deſerve our Admiration. The Eleventh and Twelfth are indeed built upon that ſingle Circumſtance of the Removal of our firſt Parents from Paradiſe; but though this is not in it ſelf ſo great a Subject as that in moſt of the foregoing Books, it is extended and diverſified with ſo many ſurprizing Incidents and pleaſing Epiſodes, that theſe two laſt Books can by no means be looked upon as unequal Parts of this Divine Poem. I muſt further add, that had not Milton repreſented our firſt Parents as driven out of Paradiſe, his Fall of Man would not have been compleat, and conſequently his Action would have been imperfect.

SPECTATOR, No 269. Segnius irritant animos demiſſa per aures Quam quae ſunt oculis ſubjecta fidelibus— Hor.

MILTON, after having repreſented in Viſion the Hiſtory of Mankind to the firſt great Period of Nature, diſpatches the remaining Part of it in Narration. He has deviſed a very handſome Reaſon for the Angel's proceeding with Adam after this manner; though doubtleſs the true Reaſon was the Difficulty which the Poet would have found to have ſhadowed out ſo mix'd and complicated a Story in viſible Objects. I could wiſh, however, that the Author had done it, whatever Pains it might have coſt him. To give my Opinion freely, I think that the exhibiting part of the Hiſtory of Mankind in Viſion, and part in Narrative, is as if an Hiſtory-Painter ſhould put in Colours one half of his Subject, and write down the remaining part of it. If Milton's Poem flags any where, it is in this Narration, where in ſome Places the Author has been ſo attentive to his Divinity, that he has neglected his Poetry. The Narration, however, riſes very happily on ſeveral Occaſions, where the Subject is capable of Poetical Ornaments, as particularly in the Confuſion which he deſcribes among the Builders of Babel, and in his ſhort Sketch of the Plagues of Aegypt. The Storm of Hail and Fire, with the Darkneſs that overſpread the Land for three Days, are deſcribed with great Strength. The beautiful Paſſage which follows, is raiſed upon noble Hints in Scripture. —Thus with ten wounds The River-Dragon tamed at length ſubmits To let his Sojourners depart, and oft Humbles his ſtubborn Heart; but ſtill as Ice More harden'd after thaw: till in his rage Purſuing whom he late diſmiſs'd, the Sea Swallows him with his hoſt, but them lets paſs, As on dry land between two Chryſtal walls, Aw'd by the red of Moſes, ſo to ſtand Divided—

THE River-Dragon is an Alluſion to the Crocodile, which inhabits the Nile, from whence Aegypt derives her Plenty. This Alluſion is taken from that ſublime Paſſage in Ezekiel; Thus ſaith the Lord God, behold I am againſt thee Pharoah King of Egypt, the great Dragon that lieth in the midſt of his Rivers, which hath ſaid, My River is mine own, and I have made it for my ſelf. Milton has given us another very noble and poetical Image in the ſame Deſcription, which is copied almoſt Word for Word out of the Hiſtory of Moſes. All night he will purſue, but his approach Darkneſs defends between till morning watch; Then thro' the fiery pillar and the cloud God looking forth, will trouble all his hoſt, And craze their Chariot-Wheels: when by command Moſes once more his potent rod extends Over the Sea; the Sea his Rod obeys; On their Embattell'd ranks the waves return And overwhelm their War:—

AS the principal Deſign of this Epiſode was to give Adam an Idea of the Holy Perſon, who was to re-inſtate Humane Nature in that Happineſs and Perfection from which it had fallen, the Poet confines himſelf to the Line of Abraham, from whence the Meſſiah was to deſcend. The Angel is deſcribed as ſeeing the Patriarch actually travelling towards the Land of Promiſe, which gives a particular Livelineſs to this Part of the Narration. I ſee him, but thou canſt not, with what Faith He leaves his Gods, his Friends, his native Soil Ur of Chaldaea, paſſing now the Ford To Haran, after him a cumbrous train Of Herds and Flocks and numerous ſervitude; Not wand' ring poor, but truſting all his wealth With God who call'd him, in a Land unknown. Canaan he now attains, I ſee his Tents Pitcht about Sechem, and the neighbouring Plain Of Moroh, there by promiſe he receives Gift to his progeny of all that Land, From Hamath Northward to the deſert South, (Things by their names I call, though yet unnamed.)

AS Virgil's Viſion in the Sixth Aeneid probably gave Milton the Hint of this whole Epiſode, the laſt Line is a Tranſlation of that Verſe, where Anchiſes mentions the Names of Places, which they were to bear hereafter. Hac tum nomina erunt, nunc ſunt ſine nomine terrae.

THE Poet has very finely repreſented the Joy and Gladneſs of Heart which riſes in Adam upon his Diſcovery of the Meſſiah. As he ſees his Day at a Diſtance through Types and Shadows, he rejoices in it; but when he finds the Redemption of Man compleated, and Paradiſe again renewed, he breaks forth in Rapture and Tranſport, O goodneſs infinite, goodneſs immenſe! That all this good of evil ſhall produce, &c.

I have hinted in my Sixth Paper on Milton, that an Heroick Poem, according to the Opinion of the beſt Criticks, ought to end happily, and leave the Mind of the Reader, after having conducted it through many Doubts and Fears, Sorrows and Diſquietudes, in a ſtate of Tranquility and Satisfaction. Milton's Fable, which had ſo many other Qualifications to recommend it, was deficient in this Particular. It is here therefore, that the Poet has ſhewn a moſt exquiſite Judgment, as well as the fineſt Invention, by finding out a Method to ſupply this natural Defect in his Subject. Accordingly he leaves the Adverſary of Mankind, in the laſt View which he gives us of him, under the loweſt State of Mortification and Diſappointment. We ſee him chewing Aſhes, grovelling in the Duſt, and loaden with ſupernumerary Pains and Torments. On the contrary, our two firſt Parents are comforted by Dreams and Viſions, cheared with promiſes of Salvation, and, in a manner, raiſed to a greater Happineſs than that which they had forfeited: In ſhort, Satan is repreſented miſerable in the Height of his Triumphs, and Adam triumphant in the Height of Miſery.

MILTON's Poem ends very nobly. The laſt Speeches of Adam and the Arch-Angel are full of Moral and Inſtructive Sentiments. The Sleep that fell upon Eve, and the Effects it had in quieting the Diſorders of her Mind, produces the ſame kind of Conſolation in the Reader, who cannot peruſe the laſt beautiful Speech which is aſcribed to the Mother of Mankind, without a ſecret Pleaſure and Satisfaction. Whence thou return'ſt, and whither went'ſt, I know; For God is alſo in Sleep; and Dreams adviſe, Which he hath ſent propitious, ſome great good Preſaging, ſince with Sorrow and Heart's diſtreſs Wearied I fell aſleep: but now lead on; In me is no delay: with thee to go Is to ſtay here; without thee here to ſtay Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me Art all things under Heav'n, all Places thou Who for my wilful Crime are baniſh'd hence. This farther Conſolation yet ſecure I carry hence; though all by me is loſt, Such Favour, I unworthy, am vouchſaf'd, By me the promiſed Seed ſhall all reſtore.

THE following Lines, which conclude the Poem, riſe in a moſt glorious Blaze of Poetical Images and Expreſſions.

HELIODORƲS in his Aeshiopicks acquaints us, that the Motion of the Gods differs from that of Mortals, as the former do not ſtir their Feet, nor proceed Step by Step, but ſlide o'er the Surface of the Earth by an uniform Swimming of the whole Body. The Reader may obſerve with how Poetical a Deſcription Milton has attributed the ſame kind of Motion to the Angels who were to take Poſſeſſion of Paradiſe. So ſpake our Mother Eve, and Adam heard Well pleas'd, but anſwer'd not; for now too nigh Th' Arch-Angel ſtood, and from the other Hill To their fix'd ſtation, all in bright array The Cherubim deſcended; on the Ground Gliding meteorons, as ev'ning miſt Ris'n from a River, o'er the mariſh glides, And gathers ground faſt at the lab'rer's heel Homeward returning. High in Front advanc'd The brandiſh'd Sword of God before them blaz'd Fierce as a Comet—

THE Author helped his Invention in the following Paſſage, by reflecting on the Behaviour of the Angel, who, in Holy Writ, has the Conduct of Lot and his Family. The Circumſtances drawn from that Relation are very gracefully made uſe of on this Occaſion. In either hand the haſtning Angel caught Our ling'ring Parents, and to the Eaſtern gate Led them direct; and down the Cliff as faſt To the ſubjected plain; then diſappear'd. They looking back, &c.

THE Scene which our firſt Parents are ſurprized with upon their looking back on Paradiſe, wonderfully ſtrikes the Reader's Imagination, as nothing can be more natural than the Tears they ſhed or that Occaſion. They looking back, all th' Eaſtern ſide beheld Of Paradiſe, ſo late their happy Seat, Wav'd over by the flaming brand, the gate With dreadful faces throng'd and fiery Arms: Some natural tears they dropp'd, but wiped them ſoon. The world was all before them, where to chuſe Their place of reſt, and Providence their Guide.

IF I might preſume to offer at the ſmalleſt Alteration in this Divine Work, I ſhould think the Poem would end better with the Paſſage here quoted, than with the two Verſes which follow. They hand in hand with wandering ſteps and ſlow, Through Eden took their ſolitary way.

THESE two Verſes, though they have their Beauty, fall very much below the foregoing Paſſage, and renew in the Mind of the Reader that Anguiſh which was pretty well laid by that Conſideration. The World was all before them, where to chuſe Their place of reſt, and Providence their Guide.

THE Number of Books in Paradiſe Loſt is equal to thoſe of the Aeneid. Our Author in his Firſt Edition had divided his Poem into Ten Books, but afterwards broke the Seventh and the Eleventh each of them into two different Books, by the Help of ſome ſmall Additions. This ſecond Diviſion was made with great Judgment, as any one may ſee who will be at the pains of examining it. It was not done for the ſake of ſuch a Chimerical Beauty as that of reſembling Virgil in this Particular, but for the more juſt and regular Diſpoſition of this great Work.

THOSE who have read Boſſu, and many of the Criticks who have written ſince his Time, will not pardon me if I do not find out the particular Moral which is inculcated in Paradiſe Loſt. Though I can by no means think, with the laſt-mentioned French Author, that an Epic Writer firſt of all pitches upon a certain Moral, as the Ground-Work and Foundation of his Poem, and afterwards finds out a Story to it: I am, however, of Opinion, that no juſt Heroic Poem ever was, or can be made, from whence one great Moral may not be deduced. That which reigns in Milton is the moſt univerſal and moſt uſeful that can be imagined; it is in ſhort this, that Obedience to the Will of God makes Men happy, and that Diſobedience makes them miſerable. This is viſibly the Moral of the principal Fable which turns upon Adam and Eve, who continued in Paradiſe while they kept the Command that was given them, and were driven out of it as ſoon as they had tranſgreſſed. This is likewiſe the Moral of the principal Epiſode, which ſhews us how an innumerable Multitude of Angels fell from their State of Bliſs, and were caſt into Hell upon their Diſobedience. Beſides this great Moral, which may be looked upon as the Soul of the Fable, there are an Infinity of Under Morals which are to be drawn from the ſeveral Parts of the Poem, and which makes this Work more uſeful and inſtructive than any other Poem in any Language.

THOSE who have Criticiſed on the Odiſſey, the Iliad, and Aeneid, have taken a great deal of Pains to fix the Number of Months or Days contained in the Action of each of thoſe Poems. If any one thinks it worth his while to examine this Particular in Milton, he will find that from Adam's firſt Appearance in the Fourth Book, to his Expulſion from Paradiſe in the Twelfth, the Author reckons ten Days. As for that Part of the Action which is deſcribed in the three firſt Books, as it does not paſs within the Regions of Nature, I have before obſerved that it is not ſubject to any Calculations of Time.

I have now finiſhed my Obſervations on a Work which does an Honour to the Engliſh Nation. I have taken a general View of it under thoſe four Heads, the Fable, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the Language, and made each of them the Subject of a particular Paper. I have in the next place ſpoken of the Cenſures which our Author may incur under each of theſe Heads, which I have confined to two Papers, though I might have enlarged the Number, if I had been diſpoſed to dwell on ſo ungrateful a Subject. I believe, however, that the ſevereſt Reader will not find any little Fault in Heroic Poetry, which this Author has fallen into, that does not come under one of thoſe Heads among which I have diſtributed his ſeveral Blemiſhes. After having thus treated at large of Paradiſe Loſt, I could not think it ſufficient to have celebrated this Poem in the whole, without deſcending to Particulars. I have therefore beſtowed a Paper upon each Book, and endeavoured not only to prove that the Poem is beautiful in general, but to point out its particular Beauties, and to determine wherein they conſiſt. I have endeavoured to ſhew how ſome Paſſages are beautiful by being Sublime; others by being Soft; others by being Natural: which of them are recommended by the Paſſion; which by the Moral; which by the Sentiment, and which by the Expreſſion. I have likewiſe endeavoured to ſhew how the Genius of the Poet ſhines by a happy Invention; a diſtant Alluſion; or a judicious Imitation: how he has copied or improved Homer or Virgil, and raiſed his own Imaginations by the Uſe which he has made of ſeveral Poetical Paſſages in Scripture. I might have inſerted alſo ſeveral Paſſages of Taſſo, which our Author has imitated; but as I do not look upon Taſſo to be a ſufficient Voucher, I would not perplex my Reader with ſuch Quotations, as might do more Honour to the Italian than the Engliſh Poet. In ſhort, I have endeavoured to particularize thoſe innumerable Kinds of Beauty, which it would be tedious to recapitulate, but which are eſſential to Poetry, and which may be met with in the Works of this great Author. Had I thought, at my firſt engaging in this Deſign, that it would have led me to ſo great a Length, I believe I ſhould never have entred upon it; but the kind Reception which it has met with among thoſe whoſe Judgments I have a Value for, give me no Reaſon to repent of the pains I have been at in compoſing them.