[]NOTES Upon the Twelve Books of PARADISE LOST.

SPECTATOR, N^o 267.

THERE is Nothing in Nature more irkſome than general Diſcourſes, eſ⯑pecially 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, [4] 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 be⯑gun 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 inter⯑weaves, 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 Ap⯑pearance 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 be⯑cauſe 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 ſe⯑cond and third Books of the Aeneid: the Con⯑tents 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 [5] it in the Diſpoſition of the Poem. Milton, in Imitation of theſe two great Poets, opens his Pa⯑radiſe 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 ve⯑ry Nature of an Epic Poem. Some have been of O⯑pinion, that the Aeneid alſo labours in this Parti⯑cular, 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 un⯑der 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 Simpli⯑city; 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: Mil⯑ton, 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 [6] 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 Affini⯑ty 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 Conſum⯑mation. 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 Op⯑poſitions 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 Hea⯑ven. 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 Con⯑ſequence, that it embroiled the Kings of Greece, de⯑ſtroy'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 to⯑gether [7] 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 Wo⯑man 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 Vir⯑gil'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 de⯑rogating from thoſe wonderful Performances, that there is an Indiſputable and Unqueſtioned Magnifi⯑cence 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 Mag⯑nitude, 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 thou⯑ſand 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 [8] 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 beau⯑tifully extended and diverſified by the Invention of Epiſodes, and the Machinery of Gods, with the like poetical Ornaments, that they make up an agree⯑able 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 Ho⯑mer 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, not⯑withſtanding all the Reſtraints he was under, he has filled his Story with ſo many ſurpriſing Inci⯑dents, which bear ſo cloſe Analogy with what is delivered in Holy Writ, that it is capable of pleaſ⯑ing the moſt delicate Reader, without giving Offence to the moſt ſcrupulous.

THE modern Criticks have collected from ſe⯑veral 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 Mil⯑ton's Story was tranſacted in Regions that lie out of the Reach of the Sun and the Sphere of Day, [9] it is impoſſible to gratifie the Reader with ſuch a Calculation, which indeed would be more curious than inſtructive; None of the Criticks, either An⯑tient or Modern, having laid down Rules to cir⯑cumſcribe 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. N^o 273.

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 di⯑ſtinguiſhed by their Manners as by their Domini⯑ons; and even thoſe among them, whoſe Chara⯑cters 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.

[10] 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 Gre⯑cian Princes a Perſon, who had lived in three Ages of Men, and converſed with Theſeus, Hercules, Poly⯑phenius, 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 Vul⯑can, 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,

THERE are indeed ſeveral very natural Inci⯑dents in the Part of Aſcanius; as that of Dido can⯑not 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 E⯑vander. 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. [11] 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 Spe⯑cies 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 Chara⯑cters 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 beauti⯑ful 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 Mea⯑ſure of Probability annexed to them, which is requi⯑ſite 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 Lu⯑trin, ſeveral allegorical Perſons of this Nature, which are very beautiful in thoſe Compoſitions, and [12] 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 Ari⯑ſtotle, as perplexing that Fable with very agreeable Plots and Intricacies, not only by the many Ad⯑ventures 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 mention⯑ed, 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 con⯑trary, how has he repreſented the whole God⯑head exerting it ſelf towards Man in its full Bene⯑volence 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 [13] 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 princi⯑pal Actors of the Iliad and Aeneid, which give a peculiar Beauty to thoſe two Poems, and was there⯑fore 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 at⯑tentive to all the Parts of their Story, and ſympa⯑thized with their Heroes in all their Adventures. A Roman could not but rejoice in the Eſcapes, Suc⯑ceſſes, and Victories of Aeneas, and be grieved at any Defeats, Misfortunes, or Diſappointments that befel him; as a Greek muſt have had the ſame Re⯑gard 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 Stran⯑gers, or indifferent Perſons.

MILTON's Poem is admirable in this reſpect, ſince it is impoſſible for any of its Readers, what⯑ever Nation, Country or People he may belong to, not to be related to the Perſons who are the prin⯑cipal 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 Repreſenta⯑tives. 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 Beha⯑viour.

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 [14] of perfect and conſummate Virtue falls into a Mis⯑fortune, it raiſes our Pity, but not our Terror, be⯑cauſe 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 re⯑ſemble the Character of the ſuffering Perſon.'’

I ſhall only remark in this Place, that the fore⯑going 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 con⯑ſummate 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 Bot⯑tom, and muſt be Partakers of their Happineſs or Miſery.

IN this, and ſome other very few Inſtances, Ari⯑ſtotle's Rules for Epic Poetry (which he had drawn from his Reflections upon Homer) cannot be ſup⯑poſed 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, N^o 279.

WE have already taken a general Survey of the Fable and Characters in Milton's Pa⯑radiſe Loſt: The Parts which remain to be conſi⯑der'd, according to Ariſtotle's Method, are the Sen⯑timents 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 ge⯑neral Reflections on theſe four ſeveral Heads, to give particular Inſtances out of the Poem now be⯑fore 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 Rea⯑der may not judge too haſtily of this Piece of Cri⯑ticiſm, 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 di⯑miniſh, 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 [16] 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 at⯑tributed 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 excel⯑led 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. Mil⯑ton's Characters, moſt of them, lie out of Nature, and were to be formed purely by his own Inven⯑tion. 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 pro⯑per Sentiments for an Aſſembly of Grecian Gene⯑rals, than for Milton to diverſifie his infernal Coun⯑cil 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 [17] 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 Ge⯑nius; but ſeldom elevates and tranſports us where he does not fetch his Hints from Homer.

MILTON's chief Talent, and indeed his di⯑ſtinguiſhing 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, ſe⯑cond and ſixth Books. The ſeventh, which de⯑ſcribes the Creation of the World, is likewiſe won⯑derfully ſublime, tho' not ſo apt to ſtir up Emoti⯑on 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 Paſ⯑ſages 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 [18] 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 Tranſ⯑lation he has given us of the Aeneid. I do not re⯑member that Homer any where falls into the Faults abovementioned, which were indeed the falſe Re⯑finements 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 vi⯑cious 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. Ho⯑mer 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 [19] which I may alſo add, of that which he deſcribed, than to any Imperfection in that Divine Poet. Zoi⯑lus, 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 de⯑ſcribed 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.

SPECTATOR, N^o 285.

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 [21] 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 advanta⯑giouſly of the Author.

IT is requiſite that the Language of an He⯑roic 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; inſo⯑much that a good-natur'd Reader ſometimes over⯑looks 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, where⯑in he ſpeaks of Satan.

And that in which he deſcribes Adam and 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 creat⯑ed 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 An⯑cient Criticks therefore, who were acted by a Spirit of Candour, rather than that of Cavilling, invent⯑ed certain Figures of Speech, on purpoſe to palliate little Errors of this Nature in the Writings of thoſe [22] Authors who had ſo many greater Beauties to at⯑tone 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 paſ⯑ſing 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 look⯑ing 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.

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 An⯑cient Authors, which are written in dead Languages, have a great Advantage over thoſe which are writ⯑ten in Languages that are now ſpoken. Were there any Mean Phraſes or Idioms in Virgil and Homer, [23] 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 ordina⯑ry 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 Ex⯑tream. 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 Per⯑ſpicuity of the Stile, as in many others the Endea⯑vour after Perſpicuity prejudices its Greatneſs.

ARISTOTLE has obſerved, that the Idioma⯑tick Stile may be avoided, and the Sublime formed, by the following Methods. Firſt, by the Uſe of Metaphors: ſuch are thoſe in Milton.

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 [24] 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 Helle⯑niſms, 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 An⯑cient 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,

UNDER this Head may be reckoned the placing the Adjective after the Subſtantive, the Tranſpoſiti⯑on of Words, the turning the Adjective into a Sub⯑ſtantive, 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 [25] 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 Na⯑ture of our Tongue will permit, as in the Paſſage a⯑bove-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 grea⯑ter Variety to his Numbers. But this Practice is more particularly remarkable in the Names of Per⯑ſons 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 An⯑tiquity.

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

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, [26] and made the Sublimity of his Stile equal to that of his Sentiments,

I have been the more particular in theſe Obſer⯑vations 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 o⯑ther 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' ad⯑mirable 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 un⯑regarded; 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 Eleva⯑tion 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, conſi⯑der Milton's Numbers, in which he has made uſe of ſeveral Eliſions, that are not cuſtomary among o⯑ther Engliſh Poets, as may be particularly obſerved [27] 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 ſatiat⯑ing 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 Re⯑flections upon the Language of Paradiſe Loſt, with obſerving that Milton has copied after Homer, rather than Virgil, in the length of his Periods, the Co⯑piouſneſs of his Phraſes, and the running of his Verſes into one another.

SPECTATOR, No 291.

I Have now conſider'd Milton's Paradiſe Loſt under thoſe four great Heads of the Fable, the Cha⯑racters, 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 Diſ⯑coveries 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 ac⯑quainted only with the French and Italian Criticks, but alſo with the Antient and Modern who have [28] 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 impli⯑eit Notions and Obſervations which he has made in his reading of the Poets, will find his own Re⯑flections 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 Au⯑thors above-mentioned, unleſs he has alſo a clear and logical Head. Without this Talent he is per⯑petually 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 [29] 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 ab⯑ſurd than for a Man to ſet up for a Critick, without a good Inſight into all the Parts of Learning; where⯑as many of thoſe who have endeavoured to ſigna⯑lize themſelves by Works of this Nature among our Engliſh Writers, are not only defective in the above⯑mentioned Particulars, but plainly diſcover by the Phraſes which they make uſe of, and by their con⯑fuſed 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 Cri⯑tick.

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 ve⯑ry agreeably remarked in thoſe two celebrated Lines,

A true Critick ought to dwell rather upon Excel⯑lencies than Imperfections, to diſcover the conceal⯑ed Beauties of a Writer, and communicate to the [30] 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 at⯑tacks 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 ren⯑dered into Engliſh, a glowing bold Expreſſion, and to turn it into Ridicule by a cold ill-natured Cri⯑ticiſm. 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 Rea⯑der, 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 Op⯑portunity 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 diſ⯑ingenuous 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 [31] 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 Imperfe⯑ctions, 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 A⯑pollo, 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 Or⯑der 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 him⯑ſelf 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, N^o 297.

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 [32] appear in the Fable, the Characters, the Senti⯑ments, 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 Imperfe⯑ction which I ſhall obſerve in the Fable is, that the Event of it is unhappy.

THE Fable of every Poem is according to Ari⯑tatle'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 Im⯑plex 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 Va⯑riety 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 Inno⯑cence and Happineſs, into the moſt abject Con⯑dition of Sin and Sorrow.

THE moſt taking Tragedies among the An⯑tients 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; notwith⯑ſtanding 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 [33] contrary Plans. I muſt however own, that I think this Kind of Fable, which is the moſt perfect in Tra⯑gedy, is not ſo proper for an Heroick Poem.

MILTON ſeems to have been ſenſible of this Imperfection in his Fable, and has therefore endea⯑voured to cure it by ſeveral Expedients; particular⯑ly 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 Para⯑diſe 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 cer⯑tainly the Meſſiah who is the Hero, both in the Principal Action, and in the chief Epiſodes. Paga⯑niſm could not furniſh out a real Action for a Fable greater than that of the Iliad or Aeneid, and there⯑fore 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 ſuf⯑ficient, 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.

[34] I muſt in the next Place obſerve, that Milton has interwoven in the Texture of his Fable ſome Par⯑ticulars 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 ad⯑mitted of too many Digreſſions. It is finely obſer⯑ved 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 be⯑cauſe the Mind of the Reader is more awed and ele⯑vated when he hears Aeneas or Achilles ſpeak, than when Virgil or Homer talk in their own Perſons. Be⯑ſides 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 Diſ⯑poſition 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.

[35] 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 ordina⯑ry Courſe of his Narration, ſhould ſpeak as little as poſſible, he ſhould certainly never let his Narra⯑tion ſleep for the ſake of any Reflections of his own. I have often obſerved, with a ſecret Admi⯑ration, that the longeſt Reflection in the Aeneid is in that Paſſage of the Tenth Book, where Tur⯑nus 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 Re⯑mark. 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 Cir⯑cumſtance 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 Diver⯑ticula, as Scaliger calls them. If he gives us an Ac⯑count 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 Refle⯑ctions 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 [36] confeſs there is ſo great a Beauty in theſe very Di⯑greſſions that I would not with them our of his Poem.

I have, in a former Paper, ſpoken of the Chara⯑cters of Milton's Paradiſe Loſt, and declared my O⯑pinion, as to the Allegorical Perſons who are intro⯑duced 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 point⯑ed, 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

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 unneceſ⯑ſary 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 am⯑bitions of letting us know, by his Excurſions on Free-Will and Predeſtination, and his many Glances upon Hiſtory, Aſtronomy, Geography and the like, [37] 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 labour⯑ed, and ſometimes obſcured by old Words, Tranſ⯑poſitions, and Foreign Idioms. Seneca's Objection to the Stile of a great Author, Rigot ojus oratio, ni⯑hil 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 Senti⯑ments and Ideas were ſo wonderfully ſublime, that it would have been impoſſible for him to have re⯑preſented them in their full Strength and Beauty, without having Recourſe to theſe Foreign Aſſi⯑ſtances. 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:

I know there are Figures for this Kind of Speech, that ſome of the greateſt Antients have been guil⯑ty 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 Ma⯑ſters of polite Writing.

[38] THE laſt Fault which I ſhall take Notice of in Milton's Stile, is the frequent Uſe of what the Learn⯑ed 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 under⯑ſtood by ordinary Readers: Beſides, that the Know⯑ledge 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,

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 Ecli⯑ptic, 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, N^o 303.

I Have ſeen in the Works of a modern Philoſo⯑pher, a Map of the Spots in the Sun. My laſt Paper of the Faults and Blemiſhes in Milton's Pa⯑radiſe Loſt, may be conſidered as a Piece of the ſame Nature. To purſue the Alluſion: As it is ob⯑ſerved, that among the bright Parts of the lumi⯑nous 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. Mil⯑ton has propoſed the Subject of his Poem in the following Verſes.

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 [40] 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 re⯑preſented as operating after a particular Manner in the firſt Production of Nature. This whole Exor⯑dium 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 An⯑gels 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 particu⯑lar 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 Deſcrip⯑tion 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, Obſti⯑nacy, 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 Inci⯑dents as are very apt to raiſe and terrify the Reader's Imagination. Of this Nature, in the Book now be⯑fore 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.

TO which we may add his Call to the fallen An⯑gels that lay plunged and ſtupified in the Sea of Fire.

BUT there is no ſingle Paſſage in the whole Poem worked up to a greater Sublimity, than that where⯑in his Perſon is deſcribed in thoſe celebrated Lines:

[42] 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.

And afterwards,

AMIDST thoſe Impieties which this Enraged Spirit utters in other Places of the Poem, the Au⯑thor has taken Care to introduce none that is not big with Abſurdity, and incapable of ſhocking a Re⯑ligious Reader; his Words, as the Poet deſcribes them, bearing only a Semblance of Worth, not Sub⯑ſtance. He is likewiſe with great Art deſcribed as owning his Adverſary to be Almighty. Whatever perverſe Interpetation he puts on the Juſtice, Mer⯑cy, 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 Circum⯑ſtance of his burſting out in Tears, upon his Sur⯑vey of thoſe innumerable Spirits whom he had in⯑volved in the ſame Guilt and Ruin with himſelf.

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 de⯑ſcribing 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 ſe⯑cond 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.

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 Anti⯑ent [44] Piece of Worſhip, and probably the firſt Oc⯑caſion 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 Sea⯑ſons of the Year, eſpecially about the Feaſt of A⯑donis, is of a bloody Colour; which the Heathens looked upon as proceeding from a kind of Sym⯑pathy 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 Con⯑traction, 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 In⯑fernal Palace is finiſhed, we are told the Multitude and Rabble of Spirits immediately ſhrunk them⯑ſelves into a ſmall Compaſs, that there might be Room for ſuch a numberleſs Aſſembly in this ca⯑pacious 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 Spi⯑rits, [45] contracted their Forms, thoſe of the firſt Rank and Dignity ſtill preſerved their natural Di⯑menſions.

THE Character of Mammon, and the Deſcrip⯑tion 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 Shout of the whole Hoſt of fallen Angels when drawn up in Battel Array:

THE Review, which the Leader makes of his Infernal Army:

THE Flaſh of Light, which appeared upon the drawing of their Swords;

THE ſudden Production of the Pandaemoniune;

THE artificial Illuminations made in it.

THERE are alſo ſeveral noble Similies and Al⯑luſions 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 fo⯑reign 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 [47] has raiſed out of it ſome glorious Image or Senti⯑ment, 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 Po⯑em. 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 ſurpri⯑ſing Points of Likeneſs. Monſieur Perrault was a Man of this vitiated Reliſh, and for that very Rea⯑ſon has endeavoured to turn into Ridicule ſeveral of Homer's Similitudes, which he calls Comparaiſons a longue queue, Long-tail'd Compariſons. I ſhall con⯑clude this Paper on the Firſt Book of Milton with the Anſwer which Monſieur Boileau makes to Per⯑rault on this Occaſion; ‘'Compariſons, ſays he, in Odes and Epic Poems are not introduced only to illuſtrate and embelliſh the Diſcourſe, but to a⯑muſe and relax the Mind of the reader, by fre⯑quently diſengaging him from too painful an At⯑tention to the principal Subject, and by leading him into other agreeable Images. Homer, ſays he, excelled in this Particular, whoſe Compariſons a⯑bound with ſuch Images of Nature as are proper to relieve and diverſifie his Subjects. He conti⯑nually inſtructs the Reader, and makes him take notice, even in Objects which are every Day be⯑fore 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 ne⯑ceſſary in Poetry for the Points of the Compari⯑ſon to correſpond with one another exactly, but [48] 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, N^o 309.

I Have before obſerved in general, that the Per⯑ſons whom Milton introduces into his Poem al⯑ways 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 a⯑dapted 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 [49] Paſſages of the Second Book in this Light. That ſuperior Greatneſs, and Mock-Majeſty, which is a⯑ſcribed to the Prince of the fallen Angels, is admi⯑rably preſerved in the Beginning of this Book. His opening and cloſing the Debate; his taking on him⯑ſelf that great Enterprize at the Thought of which the whole infernal Aſſembly trembled; his encoun⯑tring 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.

THE ſame Boldneſs and Intrepidity of Behavi⯑our diſcovers it ſelf in the ſeveral Adventures, which he meets with during his Paſſage through the Re⯑gions of unformed Matter, and particularly in his Addreſs to thoſe tremendous Powers who are de⯑ſcribed as preſiding over it.

THE Part of Moloch is likewiſe in all its Circum⯑ſtances 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 Spi⯑rit 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.

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 Opini⯑on upon their preſent Poſture of Affairs. Accor⯑dingly 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 infli⯑cted them.

HIS preferring Annihilation to Shame or Miſe⯑ry, 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.

[51] BELIAL is deſcribed, in the firſt Book, as the Idol of the lewd and luxurious. He is in the ſe⯑cond Book, purſuant to that Deſcription, characte⯑riſed as timorous and ſlothful; and if we look in⯑to 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 ſuppo⯑ſed 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 Aſ⯑ſembly every Way conformable to his Character. Such are his Apprehenſions of a ſecond Battel, his Horrors of Annihilation, his preferring to be miſe⯑rable 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 Cha⯑racter. How proper is that Reflection, of their be⯑ing 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 Chara⯑cter.

BEELZEBƲB, who is reckon'd the ſecond in Dignity that fell, and is in the firſt Book, the ſe⯑cond 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 be⯑tween 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.

IT is on this Project that Beelzebub grounds his Propoſal.

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 wonder⯑fully beautiful, and very apt to affect the Reader's Imagination, in this antient Prophecy or Report in Heaven, concerning the Creation of Man. No⯑thing 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-exi⯑ſtence; 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 deſcri⯑bed in a very ſublime and poetical Manner.

THE Diverſions of the fallen Angels, with the particular Account of their Place of Habitation, are [54] deſcribed with great Pregnancy of Thought, and Co⯑piouſneſs 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.

THEIR Muſick is employed in celebrating their own criminal Exploits, and their Diſcourſe in ſound⯑ing 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 Ex⯑treams of Cold and Heat, and the River of Obli⯑vion. 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.

THIS Epiſode of the fallen Spirits, and their Place of Habitation, comes in very happily to un⯑bend 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 illu⯑ſtrated, the principal Fable.

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

I have already declared my Opinion of the Alle⯑gory concerning Sin and Death, which is however a very finiſhed Piece in its Kind, when it is not con⯑ſidered as a Part of an Epic Poem. The Genealo⯑gy of the ſeveral Perſons is contrived with great De⯑licacy. Sin is the Daughter of Satan, and Death the Offspring of Sin. The inceſtuous Mixture between Sin and Death produces thoſe Monſters and Hell⯑hounds 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 beau⯑tiful Moral is, I think, clearly intimated in the Speech of Sin, where complaining of this her dread⯑ful Iſſue, ſhe adds,

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 Per⯑ſons concerned in this Allegory are tempted by one common Intereſt to enter into a Confederacy together, and how properly Sin is made the Por⯑treſs 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 [56] 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 Ge⯑neration 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 con⯑ceived at the Gate of this Place of Torments. The Deſcription of the Gates is very poetical, as the o⯑pening of them is full of Milton's Spirit.

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 fal⯑ling into a Cloud of Nitre, and the like combu⯑ſtible Materials, that by their Exploſion ſtill hur⯑ried him forward in his Voyage; his ſpringing up⯑ward like a Pyramid of Fire, with his laborious [57] Paſſage through that Confuſion of Elements, which the Poet calls

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 poe⯑tical.

SPECTATOR, N^o 315.

HORACE adviſes a Poet to conſider thorough⯑ly the Nature and Force of his Genius. Mil⯑ton ſeems to have known, perfectly well wherein his Strength lay, and has therefore choſen a Sub⯑ject entirely conformable to thoſe Talents, of which he was Maſter. As his Genius was wonderfully tur⯑ned to the Sublime, his Subject is the nobleſt that could have entered into the Thoughts of Man. E⯑very Thing that is truly great and aſtoniſhing, has a Place in it. The whole Syſteme of the in⯑tellectual World, the Chaos, and the Creation; Hea⯑ven, Earth and Hell; enter into the Conſtitution of his Poem.

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

[58] 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 Paſ⯑ſions, which they are deſigned to raiſe, are a Di⯑vine Love and Religious Fear. The particular Beau⯑ty 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 Chriſti⯑anity, 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 con⯑ciſe and clear Manner in which he has treated them is very much to be admired, as is likewiſe that par⯑ticular Art which he has made uſe of, in the in⯑terſperſing of all thoſe Graces of Poetry, which the Subject was capable of receiving.

THE Survey of the whole Creation, and of eve⯑ry Thing that is tranſacted in it, is a Proſpect wor⯑thy of Omniſcience; and as much above that, in which Virgil has drawn his Jupiter, as the Chriſtian [59] 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.

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.

I need not Point out the Beauty of that Circum⯑ſtance, wherein the whole Hoſt of Angels are repre⯑ſented 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 in⯑ſerting the whole Paſſage, if the Bounds of my Pa⯑per would give me leave.

SATAN's Walk upon the Outſide of the Uni⯑verſe, which, at a Diſtance appeared to him of a Globular Form, but, upon his nearer Approach, look⯑ed like an unbounded Plain, is natural and noble. As his Roaming upon the Frontiers of the Creati⯑on, 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 aſtoniſhing⯑ly great and wild. I have before ſpoken of the Limbo of Vanity, which the Poet places upon this outer⯑moſt Surface of the Univerſe, and ſhall here explain [61] 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 Cri⯑ticks 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 there⯑fore of Heroick Poetry, is to relate ſuch Circum⯑ſtances, 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 re⯑ceived 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 In⯑nocence, 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 ſupe⯑rior 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 transform⯑ed them. It is this Kind of Machinery which fills the Poems both of Homer and Virgil with ſuch Cir⯑cumſtances as are wonderful, but not impoſſible, and [62] ſo frequently produce in the Reader the moſt plea⯑ſing Paſſion that can riſe in the Mind of Man, which is Admiration. If there be any Inſtance in the Ae⯑neid 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 ha⯑ving 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 Cir⯑cumſtance ſeems to have the Marvellous without the Probable, becauſe it is repreſented as proceeding from natural Cauſes, without the Interpoſition of a⯑ny God, or rather ſupernatural Power capable of pro⯑ducing it: The Spears and Arrows grow of them⯑ſelves, without ſo much as the modern Help of an Enchantment. If we look into the Fiction of Mil⯑ton's Fable, though we find it full of ſurpriſing Inci⯑dents, 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 ima⯑ginary Perſons in his Chaos. Theſe Paſſages are a⯑ſtoniſhing, 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 Sha⯑dows, 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 Al⯑legories; but allowing this to be true, they are Fa⯑bles, which conſidering the Opinions of Mankind that prevailed in the Age of the Poets, might poſ⯑ſibly have been according to the Letter. The Per⯑ſons are ſuch as might have acted what is aſcribed to them, as the Circumſtances, in which they are [63] repreſented, might poſſibly have been Truths and Realities. This Appearance of Probability is ſo ab⯑ſolutely 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 pro⯑ceeded 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 Al⯑legory, the plain literal Senſe ought to appear proba⯑ble. The Story ſhould be ſuch as an ordinary Rea⯑der 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 Crea⯑tion, 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 I⯑dea 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 Crea⯑tion.

HIS Flight between the ſeveral Worlds that ſhin⯑ed on every Side of him, with the particular De⯑ſcription of the Sun, are ſet forth in all the Wan⯑tonneſs of a luxuriant Imagination. His Shape, Speech and Behaviour upon his transforming himſelf [64] into an Angel of Light, are touched with exqui⯑ſite Beauty. The Poet's Thought of directing Sa⯑tan to the Sun, which in the Vulgar Opinion of Mankind is the moſt conſpicuous Part of the Cre⯑ation, and the placing in it an Angel, is a Circum⯑ſtance very finely contrived, and the more adju⯑ſted 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 beco⯑ming Majeſty as is altogether ſuitable to a ſuperi⯑or 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 fol⯑lows in the Seventh Book.

IN the following Part of the Speech he points out the Earth with ſuch Circumſtances, that the Reader can ſcarce forbear fancying himſelf employ⯑ed on the ſame diſtant View of it.

I muſt not conclude my Reflections upon this third Book of Paradiſe Loſt, without taking Notice [65] of that celebrated Complaint of Milton with which it opens, and which certainly deſerves all the Prai⯑ſes that have been given it; tho' as I have before hinted, it may rather be looked upon as an Ex⯑creſcence, 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, N^o 321.

THOSE, who know how many Volumes have been written on the Poems of Homer and Vir⯑gil, 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 Lan⯑guage, and therefore deſerves to be ſet before an Engliſh Reader in its full Beauty. For this Rea⯑ſon, tho' I have endeavoured to give a general I⯑dea 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 en⯑tring 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 [66] 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 ne⯑vertheleſs 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 ſome⯑times 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 Deſcrip⯑tions of Eden, Paradiſe, Adam's Bower, &c. In the next are the Machines, which comprehend the Speeches and Behaviour of the good and bad An⯑gels. 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 ob⯑ſerved Ariſtotle's Rule of laviſhing all the Orna⯑ments of Diction on the weak unactive Parts of the Fable, which are not ſupported by the Beauty of Sentiments and Characters. Accordingly the Rea⯑der may obſerve, that the Expreſſions are more flo⯑rid and elaborate in theſe Deſcriptions, than in moſt other Parts of the Poem. I muſt further add, that tho' the Drawings of Gardens, Rivers, Rain⯑bows, 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 [67] 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 requi⯑ſite to give us an Idea of that Happineſs from which our firſt Parents fell. The Plan of it is won⯑derfully beautiful, and formed upon the ſhort Sketch which we have of it, in Holy Writ. Milton's Exu⯑berance of Imagination has poured forth ſuch a Redundancy of Ornaments on this Seat of Happi⯑neſs and Innocence, that it would be endleſs to point out each Particular.

I muſt not quit this Head, without further obſer⯑ving, 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 delight⯑ful Habitation. The Reader, during their whole Courſe of Action, always finds himſelf in the Walks of Paradiſe. In ſhort, as the Criticks have remar⯑ked, that in thoſe Poems, wherein Shepherds are Actors, the Thoughts ought always to take a Tin⯑cture 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 Ma⯑chines of the Fourth Book. Satan being now with⯑in 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 [68] 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.

THIS Speech is, I think, the fineſt that is aſcri⯑bed to Satan in the whole Poem. The Evil Spirit afterwards proceeds to make his Diſcoveries con⯑cerning 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 re⯑preſented as playing about Adam and Eve; toge⯑ther with his transforming himſelf into different Shapes, in order to hear their Converſation; are Cir⯑cumſtances 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 [69] the ſame Nature; as his ſtarting up in his own Form is wonderfully fine, both in the literal De⯑ſcription, and in the Moral which is concealed un⯑der it. His Anſwer upon his being diſcovered, and demanded to give an Account of himſelf, is con⯑formable to the Pride and Intrepidity of his Cha⯑racter.

ZEPHON's Rebuke, with the Influence it had on Satan, is exquiſitely graceful and moral. Sa⯑tan 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 re⯑markable 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.

THE Conference between Gabriel and Satan a⯑bounds 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 [70] leaſt equal to Homer's Deſcription of Diſcord cele⯑brated 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.

I muſt here take notice, that Milton is every where full of Hints, and ſometimes literal Tranſ⯑lations, 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 Sa⯑tan, 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 Paſ⯑ſage in the 22d Iliad.

VIRGIL, before the laſt deciſive Combat, de⯑ſcribes 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; [71] but makes an artful Uſe of it for the proper carry⯑ing 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;

as that Account of the Hymns, which our firſt Parents uſed to hear them ſing in theſe their Mid⯑night-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 Sa⯑tan, is exquiſitely drawn, and ſufficient to make the fallen Angel gaze upon them with all that Aſto⯑niſhment, and thoſe Emotions of Envy, in which he is repreſented.

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, a⯑midſt a mixed Aſſembly of Animals.

THE Speeches of theſe two firſt Lovers flow e⯑qually 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.

THE remaining Part of Eve's Speech, in which ſhe gives an Account of her ſelf upon her firſt Cre⯑ation, 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.

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 Pro⯑feſſions of it, without Artifice or Hyperbole; to have made the Man ſpeak the moſt endearing Things, without deſcending from his natural Dig⯑nity, and the Woman receiving them without De⯑parting 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 Subor⯑dination 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 Con⯑cluſion of it in the following Lines;

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 Conditi⯑on and Characters. The Speech of Eve, in parti⯑cular, is dreſſed up in ſuch a ſoft and natural Turn of Words and Sentiments, as cannot be ſufficient⯑ly 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.

MOST of the modern heroic Poets have imita⯑ted the Ancients, in beginning a Speech without pre⯑miſing 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, N^o 327.

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. A⯑dam upon his Awaking finds Eve ſtill aſleep, with an unuſual Diſcompoſure in her Looks. The Po⯑ſture 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.

I cannot but take Notice that Milton, in the Con⯑ferences 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 prece⯑ding 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

[77] ſhews that the Poet had this delightful Scene in his Mind.

EVE's Dream is full of thoſe high Conceits engen⯑dring Pride, which, we are told, the Devil endea⯑voured to inſtill into her. Of this Kind is that Part of it where ſhe fancies herſelf awaken'd by A⯑dam in the following beautiful Lines.

AN injudicious Poet would have made Adam talk thro' the whole Work, in ſuch Sentiments as theſe. But Flattery and Falſhood are not the Court⯑ſhip 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 Imagina⯑tion. Other vain Sentiments of the ſame Kind in this Relation of her Dream, will be obvious to e⯑very 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.

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 Euthuſi⯑aſm, 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 par⯑ticular 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 Mat⯑ter 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 fine⯑ly imaged. As Milton every where fills his Poem with Circumſtances that are marvellous and aſtoniſh⯑ing, 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.

THE Poet here ſeems to have regarded two or three Paſſages in the 18th Iliad, as that in particu⯑lar, where, ſpeaking of Vulcan, Homer ſays, that he had made twenty Tripodes running on Golden Wheels, which, upon Occaſion, might go of them⯑ſelves 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 ſe⯑verely upon this Point, as M. Dacier has endea⯑voured to defend it. I will not pretend to deter⯑mine, whether in this Particular of Homer, the Mar⯑vellous 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 fol⯑lowing Book he deſcribes the Chariot of the Meſ⯑ſiah with living Wheels, according to the Plan in Ezekiel's Viſion.

I queſtion not but Boſſu, and the two Daciers, who are for vindicating every Thing that is cenſured [80] 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 Eng⯑liſh Poets have given a Looſe to their Imaginati⯑ons in the Deſcription of Angels: But I do not re⯑member 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 re⯑preſented him as alighting upon the Earth, the Po⯑et concludes his Deſcription with a Circumſtance, which is altogether new, and imagined with the greateſt Strength of Fancy.

RAPHAEL's Reception by the Guardian An⯑gels; his paſſing through the Wilderneſs of Sweets; his diſtant Appearance to Adam; have all the Gra⯑ces that Poetry is capable of beſtowing. The Au⯑thor afterwards gives us a particular Deſcription of Eve in her Domeſtick Employments.

[81] 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 Be⯑ing, 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 ſuita⯑ble to the Dignity of his Nature, and to that Character of a Sociable Spirit, with which the Au⯑thor has ſo judiciouſly introduced him. He had re⯑ceived 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 Pa⯑radiſe. 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 O⯑bedience, 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 A⯑ction of Paradiſe Loſt from the Beginning of Ra⯑phael's Speech in this Book, as he ſuppoſes the A⯑ction 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 [82] Epiſode, according to the common Acceptation of that Word. But as this would be a dry unenter⯑taining 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 ac⯑cording to either of them; whether we conſider the Fall of Man in its immediate Beginning, as proceeding from the Reſolutions taken in the in⯑fernal 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 Circum⯑ſtances. The learned Reader cannot but be pleaſed with the Poet's Imitation of Homer in the laſt of the following Lines.

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, where⯑in he has likewiſe the Authority of Scripture to juſtify him. The Part of Abdiel, who was the on⯑ly [83] Spirit that in this infinite Hoſt of Angels pre⯑ſerved 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.

SPECTATOR, N^o 333.

WE are now entering upon the Sixth Book of Paradiſe Loſt, in which the Poet de⯑ſcribes the Battel of Angels; having raiſed his Rea⯑der's Expectation, and prepar'd him for it by ſe⯑veral Paſſages in the preceding Books. I omitted quoting theſe Paſſages in my Obſervations on the [84] 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, a⯑bove himſelf. Thus where he mentions Satan in the Beginning of his Poem.

WE have likewiſe ſeveral noble Hints of it in the infernal Conference.

THERE are ſeveral other very ſublime Ima⯑ges on the ſame Subject in the Firſt Book, as al⯑ſo in the Second.

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 Paſ⯑ſage where the Power, who is deſcrib'd as preſi⯑ding over the Chaos, ſpeaks in the Third Book.

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 Hor⯑rour, to the Concluſion of the Iliad. Milton's Fight of Angels is wrought up with the ſame Beau⯑ty. 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 [86] Darts and Arrows which are diſcharged from ei⯑ther 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 Ter⯑rour. The Pomp of his Appearance, amidſt the Roarings of his Thunders, the Flaſhes of his Light⯑nings, and the Noiſe of his Chariot-Wheels, is deſcribed with the utmoſt Flights of Humane I⯑magination.

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 An⯑gels.

THE ſecond Day's Engagement is apt to ſtar⯑tle 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 deſcri⯑bed 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 repre⯑ſented 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, prepa⯑red for ſuch an Incident by the Deſcription of the Giants War, which we meet with among the an⯑cient Poets. What ſtill made this Circumſtance [87] the more proper for the Poet's Uſe, is the Opinion of many Learned Men, that the Fable of the Gi⯑ants War, which makes ſo great a Noiſe in An⯑tiquity, and gave Birth to the ſublimeſt Deſcripti⯑on 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 celebra⯑ted 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 ( [...]) which very much ſwells the Idea, by bringing up to the Rea⯑der'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 Frag⯑ment upon the Gyants War, has given full Scope to that Wildneſs of Imagination which was natu⯑ral 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 particu⯑lar 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 Moun⯑tain 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, [88] 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.

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

I need not point out the Deſcription of the fal⯑len 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 ſub⯑lime 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 Roſ⯑common'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 no⯑ble 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.

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 cho⯑ſen People with ſo much Glory and Succeſs, recei⯑ving 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.

HOMER tells us in the ſame manner, that up⯑on 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 ve⯑ſted with Immortality.

[90] I queſtion not but Milton in his Deſcription of his furious Moloc flying from the Battel, and bel⯑lowing 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 Hor⯑rour of this Image without running into the Ri⯑dicule of it.

MILTON has likewiſe raiſed his Deſcription in this Book with many Images taken out of the Poetical Parts of Scripture. The Meſſiah's Chari⯑ot, 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 Poeti⯑cal Parts of his Prophecy.

THE following Lines in that glorious Com⯑miſſion which is given the Meſſiah to extirpate the Hoſt of Rebel Angels, is drawn from a ſublime Paſſage in the Pſalms.

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, cove⯑red ſeven Acres in his Fall.

AS Homer has introduced into his Battel of the Gods every thing that is great and terrible in Na⯑ture, 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 Cha⯑riots, 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.

[92] IN how ſublime and juſt a Manner does he af⯑terwards deſcribe the whole Heaven ſhaking under the Wheels of the Meſſiah's Chariot, with that Ex⯑ception to the Throne of God?

NOTWITHSTANDING the Meſſiah ap⯑pears cloathed with ſo much Terrour and Majeſty, the Poet has ſtill found Means to make his Rea⯑ders conceive an Idea of him beyond what he himſelf was able to deſcribe.

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 inter⯑ſperſed 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 Con⯑traſt of Ideas, have a more lively Taſte of the no⯑bler Parts of his Deſcription.

SPECTATOR, N^o 339.

LONGINƲS has obſerved, that there may be a Loftineſs in Sentiments, where there is no Paſſion, and brings Inſtances out of ancient Au⯑thors 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 Senti⯑ments do not give ſo great an Emotion as thoſe in the former Book, they abound with as magni⯑ficent Ideas. The ſixth Book, like a troubled O⯑cean, repreſents Greatneſs in Confuſion; the ſe⯑venth 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 Agi⯑tation.

THE Critick above-mentioned, among the Rules which he lays down for ſucceeding in the ſublime [94] 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 with⯑out copying ſervilely after him. There are a thou⯑ſand 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 Stran⯑gers 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 Man⯑ner in which the Law-giver of the Jews has deſcrib⯑ed 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 Sub⯑ject is touched upon. Milton has ſhewn his Judg⯑ment 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 de⯑ſires an Account of what had paſſed within the Re⯑gions [95] 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.

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, ſur⯑rounded with an Hoſt of Angels, and cloathed with ſuch a Majeſty as becomes his entering upon a Work, which, according to our Conceptions, ap⯑pears 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?

[96] 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 An⯑gels, as looking down into the Chaos, calming its Confuſion, riding into the midſt of it, and drawing the firſt Out-Line of the Creation.

[97] THE Thought of the Golden Compaſſes is con⯑ceiv'd altogether in Homer's Spirit, and is a very noble Incident in this wonderful Deſcription. Ho⯑mer, when he ſpeaks of the Gods, aſcribes to them ſeveral Arms and Inſtruments with the ſame Great⯑neſs 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 over⯑turn whole Squadrons, and her Helmet, that was ſufficient to cover an Army drawn out of an hun⯑dred Cities: The Golden Compaſſes in the above⯑mentioned 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 ſenſi⯑ble 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 Su⯑preme Being in this great Work of Creation, re⯑preſents him as laying the Foundations of the Earth, and ſtretching a Line upon it. And in ano⯑ther 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.

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 [98] 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 Specta⯑tors of it. How glorious is the Concluſion of the firſt Day.

WE have the ſame Elevation of Thought in the third Day; when the Mountains were brought forth, and the Deep was made.

WE have alſo the Riſing of the whole vegeta⯑ble World deſcrib'd in this Day's Work, which is filled with all the Graces that other Poets have la⯑viſhed 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.

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 Hea⯑ven, to remind Adam of his Obedience, which was the principal Deſign of this his Viſit.

THE Poet afterwards repreſents the Meſſiah re⯑turning into Heaven, and taking a Survey of his great Work. There is ſomething inexpreſſibly ſub⯑lime 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 aſcen⯑ded 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 re⯑joice [100] in its Exiſtence; when the Morning Stars ſang together, and all the Sons of God ſhouted for Joy.

I cannot conclude this Book upon the Creation, without mentioning a Poem which has lately ap⯑pear'd under that Title. The Work was underta⯑ken with ſo good an Intention, and is executed with ſo great a Maſtery, that it deſerves to be look⯑ed upon as one of the moſt uſeful and noble Pro⯑ductions in our Engliſh Verſe. The Reader cannot but be pleaſed to find the Depths of Philoſophy en⯑livened 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 num⯑berleſs [101] and inconteſtable Inſtances, that divine Wiſ⯑dom, 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, N^o 345.

THE Accounts which Raphael gives of the Bat⯑tel of Angels, and the Creation of the World, have in them thoſe Qualifications which the Cri⯑ticks 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 De⯑ſcription of the Impreſſion which this Diſcourſe of the Arch-Angel made on our firſt Parents. Adam afterwards, by a very natural Curioſity, enquries con⯑cerning 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 im⯑proper for her Hearing, and has therefore deviſed very juſt and beautiful Reaſons for her retiring.

THE Angel's returning a doubtful Anſwer to Adam's Enquiries, was not only proper for the mo⯑ral 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 Cir⯑cumſtances 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 [103] 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 interwo⯑ven every thing which is delivered upon this Sub⯑ject in Holy Writ with ſo many beautiful Imagina⯑tions 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 in⯑to the Relation of the ſix Days Works, but reſer⯑ved 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.

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.

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.

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 delight⯑ful Landskip that ſurrounded him, and the Glad⯑neſs of Heart which grew up in him on that Oc⯑caſion.

ADAM is afterwards deſcrib'd as ſurpriz'd at his own Exiſtence, and taking a Survey of him⯑ſelf, and of all the Works of Nature. He likewiſe is repreſented as diſcovering by the Light of Rea⯑ſon, 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.

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

THESE and the like wonderful Incidents in this Part of the Work, have in them all the Beau⯑ties 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 ob⯑vious, [106] which is the true Character of all fine Wri⯑ting.

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.

ADAM, in the next Place, deſcribes a Con⯑ference 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 Fa⯑culty with which he had endued his Creature. A⯑dam urges, in this divine Colloquy, the Impoſſibi⯑lity of his being happy, tho' he was the Inhabi⯑tant of Paradiſe, and Lord of the whole Creation, without the Converſation and Society of ſome ra⯑tional Creature, who ſhould partake thoſe Bleſſings with him. This Dialogue, which is ſupported chief⯑ly 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 Crea⯑ture, as particularly in the following Lines,

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.

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 pre⯑ſented 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 deſcri⯑bed in it is every way ſuitable to a State of Inno⯑cence 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 [108] not cold, and convey to the Mind Ideas of the moſt tranſporting Paſſion, and of the greateſt Pu⯑rity. What a Noble Mixture of Rapture and In⯑nocence has the Author joined together, in the Re⯑flection which Adam makes on the Pleaſures of Love, compared to thoſe of Senſe.

THESE Sentiments of Love, in our firſt Pa⯑rent, 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 A⯑dam here gives ſuch diſtant Diſcoveries, brings about that fatal Event which is the Subject of the Po⯑em. His Diſcourſe, which follows the gentle Re⯑buke he receiv'd from the Angel, ſhews that his Love, however violent it might appear, was ſtill founded in Reaſon, and conſequently not impro⯑per for Paradiſe.

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 cer⯑tain Dignity and Greatneſs ſuitable to the Father of Mankind in his State of Innocence.

SPECTATOR, N^o 351.

IF we look into the three great Heroic Poems which have appear'd in the World, we may ob⯑ſerve that they are built upon very ſlight Founda⯑tions. 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 Know⯑ledge, tho' there is no Queſtion but he has wrought into his two Poems ſuch of their remarkable Ad⯑ventures as were ſtill talked of among his Con⯑temporaties,

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 Fa⯑ble, 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 Hiſto⯑rians, 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 Ae⯑neas; it may not, perhaps, be amiſs to examine it in this Light, ſo far as regards my preſent Purpoſe. [111] Whoever looks into the Abridgment above-menti⯑oned, will find that the Character of Aeneas is filled with Piety to the Gods, and a ſuperſtitious Obſer⯑vation of Prodigies, Oracles, and Predictions. Vir⯑gil 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 Pro⯑phecy, 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 Circum⯑ſtances 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 Hiſto⯑rian above-mentioned acquaints us, a Propheteſs had foretold Aeneas, that he ſhould take his Voyage Weſtward, till his Companions ſhould eat their Ta⯑bles; and that accordingly, upon his landing in I⯑taly, 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 Hiſto⯑rian, and concluded the Prophecy to be fulfilled. As Virgil did not think it proper to omit ſo mate⯑rial a Particular in the Hiſtory of Aeneas, it may be worth while to conſider with how much Judg⯑ment 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.

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 ſe⯑veral Criticks, may be accounted for the ſame way. Virgil himſelf, before he begins that Relation, pre⯑miſes that what he was going to tell appeared in⯑credible, 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 Scri⯑pture, 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 enter⯑taining Fables that Invention ever produced. He has diſpoſed of theſe ſeveral Circumſtances among ſo [113] 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 com⯑pleat Relation of what the other is only an Epi⯑tome. I have inſiſted the longer on this Conſidera⯑tion, 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 keep⯑ing 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 I⯑maginations with which he introduces this his ſe⯑cond Series of Adventures. Having examined the Nature of every Creature, and found out one which was the moſt proper for his Purpoſe, he again re⯑turns 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 Exam⯑ple 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 gli⯑ding 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.

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 No⯑ſtrils of its Creator; to which he adds a noble Idea of Adam and Eve, as offering their Morning Wor⯑ſhip, and filling up the Univerſal Conſort of Praiſe and Adoration.

THE Diſpute which follows between our two firſt Parents is repreſented with great Art: It pro⯑ceeds from a Difference of Judgment, not of Paſ⯑ſion, and is managed with Reaſon, not with Heat: It is ſuch a Diſpute as we may ſuppoſe might have happened in Paradiſe, had Man conti⯑nued happy and innocent. There is a great Deli⯑cacy 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 de⯑ſcribes in the Eighth Book, and which is inſerted in the foregoing Paper, ſhews it ſelf here in ma⯑ny fine Inſtances: As in thoſe fond Regards he caſt towards Eve at her parting from him.

IN his Impatience and Amuſement during her Abſence.

BUT particularly in that paſſionate Speech, where ſeeing her irrecoverably loſt, he reſolves to periſh with her rather than to live without her.

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

[116] 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 Cata⯑ſtrophe, are ſo very remarkable, that it would be ſuperfluous to point out their reſpective Beauties.

I have avoided mentioning any particular Simi⯑litudes 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.

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 [117] Imagination, and deſcribed in very natural Senti⯑ments.

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 po⯑etical Spirit, has deſcribed all Nature as diſturbed upon Eve's eating the forbidden Fruit.

UPON Adam's falling into the ſame Guilt, the whole Creation appears a ſecond time in Convul⯑ſions.

AS all Nature ſuffer'd by the Guilt of our firſt Parents, theſe Symptoms of Trouble and Conſter⯑nation are wonderfully imagined, not only as Pro⯑digies, 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 de⯑ſirable [118] than ſhe had ever done before, even when their Loves were at the higheſt. The Poet after⯑wards 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 follow⯑ing Paſſage in Milton, which begins with Adam's Speech to Eve.

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 Au⯑thors. I might, in the Courſe of theſe Criticiſms, have taken Notice of many particular Lines and Expreſſions which are tranſlated from the Greek Po⯑et; [119] but as I thought this would have appeared too minute and over-curious, I have purpoſely omitted them. The greater Incidents, however, are not on⯑ly 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, N^o 357.

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 Con⯑cern in it, and ſhews with great Beauty the Influ⯑ence 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 be⯑fore 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 Guar⯑dian Angels of Paradiſe are deſcribed as returning to Heaven upon the Fall of Man, in order to ap⯑prove their Vigilance; their Arrival, their Manner of Reception, with the Sorrow which appeared in themſelves, and in thoſe Spirits who are ſaid to [120] Rejoice at the Converſion of a Sinner, are very fine⯑ly laid together in the following Lines.

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 deſcend⯑ing 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 [121] of the Creation, the Almighty is again introduced as ſpeaking to his Angels that ſurrounded him.

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.

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 Scri⯑pture, 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 Fa⯑ble. Of this kind is that Paſſage in the preſent Book, where deſcribing Sin and Death as marching through the works of Nature, he adds,

Which alludes to that Paſſage in Scripture ſo won⯑derfully 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 Hun⯑ger, and with Sickneſs, and with the Beaſts of the Earth. Under this firſt Head of Celeſtial Perſons [122] 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 in⯑fecting the Stars and Planets with malignant In⯑fluences, weakning the Light of the Sun, bringing down the Winter into the milder Regions of Na⯑ture, planting Winds and Storms in ſeveral Quar⯑ters of the Sky, ſtoring the Clouds with Thunder, and in ſhort, perverting the whole Frame of the U⯑niverſe to the Condition of its Criminal Inhabi⯑tants. 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 diffe⯑rent 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.

WE are in the ſecond Place, to conſider the In⯑fernal 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 ha⯑ving traverſed the whole Creation, purſuing his Voyage thro' the Chaos, and entering into his own Infernal Dominions.

[123] 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 im⯑proving his own Hints, and beſtowing the laſt fi⯑niſhing Touches to every Incident which is admit⯑ted 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 Di⯑ction is very remarkable in this whole Epiſode, as I have obſerved in the Sixth Paper of theſe Re⯑marks the great Judgment with which it was con⯑trived.

THE Parts of Adam and Eve, or the Humane Perſons, come next under our Conſideration. Mil⯑ton's Art is no where more ſhewn than in his con⯑ducting 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 com⯑miſerate, 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 [124] not add, that the Author is Juſtify'd in this Parti⯑cular by many of the Fathers, and the moſt Ortho⯑dox 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 con⯑ſidering, are likewiſe drawn with ſuch Sentiments as do not only intereſt the Reader in their Affli⯑ctions, 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, De⯑ſpair; in the Anguiſh of his Heart he expoſtulates with his Creator for having given him an unasked Exiſtence.

He immediately after recovers from his Preſumpti⯑on, owns his Doom to be juſt, and begs that the Death which is threatned him may be inflicted on him.

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 di⯑ſturb'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.

WHO can afterwards behold the Father of Man⯑kind extended upon the Earth, uttering his Mid⯑night Complaints, bewailing his Exiſtence, and wiſhing for Death, without ſympathizing with him in his Diſtreſs?

THE Part of Eve in this Book is no leſs paſſio⯑nate, and apt to ſway the Reader in her Favour. She is repreſented with great Tenderneſs as approach⯑ing 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 where⯑in ſhe is deſcribed as renewing her Addreſſes to him, with the whole Speech that follows it, have ſomething in them exquiſitely moving and Pathetick.

[127] 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 deſcend⯑ing upon Poſterity they ſhould reſolve to live Child⯑leſs; 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 Miſe⯑ries, 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 diſap⯑proving it.

WE are, in the laſt Place, to conſider the Ima⯑ginary Perſons, or Death and Sin, who act a large Part in this Book. Such beautiful extended Allego⯑ries 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 Per⯑ſons, 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 Op⯑portunity of ſpeaking more at large of ſuch Sha⯑dowy and Imaginary Perſons as may be introduced into Heroic Poems, I ſhall beg Leave to explain my [128] 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 Per⯑ſons, 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 Per⯑ſon, 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 con⯑vey 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 Compa⯑nions. Inſtead of ſaying that the Time was come when Apollo ought to have received his Recom⯑pence, 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 Fu⯑nerals 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 Vir⯑gil. Milton has likewiſe very often made uſe of the ſame way of Speaking, as where he tells us, that Vi⯑ctory 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. [129] 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 Cir⯑cumſtances to the Reader after an unuſual and en⯑tertaining Manner. But when ſuch Perſons are in⯑troduced as principal Actors, and engaged in a Se⯑ries 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 Think⯑ing than that in one of the Prophets, who de⯑ſcribing God as deſcending from Heaven, and vi⯑ſiting the Sins of Mankind, adds that dreadful Circumſtance, Before him went the Peſtilence. It is certain this imaginary Perſon might have been de⯑ſcribed 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 intro⯑duced 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 [130] 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, N^o 363.

MILTON has ſhewn a wonderful Art in de⯑ſcribing that Variety of Paſſions which ariſe in our firſt Parents upon the Breach of the Com⯑mandment 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 repreſent⯑ed 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 pro⯑nounced their Sentence.

THERE is a Beauty of the ſame kind in a Tragedy of Sophocles, where Oedipus, after having [131] put out his own Eyes, inſtead of breaking his Neck from the Palace Battlements (which furniſhes ſo e⯑legant an Entertainment for our Engliſh Audience) deſires that he may be conducted to Mount Cithae⯑ron, 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 Begin⯑ning 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.’

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

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 aſſembling of all the Angels of Heaven to hear the ſolemn Decree paſſed upon Man, is re⯑preſented 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.

THE Conference of Adam and Eve is full of moving Sentiments. Upon their going abroad after the melancholy Night which they had paſſed toge⯑ther, they diſcover the Lion and the Eagle purſu⯑ing 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 O⯑mens, which are always agreeable in Poetry, but as it expreſſes that Enmity which was now produ⯑ced 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 de⯑ſcends in the Weſtern Quarter of the Heavens, fil⯑led with an Hoſt of Angels, and more luminous than the Sun it ſelf. The whole Theatre of Na⯑ture is darkned, that this glorious Machine may appear in all its Luſtre and Magnificence.

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 Archan⯑gel on this Occaſion neither appears in his proper Shape, nor in that familiar Manner with which Ra⯑phael 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.

EVE's Complaint upon hearing that ſhe was to be removed from the Garden of Paradiſe is won⯑derfully Beautiful: The Sentiments are not only [134] proper to the Subject, but have ſomething in them particularly ſoft and Womaniſh.

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.

THE Angel afterwards leads Adam to the high⯑eſt 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 ma⯑ny particulars greater than that of the Iliad or Ae⯑neid. Virgil's Hero, in the laſt of theſe Poems, is entertained with a ſight of all theſe who are to de⯑ſcend 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 pre⯑ſented 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.

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, [136] 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 incura⯑ble Diſtempers, by an apt and judicious uſe of ſuch imaginary Beings as thoſe I mentioned in my laſt Paper.

THE Paſſion which likewiſe riſes in Adam on this occaſion is very natural.

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 A⯑dam's Heart as he is intent upon this Viſion, is i⯑magined with great Delicacy. I muſt not omit the Deſcription of the looſe female Troupe, who ſedu⯑ced the Sons of God as they are called in Scripture.

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,

MILTON, to keep up an agreeable Variety in his Viſions, after having raiſed in the Mind of his Rea⯑der the ſeveral Ideas of Terror which are conform⯑able 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 Rea⯑der 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 wan⯑ton 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 Cri⯑ticks have paſſed upon it. The latter part of that Verſe in Ovid is idle and ſuperfluous, but juſt and beautiful in 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,

than that in Ovid, where we are told that the Sea-Calfs lay in thoſe Places where the Goats were u⯑ſed to browze? The Reader may find ſeveral other parallel paſſages in the Latin and Engliſh Deſcrip⯑tion 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 giv⯑ing it a Place in this Paper.

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 [139] Virgil, though the firſt Thought it introduces is rather in the Spirit of Ovid.

I have been the more particular in my Quotati⯑ons out of the Eleventh Book of Paradiſe Loſt, becauſe it is not generally reckoned among the moſt ſhining Books of this Poem; for which Rea⯑ſon 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 E⯑piſodes, 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 re⯑preſented our firſt Parents as driven out of Para⯑diſe, his Fall of Man would not have been com⯑pleat, and conſequently his Action would have been imperfect.

SPECTATOR, N^o 269.

MILTON, after having repreſented in Viſion the Hiſtory of Mankind to the firſt great Pe⯑riod of Nature, diſpatches the remaining Part of it in Narration. He has deviſed a very handſome Reaſon for the Angel's proceeding with Adam af⯑ter 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 free⯑ly, 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 Au⯑thor has been ſo attentive to his Divinity, that he has neglected his Poetry. The Narration, howe⯑ver, 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.

THE River-Dragon is an Alluſion to the Croco⯑dile, 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 Deſcrip⯑tion, which is copied almoſt Word for Word out of the Hiſtory of Moſes.

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 con⯑fines himſelf to the Line of Abraham, from whence the Meſſiah was to deſcend. The Angel is deſcri⯑bed [142] as ſeeing the Patriarch actually travelling to⯑wards the Land of Promiſe, which gives a particular Livelineſs to this Part of the Narration.

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.

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 re⯑joices in it; but when he finds the Redemption of Man compleated, and Paradiſe again renewed, he breaks forth in Rapture and Tranſport,

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 [143] through many Doubts and Fears, Sorrows and Diſ⯑quietudes, in a ſtate of Tranquility and Satisfacti⯑on. 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 Sal⯑vation, and, in a manner, raiſed to a greater Hap⯑pineſs 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.

THE following Lines, which conclude the Po⯑em, riſe in a moſt glorious Blaze of Poetical Ima⯑ges 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 Poſſeſ⯑ſion of Paradiſe.

THE Author helped his Invention in the fol⯑lowing 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.

THE Scene which our firſt Parents are ſurprized with upon their looking back on Paradiſe, wonder⯑fully ſtrikes the Reader's Imagination, as nothing can be more natural than the Tears they ſhed or that Occaſion.

IF I might preſume to offer at the ſmalleſt Al⯑teration in this Divine Work, I ſhould think the Poem would end better with the Paſſage here quoted, than with the two Verſes which follow.

THESE two Verſes, though they have their Beauty, fall very much below the foregoing Paſ⯑ſage, and renew in the Mind of the Reader that Anguiſh which was pretty well laid by that Conſi⯑deration.

THE Number of Books in Paradiſe Loſt is equal to thoſe of the Aeneid. Our Author in his Firſt E⯑dition had divided his Poem into Ten Books, but afterwards broke the Seventh and the Eleventh [146] each of them into two different Books, by the Help of ſome ſmall Additions. This ſecond Di⯑viſion 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 Particu⯑lar, 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 Mo⯑ral 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 miſera⯑ble. This is viſibly the Moral of the principal Fa⯑ble which turns upon Adam and Eve, who continu⯑ed 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 Mo⯑ral 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.

[147] 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 Particu⯑lar 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 de⯑ſcribed in the three firſt Books, as it does not paſs within the Regions of Nature, I have before obſer⯑ved 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 con⯑fined 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 He⯑roic Poetry, which this Author has fallen into, that does not come under one of thoſe Heads among which I have diſtributed his ſeveral Blemiſhes. Af⯑ter 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 Particu⯑lars. 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 Paſ⯑ſages are beautiful by being Sublime; others by be⯑ing Soft; others by being Natural: which of them [148] are recommended by the Paſſion; which by the Mo⯑ral; which by the Sentiment, and which by the Ex⯑preſſion. 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 per⯑plex 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 te⯑dious to recapitulate, but which are eſſential to Po⯑etry, and which may be met with in the Works of this great Author. Had I thought, at my firſt en⯑gaging 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.