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scending 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 so suitable to the opinions of many learned authors, that I cannot forbear giving it a place in this paper.

Then shall this mount

Of Paradise by might of waves be mov'd

Out of his place, push'd by the horned flood,
With all his verdure spoil'd, and trees adrift,
Down the great river to the op'ning gulf,
And there take root an island salt and bare,
The haunt of seals, and orcs and sea-mews clang.

The transition which the poet makes from the vision of the deluge, to the concern it occasioned in Adam, is exquisitely graceful, and copied after Virgil, though the first thought it introduces is rather in the spirit of Ovid.


How did'st thou grieve then, Adam,' to behold
The end of all thy offspring, end so sad,
Depopulation? Thee another food,
Of tears and sorrow a flood, thee also drown'd,
And sunk thee as thy sons; till gently rear'd
By th' angel, on thy feet thou stood'st at last,
Though comfortless, as when a father mourns
His children, all in view destroy'd at once.


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I have been the more particular in my quotations out of the eleventh book of Paradise Lost, because it is not generally reckoned among the most shining books of this poem; for which reason the reader might be apt to overlook those many passages in it which deserve our admiration: The eleventh and twelfth are indeed built upon that single circumstance of the removal of our first parents from Paradise but though this is not in itself so great a subject as that in most of the foregoing books, it is extended and diversified with so many surprising incidents and pleasing episodes, that these two last books can by no means be looked upon as unequal parts of this divine poem. I must further add,


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that, had not Milton represented our first parents as driven out of Paradise, his Fall of Man would not have been complete, and consequently his action would have been imperfect. to doing a c


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La dvig se My mother ent MILTON, after having represented in vision the history of mankind to the first great period of nature, dispatches the remaining part of it in narration. He has devised a very handsome reason for the angel's proceeding with Adam after this manner; though doubtless the true reason was the difficulty which the poet would have found to have shadowed out so mixed and complicated a story in visible objects. I could wish, however, that the author had done it, whatever pains it might have cost him. To give my opinion freely, I think that the exhibiting part of the history of mankind in vision, and part in narrative, is as if an historypainter should put in colours one half of his subject, and write down the remaining part of it. If Milton's poem flags any where, it is in this narration, where in some places the author has been so attentive to his divinity, that he has neglected his poetry. The narration, however, rises very happily on several occasions, where the subject is capable of poetical ornaments, as particularly in the confusion which he describes among the builders of Babel, and in his short sketch of the plagues of Egypt. The storm of hail and fire, with the darkness that overspread the land for three days, are described with great

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strength. The beautiful passage which follows, is raised upon noble hints in scripture.

-Thus with ten wounds

The river-dragon tam'd, át length submits
To let his sojourners depart, and oft
Humbles his stubborn heart, but still as ice
More harden'd after thaw, till in his rage
Pursuing whom he late dismiss'd, the sea
Swallows him with his host, but them lets pass
As on dry land, between two crystal walls,
Aw'd by the rod of Moses so to stand

The river-dragon is an allusion to the crocodile, which inhabits the Nile, from whence Egypt derives her plenty. This allusion is taken from that sublime passage in Ezekiel; "Thus saith the Lord God, Behold I am against thee, Pharaoh, 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 myself." Milton has given us another very noble and poetical image in the same description, which is copied, almost word for word out of the history of Moses.

All night he will pursue, but his approach
Darkness defends between till morning watch;
Then thro' the fiery pillar and the cloud
God looking forth, will trouble all his host,
And craze their chariot wheels: when by command
Moses once more his potent rod extends

Over the sea; the sea his rod obeys;

On their imbattel'd ranks the waves return,
And overwhelm their war.

As the principal design of this episode was to give Adam an idea of the holy person who was to reinstate human nature in that happiness and perfection from which it had fallen, the poet confines himself to the line of Abraham, from whence the Messiah was to descend. The angel is described as seeing the patriarch actually travelling towards the Land

of Promise, which gives a particular liveliness to this part of the narration.

I see him, but thou canst not, with what faith
He leaves his gods, his friends, and native soil,
Ur of Chaldæa, passing now the ford

To Haran, after him a cumbrous train

Of herds and flocks, and numerous servitude;
Not wand'ring poor, but trusting all his wealth
With God, who call'd him, in a land unknown.
Canaan he now attains; I see his tents
Pitch'd about Shechem, and the neighb'ring plain
Of Moreh; there, by promise, he receives
Gifts to his progeny of all that land,
From Hamath northward to the desert south,
(Things by their names I call, though yet unnam'd.)

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As Virgil's vision in the sixth Eneid 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: "..

Hæc tum nomina erunt, nunc sunt sine nomine terræ.

The poet has very finely very finely represented the joy and gladness of heart which rises in Adam upon his discovery of the Messiah. As he sees his day at a distance through types and shadows, he rejoices in it; but when he finds the redemption of man completed, and Paradise again renewed, he breaks forth in rapture and transport ;

O Goodness infinite, Goodness immense!
That all this good of evil shall produce, &c.

I have hinted in my sixth paper on Milton, that an heroic poem, according to the opinion of the best critics, ought to end happily, and leave the mind of the reader, after having conducted it through many doubts and fears, sorrows and disquietudes, in a state of tranquillity and satisfaction. Milton's fable, which had so many other qualifications to recom

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mend it, was deficient in this particularut is here, therefore, that the poet has shewn a most exquisite judgment, as well as the finest invention, by finding out a 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 disap pointment. We see him We see him chewing ashes, groveling in the dust, and loaden with supernumerary pains and torments. On the our two first contrary, parents are comforted by dreams and visions, cheared with promises of salvation, and, in a manner, raised to a greater happiness than that y which they had forfeited. In short, Satan is represented miserable in the height of his triumphs, and Adam triumphant in the height of misery. 14 13773 37610


Dolgebubris 32


Milton's poem ends very nobly. The last speeches of Adam and the archangel are full of moral and instructive sentiments. The sleep that fell upon Eve, and the effects it had in quieting the disorders of 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 3

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: Whence thou return'st, and whither went'st, I know; botol For God is also in sleep, and dreams advise, sur tud Which he hath sent propitious, some great good bas hich he hath ni-dy Presaging, since with sorrow and heart's distress burge Wearied I fell asleep but now lead one In me is no delay; with thee to go load gaidoo youn Is to stay here; without thee here to stay, Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me


bssiArt all things under heav'n, all places thou, Who for any wilful crime art banish'd hence. This further consolation yet secure


carry hence; though all by me is lost, sil Such favour I unworthy am vouchsaf'd, By me the promis'd seed shall all restore,


The following lines, which conclude the poem, rise in a most glorious blaze of poetical images and expressions, yo basi yuon as a bulle

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