- foer summed the six concluding lines;" in which, to wind up ane erger indicants of his genius, ** the poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling." as pince a Heaven in rat contemplation of that stupendous mystery, the jäter meme of Paradise Regained," stooping from above all height, MELVIES, ENË CAMe down on earth, to atone as man for the sins of men, to e in de infuence of his grace, and to teach her to ascend his Erway Ferrox, afterwards Earl of Bridgewater.

wens the poem with a description of the rewards which Virtue mical be, to her true servants:" the poem, therefore, may be I dish, as it commenced, with the solemn and impressive sen

Espesor of the story, the sweetness of the numbers, the justness of
La 3 ades, there is nothing extant in any language like the

ve Facts" are so no otherwise, than as they were written in his De Dher CELOy and excellence, they are sufficient to have set him among cast of the poets, even of the ancients themselves: his "Mask" and pertage scene to all in their several kinds.-RICHARDSON,

asima vy mach a imitation of Shakspeare's "Tempest," and the 47. 151. Stemterves” of Feiher; and tough one of the first, is yet one of the most

'un seems ¤ is boem to have imitated Shakspeare's manner more than in any acher at his works; and was very natural for a young author, preparing a piece for De sg, u rinse ta imself for a pattern the most celebrated master of English dra

Kan las here .repressedy imitated the manner of Shakspeare in his fairy scenes, than a ay kher it is waris - and his poem is much the better for it, not only for the DELITY, VAZETY, and moreity of his images, but for a brighter vein of poetry, and an ease and teleser of expression very superter to his natural manner her.-WARBURTON.

It's Mak had been revised by Miton, when his car and judgment were perfectly furned, it had been de mest exquisite of all his poems. As it is, there are some puerilities ais, and may saccuracies of expression and versification. The two editions of his poetts are of 1945 and 1673. In 1645, he was, as he would think, better employed; in 1673, he would condemn himself for having written such a thing as a Mask, especially for a great Lord and a sort of viceroy-Head.

The greatest of Malta's juvenile performances is the " Mask of Comus," in which may very plainly be discovered the dawn or twilight of "Paradise Lost." Milton appears to have formed very early that system of diction, and mode of verse, which his maturer judgment approved, and from which he never endeavoured nor desired to deviate. Nor does - Comus” aford only a specimen of his language; it exhibits likewise his power of description and his vigour of sentiment, employed in the praise and defence of virtue. A work more truly poetical is rarely found; allusions, images, and descriptive epithets embellish almost every period with lavish decoration: as a series of lines, therefore, it may be considered as worthy of all the admiration with which the votaries have received it; as a drama it is deficient. The action is not probable. A Mask, in those parts where supernatural intervention is admitted, must indeed be given up to all the freaks of imagination; but, so far as the action is merely human, it ought to be reasonable, which can hardly be said of the conduct of the two Brothers; who, when their sister sinks with fatigue in a pathless wilderness, wander both away together in search of berries too far to find their way back, and leave a helpless lady to all the sadness and danger of solitude. This, however, is a defect overbalanced by its convenience. What deserves more reprehension is, that the prologue spoken in the wild wood by the Attendant Spirit is addressed to the audience; a mode of communication so contrary to the nature of dramatic representation, that no precedents can support it. The discourse of the Spirit is too long; an objection that may be made to almost all the following speeches: they have not the sprightliness of a dialogue animated by reciprocal contention, but seem rather declamations deliberately composed, and formally repeated, on a moral question: the auditor therefore listens as to a lecture, without passion, without anxiety. The song of Comus has airiness and jollity; but, what may recommend Milton's morals as well as his poetry, the invitations to pleasure are so general, that they excite no distinct images of corrupt enjoyment, and take no dangerous hold on the fancy. The following soliloquies of Comus and the Lady are

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elegant, but tedious. The song must owe much to the voice, if it ever can delight. last the Brothers enter with too much tranquillity; and when they had feared lest their sister should be in danger, and hoped that she is not in danger, the Elder makes a speech in praise of chastity, and the Younger finds how fine it is to be a philosopher. Then descends the Spirit in form of a shepherd; and the Brother, instead of being in haste to ask his help, praises his singing, and inquires his business in that place. It is remarkable, that at this interview the Brother is taken with a short fit of rhyming. The Spirit relates that the Lady is in the power of Comus; the Brother moralises again; and the Spirit makes a long narration, of no use because it is false, and therefore unsuitable to a good being. In all these parts the language is poetical, and the sentiments are generous; but there is something wanting to allure attention. The dispute between the Lady and Comus is the most animated and affecting scene of the drama, and wants nothing but a brisker reciprocation of objections and replies to invite attention and detain it. The songs are vigorous, and full of imagery; but they are harsh in their diction, and not very musical in their numbers. Throughout the whole, the figures are too bold, and the language too luxuriant, for dialogue: it is a drama in the epic style, inelegantly splendid, and tediously instructive.-JOHNSON.

Milton's "Comus " is, I think, one of the finest productions of modern times; and I do not know whether to admire most the poetry of it, or the philosophy, which is of the noblest kind. The subject of it I like better than that of the "Paradise Lost," which, I think, is not human enough to touch the common feelings of humanity, as poetry ought to do; the divine personages he has introduced are of too high a kind to act any part in poetry, and the scene of the action is, for the greater part, quite out of nature; but the subject of the "Comus" is a fine mythological tale, marvellous enough, as all poetical subjects should be, but at the same time human. He begins his piece in the manner of Euripides; and the descending Spirit that prologuises, makes the finest and grandest opening of any theatrical piece that I know, ancient or modern. The conduct of the piece is answerable to the beginning, and the versification of it is finely varied by short and long verses, blank and rhyming, and the sweetest songs that ever were composed; nor do I know anything in English poetry comparable to it in this respect, except Dryden's " Ode on St. Cecilia;" which, for the length of the piece, has all the variety of versification that can well be imagined. As to the style of "Comus," it is more elevated, I think, than that of any of his writings, and so much above what is written at present, that I am inclined to make the same distinction in the English language, that Homer made of the Greek in his time; and to say that Milton's language is the language of the gods; whereas we of this age speak and write the language of mere mortal men. If the "Comus was to be properly represented, with all the decorations which it requires, of machinery, scenery, dress, music, and dancing, it would be the finest exhibition that ever was seen upon any modern stage: but I am afraid, with all these, the principal part would be still wanting; I mean, players that could wield the language of Milton, and pronounce those fine periods of his, by which he has contrived to give his poetry the beauty of the finest prose composition, and without which there can be nothing great or noble in composition of any kind. Or if we could find players who had breath and organs (for these, as well as other things, begin to fail in this generation), and sense and taste enough, properly to pronounce such periods, I doubt it would not be easy to find an audience that could relish them, or perhaps, they would not have attention and comprehension sufficient to connect the sense of them; being accustomed to that trim, spruce, short cut of a style, which Tacitus, and his modern imitators, French and English, have made fashionable.-LORD MONBODDO.

In poetical and picturesque circumstances, in wildness of fancy and imagery, and in weight of sentiment and moral, how greatly does "Comus " excel the " Aminta" of Tasso, and the Pastor Fido" of Guarini! which Milton, from his love of Italian poetry, must frequently have read. "Comus," like these two, is a pastoral drama; and I have often wondered it is not mentioned as such.-Jos. WARTON.

We must not read "Comus" with an eye to the stage, or with the expectation of dramatic propriety. Under this restriction the absurdity of the Spirit speaking to an audience in a solitary forest at midnight, and the want of reciprocation in the dialogue, are overlooked. "Comus" is a suite of speeches, not interesting by discrimination of character; not conveying a variety of incidents, nor gradually exciting curiosity: but perpetually attracting attention by sublime sentiment, by fanciful imagery of the richest vein, by an exuberance of picturesque description, poetical allusion, and ornamental expression. While it widely departs from the grotesque anomalies of the mask now in fashion, it does not nearly

Q Q

worwach to the maturi consutation of a regular play. There is a chastity in the application and sunduct of the machinery, and Sabrina is introduced with much address after the Brothers had morolently suffered the enchantment of Comus to take effect. This is the first time the wai Engisa mask was in some degree reduced to the principles and form of a rational COLDORDON; yet still it could not but retain some of its arbitrary peculiarities. The poet hai nere properly no more to do with the pathos of tragedy, than the character of comedy; nor do I know that he was confined to the usual modes of theatrical interlocution. A great rite observes, that the dispute between the Lady and Comus is the most animated and affecting scene of the piece. Perhaps some other scenes, either consisting only of a salloquy, or of three or four speeches only, have afforded more true pleasure. The same erite thinks, that in all the moral dialogue, although the language is poetical, and the sentiments generos, something is still wanting to allure attention." But surely, in such passages, sentiments so generous, and language so poetical, are sufficient to rouse all our feelings. For this reason I cannot admit his position, that "Comus" is a drama ** tediously instructive?" and if as he says, to these ethical discussions "the auditor listens as to a lecture, without passion, without anxiety," yet he listens with elevation and delight. The action is sail to be improbable; because the Brothers, when their sister sinks with fatigue in a pathless wilderness, wander both away together in search of berries, too far to find their way back; and leave a helpless lady to all the sadness and danger of solitude. But here is no desertion or neglect of the Lady: the Brothers leave their sister under a spreading pine in the forest, fainting for refreshment: they go to procure berries or some other fruit for her immediate relief: and, with great probability, lose their way in going or returning; to say nothing of the poet's art, in making this very natural and simple accident to be productive of the distress, which forms the future business and complication of the fable. It is certainly a fault that the Brothers, although with some indications of anxiety, should enter with so much tranquillity, when their sister is lost, and at leisure pronounce philosophical panegyrics on the mysteries of virginity: but we must not too scrupulously attend to the exigencies of situation, nor suffer ourselves to suppose that we are reading a play, which Milton did not mean to write. These splendid insertions will please, independently of the story, from which however they result; and their elegance and sublimity will overbalance their want of place. In a Greek tragedy, such sentimental harangues, arising from the subject, would have been given to a Chorus. On the whole, whether "Comus" be or be not deficient as a drama, whether it is considered as an epic drama, a series of lines, a mask, or a poem, I am of opinion, that our author is here only inferior to his own "Paradise Lost."-T. WARTON.

Milton's "Comus" is, in my judgment, the most beautiful and perfect poem of that sublime genius.-WAKEFIELD.

Perhaps the conduct and conversation of the Brothers, which Mr. Warton blames in the preceding note, may not be altogether indefensible. They have lost their way in a forest at night, and are in "the want of light and noise:" it would now be dangerous for them to run about an unknown wilderness; and, if they should separate, in order to seek their | sister, they might lose each other: in the uncertainty of what was their best plan, they therefore naturally wait, expecting to hear perhaps the cry of their lost sister, or some noise to which they would have directed their steps. The Younger Brother anxiously expresses his apprehensions for his sister: the Elder, in reply, trusts that she is not in danger; and, instead of giving way to those fears, which the Younger repeats, expatiates on the strength of chastity; by the illustration of which argument he confidently maintains the hope of their sister's safety, while he beguiles the perplexity of their own situation. It has been observed, that "Comus" is not calculated to shine in theatric exhibition for those very reasons which constitute its essential and specific merit. The "Pastor Fido" of Guarini, which also ravishes the reader, and "The Faithful Shepherdess" of Fletcher, could not succeed upon the stage. However, it is sufficient, that "Comus" displays the true sources of poetical delight and moral instruction, in its charming imagery, in its original conceptions, in its sublime diction, in its virtuous sentiments. Its few inaccuracies weigh but as dust in the balance against its general merit : and, in short, if I may be allowed respectfully to differ from the high authority of a preceding note, I am of opinion, that this enchanting poem, or pastoral drama, is both gracefully splendid, and delightfully instructive.-TODD. Dr. Johnson is more inclined to be favourable to "Comus" than to any other poem of Milton he begins fairly enough, and gives it some of the praises which justly belong to it; but he gradually returns to his captious ill-humour, and ends with saying that it is "inelegantly splendid and tediously instructive." After this close, what is the value of

his praise! If it is truly poetical, it cannot be inelegantly splendid! Milton's decorations are never out of place in this Mask: it contains not a single image or epithet which does not fill the reader of taste with delight: it contains no passion, but he did not intend it. Masks were always designed to play with the fancy; and from beginning to end, without the abatement of a single line, Milton has effected this. Such a series of rural and pastoral picturesqueness was never before brought together. It is worthy of remark with what admirable skill the poet gathered from all his predecessors, Spenser, Shakspeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, Drayton, and twenty more, every happy adjective of description and imaginative force, and combined them into the texture of his own fiction. As his power of creation was great, so was his memory both exact and abundant: whatever he borrowed, he made new by the fervid power of amalgamation.

The flowing strains of the whole poem are eloquent and beautiful, enriched with philosophic moral learning, and exalted by pure, generous, and lofty sentiment. Thus :

Again, v. 476 :

Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?
Sure something holy lodges in that breast,
And with these raptures moves the vocal air
To testify his hidden residence!

How charming is divine philosophy!

Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo's lute,

And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns.

This poem is stated to have been the congenial prelude to "Paradise Lost." In that opinion I do not concur: the fable is too gay; the images are too full of delight all the topics lie too much upon the surface. There is a rich invention, but it has not the depth, or strength, or sublimity of "Paradise Lost." This is playful; that is full of solemnity More than that, though the combination gives originality to "Comus," yet it has nothing like the degree of originality of the great epic; of which a large portion of the invention has no prototype. Nor do I admit that even the language is of the same structure it is, for the most part, more fluent and soft; it is, in short, pastoral, while the other is heroic.

and awe.

The sort of spiritual beings, which is introduced into "Comus," is of a much more humble degree than those of the latter poems. These invisible inhabitants of the earth gratify the gay freaks of our imagination: they do not excite the profounder movements of the soul, and fill us with a sublime terror, like Satan and his crews of fallen angels.

In the long interval between the composition of the Mask, and of "Paradise Lost," the wings of Milton's genius had expanded, and strengthened an hundred-fold: he was no longer a shepherd, of whose enchanting pipe the beautiful echoes resounded through the woods; but a sage, an oracle, and a prophet, with the inspired tongue of a divinity.

I have observed, from the words of several of the critics here cited, that they have an opinion of poetry which I cannot believe to be quite correct. They seem to assume that picturesque imagery, drawn from the surface of natural scenery, combined with a sort of wild fiction of story which goes beyond the bounds of reality, constitutes the primary and most unmixed essence of poetry.-I admit that it does constitute very pure and beautiful poetry; but not the highest. The highest must go beyond sublunary objects: there must be an invention of character, not only ideal, but sublime: there must be intermingled intellectual and argumentative greatness: there must be a fable, which embodies abstract truths of severe and mighty import: there must be distinct characters, elevated by grand passions, each acting according to his own appropriate impulses, and all going forward in regular progression, according to the rules of probability, to the accomplishment of the end proposed.

This has been effected by Milton's epics; but there certainly is an implication on the part of these critics, that these compositions have not as much unmixed and positive poetry as the "Comus;" and this, because of the greater variety of their ingredients, and the introduction of other matter besides imagery and description. Such a reason shows the narrowness of their conception of this divine art. All the finest passages of poetry are complex, in which the heart and understanding have essential co-operation: the bard must imagine what the heart must colour, or perhaps instigate, and the understanding enlighten.

et se nimed that I mean in the smallest degree « 1 ma Ças russ and definitions injurious to zzle war - Cas" is perfect in its kind; but CME A JAGTE Mrt a grant beraie poem.

The very gening of early youth, not more

Telefon, and Youn of young desires.

bare den seemed to his eyes to smile with delight; but er mòrates of mad and the sorrows of life, his De Ve Bu Barutions and weil-moving. The Lady s'ad an el wrody, and tender, hopeful confidence:

M & IMGs: the demons of darkness dare wa wiem iet alimme amid the dangers of a haunted TSUICIES IČ Dors inexperience!