The Paradise lost, by John Milton. With notes, explanatory and critical. Ed. by Rev. James Robert Boyd. pandora till salu

The Paradise lost, by John Milton. With notes, explanatory and critical. Ed. by Rev. James Robert Boyd. Milton, John, 1608-1674., Boyd, James Robert, ed. 1804-1890, List of all pages  |  Add to bookbag

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Page  1 THE PARADISE LOST BY JOHN MILTON. WITH NOTES EXPLANATORY AND CRITICAL. EDITED BY REV. JAMES ROBERT BOYD, AUTHOR OF " ELEMENTS OF RHETORIC," AND " ECLECTIC MORAL PHILOSOPHY." MILTON, whose genius had angelic wings And fed on manna.-CowPeR. NEW YORK: BAKER AND SCRIBNER. 1851.

Page  2 Entered accordlisg to Act of Congress, in the year" 1a50, by BAKER AND SCRIBNER, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. C. W. BENEDICT, S t e r e o t 'y p e 7, 201 William st., N. Y.

Page  3 REASONS FOR PREPARING THIS AMERICAN EDITION. PARADISE LOST is, by common consent, pronounced to be a work of transcendent genius and taste. It takes rank with the Iliad of 1Homer, and with the IEneid of Virgil, as an Epic of incomparable merit. Dryden was by no means extravagant in the praise which he bestowed upon it in his well-known lines: " Three poets in three distant ages born, GrAece, Italy, and England did adorn: The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next in majesty; in both the last. The force of nature could no further go: To make a third, she joined the other two." Its praise is often on the lips of every man endowed with the most moderate literary qualifications; but the work has been read by comparatively few persons. How few even of educated men can affirm that they have so read and understood it, as to appreciate all its parts? How does this happen Is the poem considered unworthy of their most careful perusal? Is it not inviting to the intellect, the imagination, and the sensibilities? Is it not acknowledged to be superior to any other poetic composition, the Hebrew writings only excepted, to whose lofty strains of inspired song the blind bard of London was s greatly indebted for his own subordinate inspiration? If inquiry should extensively be made, it will be ascertained that Paradise Lost, is but little read, less understood, and still less appreciated; though it may be found on the shelves of almost every library, or upon the parlor table of almost every dwelling. Every school boy,

Page  4 4 REASONS FOR PREPARING THIS EDITION. and every school girl has read some beautiful extracts from it, and has heard it extolled as an unrivalled production; and this is about all that is usually learned in regard to it, or appreciated. The question returns, and it is one of some literary interest, how is this treatment of the Paradise Lost to be accounted for? To this inquiry the following observations will, it is hoped, be considered appropriate and satisfactory. It is pre-eminently a learned work; and has been well denominated " a book of universal knowledge." In its naked form, in its bare text, it can be understood and appreciated by none but highly educated persons. The perusal of it cannot fail to be attended with a vivid impression of its great author's prodigious learning, and of the immense stores which he brought into use in its preparation. As one of his editors, (Sir Egerton Brydges,) remarks, " his great poems require such a stretch of mind in the reader, as to be almost painful. The most amazing copiousness of learning is sublimated into all his conceptions and descriptions. His learning never oppressed his imagination; and his imagination never obliterated or dimmed his learning; but even these would not have done without the addition of a great heart, and a pure and lofty mind. The poem is one which could not have been produced solely by the genius of Milton, without the addition of an equal extent and depth of learning, and an equal labor of reflection. It has always a great compression. Perhaps its perpetual allusion to all past literature and history were sometimes carried a little too far for the popular reader; and the latinised style requires to be read with the attention due to an ancient classic." To read it, therefore, intelligently and advantageously, no small acquaintance is needed with classical and various learning. While large portions of the poem are sufficiently lucid for the comprehension of ordinary readers, there is frequently introduced an obscure paragraph, sentence, clause, or word; which serves to break up the continuity of the poem in the reader's mind, to obstruct his progress, to apprise him of his own ignorance or obtuseness, and thus to create no small degree of dissatisfaction. The obscurity arises, in some cases, from the highly learned character of the allusions to ancieut history and mythology; in other cases, from great inversion of

Page  5 REASONS FOR PREPARING THIS EDITION..7 style, from the use of Latin and Greek forms of expression; from!.e,culiar modes of spelling; from references to exploded and unphilosophical notions in astronomy, chemistry, geology, and philosophy, with which but few persons are familiar. Besides all this, it has been truly observed by the writer before quoted, that " Milton has a language of his own; I may say invented by himself. It is somewhat hard but it is all sincere: it is not vernacular, but has a latinised cast, which requires a little time to reconcile a reader to it. It is best fitted to convey his own magnificent ideas; its very learnedness impresses us with respect. It moves with a gigantic step: it does not flow like Shakspeare's style, nor dance like Spenser's. Now and then there are transpositions somewhat alien to the character of the English language, which is not well calculated for transposition; but in Milton this is perhaps a merit, because his lines are pregnant with deep thought and sublime imagery which requires us to dwell upon them, and contemplate them over and over. He ought never to be read rapidly." Such being some of the characteristics of Paradise Lost, it is nol difficult to account for its general neglect, and for the scanty satisfaction experienced by most persons in the attempt to read it. Much of it, as we have remarked, cannot be understood; it abounds in too many passages that convey to none but the learned any cleai idea: thus the common reader is repelled, and the sublimities and beauties of this incomparable poem are known only as echoes from the pages of criticism, of course inadequately. Not long since even a well-educated and popular preacher was asked how he managed in reading Paradise Lost? His honest and truthful answer was, that he skipped over the hard places, and read the easier; that he did not pretend fully to understand, or to appreciall, the entire poem; but admitted that not a few passages were not far from being a dead letter to him, requiring for their just interpretation more research and study than he was willing or able to bestow. The fact undoubtedly is, that since a poem is addressed chiefly to the imagination and the sensibilities; since it is read with a view to pleasurable excitement, and not taken up as a production to be severely

Page  6 6 REASONS FOR PREPARING THIS EDITION. studied; since a demand for mental labor and research interferes with the entertainment anticipated, in most cases the Paradise Lost is, on this account, laid aside, though possessing the highest literary merit, for poems of an inferior cast, but of easier interpretation. It is possible also that the pious spirit which animates the entire poem, and the theological descriptions which abound in several of the Books, may, to the mass of readers, give it a repulsive aspect, and cause them, though unwisely, to prefer other productions in which these elements are not found. To the causes now enumerated, rather than to those assigned by Dr. Johnson may be referred the result which he thus describes:-" Paradise Lost is one of the books which the reader admires and lays down, and forgets to take up again. None ever wished it longer than it is. Its perusal is a duty rather than a pleasure. We read Milton for instruction, retire harrassed and overburdened, and look elsewhere for recreation: we desert our master, and seek for companions." But is there no remedy for this neglectful treatment of the finest poetical composition in our language? May not something be done to prepare American readers generally to appreciate it, and, in the perusal, to gratify their intellects and regale their fancy, among its grandeurs and beauties, and also among its learned allusions,')and s ientific informations 1 The attainment of this important end is the design of the present edition: it is therefore furnished with a large body of notes; -with notes sufficiently numerous and full, it is presumed, to clear up the obscurities to which we have referred; to place the unlearned reader, so far as the possession of the information requisite to understand the poem is concerned, on the same level with the learned; and to direct attention to the pas.Kamos&t deserving of admiration, and to the grounds upon which they should be admired. The editions hitherto published in this country, it is believed, are either destitute of notes, or the no'es are altogether too few and too brief to afford the aid which is generally required. About half a century after the publication of the Paradise Lost, its reputation was munch advanced by a series of papers which came

Page  7 REASONS FOR PREPARING THIS EDITION. 7 out weekly in the celebrated Spectator, from the graceful pen of Addison. " These," as Hallam justly remarks, "were perhaps superior to any criticisms that had been written in our language, and we must always acknowledge their good sense, their judiciousness, and the vast service they did to our literature, in setting the Paradise Lost on its proper level." But modern periodicals, and modern essays are fast crowding out the once familiar volumes of that excellent British classic; and those once famous criticisms are now seldom met with, so that modern readers, with rare exceptions, derive from them no benefit in the reading of the Paradise Lost. The Editor has evinced his own high sense of their value, and has, moreover, rendered them far more available to the illustration of the poem, than they are, as found in the Spectator, by selecting such criticisms as appeared to him to possess the highest merit, and distributing them in the form of notes, to the several parts of the poem which they serve to illustrate and adorn. After this labor had been performed, however, and a principal part of the other notes had been prepared, it was ascertained with some surprise, on procuring a London copy of Bp. Newton's edition of Milton, now quite scarce, that the same course had a century ago been pursued by him; though the same pains had not been taken by Newton to distribute in detail to every part of the poem the criticisms of Addison. Besides this, he introduced them entire, and thus occupied his pages with much matter quite inferior to that which has been provided, in this edition, from recent sources. The notes of the present edition will be found to embrace, besides much other matter, all that is excellent and worth preservation in those of jNew.ton, Todd, Brydges, and Stebbing; comprehending also some of the richest treasures of learned and ingenious criticism which the Paradise Lost has called into existence, and which have hitherto been scattered through the pages of many volumes of Reviews and miscellaneous literature: and these have been so arranged as to illustrate the several parts of the poem to which they r ate. It was not deemed important to occupy space in the discussion of certain questions, more curious than useful or generally interesting, relating to some earlier authors, to whom it has been alleged that Mil

Page  8 8 REASONS FOR PREPARING THIS EDITION. ton was greatly indebted for the plan and some prominent features of the Paradise Lost. Yet it has been a pleasant, and more profitable task, to discover by personal research, and by aid of the research of others, those parts of classical authors a familiar acquaintance with which has enabled the learned poet so wonderfully to enrich and adorn his beautiful production. These classic gems of thought and expression have been introduced in the notes, only for the gratification of those persons who are able to appreciate the language of the Roman and Grecian poets; and who may have a taste for observing the coincidences between their language and that of the great master of English verse. Not long before the composition of Paradise Lost, Milton thus speaks of the qualifications which he regarded as requisite and which he hoped to employ in preparing it: "A work not to be raised from the heat of youth or the vapors of wine; nor to be obtained of dame Memory and her siren daughters, but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his Seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases. To this must be added industrious and select reading, steady observation, insight into all seemly and generous arts and affairs.",This, I am convinced,' says Sir E. B. already quoted,' is the true origin, of Paradise Lost. Shakspeare's originality might be still more impugned, if an anticipation of hints and similar stories were to be taken as proof of plagiarism. In many of the dramatist's most beautiful plays the whole tale is borrowed; but Shakspeare and Milton turn brass into gold. This sort of passage hunting has been carried a great deal too far, and has disgusted and repelled the reader of feeling and taste. The novelty is in the raciness, the life, the force, the jut association, the probability, the truth; that which is striking because it is extravagant is a false novelty. He who borrows to make patches is a plagiarist; but what patch is there in Milton? All is interwoven and forms part of one web. No doubt the holy bard was always intent upon sacred poetry, and drew his principal inspirations from Scripture. Thizs is,!tinsiishes his.syle and spirit from all other

Page  9 REASONS FOR PREPARING THIS EDITION. 9 poets; and gives him a solemnity which has not been surpassed, save in the book whence welled that inspiration.' The Editor is fully aware of the boldness of the attempt to furnish a full commentary on such a poem as this: he is also painfully sensible that much higher qualifications than he possesses could profitably and honorably be laid out in the undertaking. He has long wondered, and regretted, that such an edition of Paradise Lost, as the American public needs, has not been furnished; and in the absence of a better, he offers this edition, as adapted, in his humble opinion, to render a most desirable and profitable service to the reading community, while it may contribute, as he hopes, to bring this poem from the state of unmerited neglect into which it has fallen, and cause it to be more generally read and studied, for the cultivation of a literary taste and for the expansion of the intellectual and moral powers. Ours is an age in which the best writings of the seventeenth century have been generally republished, and thus have been put upon a new career of fame and usefulness. Shakspeare has had, for more than half a century, his learned annotators, without whose aid large portions of his plays would be nearly unintelligible. He has been honored with public lectures also, to illustrate his genius, and to bring to view his masterly sketches of the human heart and manners. There have recently started up public readers also, by whose popular exertions he has been brought ihto more general admiration. It seems to be full time that a higher appreciation of the great epic of Milton than has hitherto prevailed among us, and that a more extended usefulness also, should be secured to it, by the publication of critical and explanatory notes, such as the circumstances of the reading class obviously require. Ever valuable will it be, for its varied learning, for its exquisite beauties of poetic diction and measure; for its classical, scientific and scriptural allusions; for its graphic delineations of the domestic state and its duties; for its adaptation, when duly explained and understood, to enlarge the intellect, to entertain the imagination, to improve literary taste, and cultivate the social and the devout affections; for its grand account of creation, providence, and redemption, embracing A

Page  10 10 REASONS FOR PREPARING THIS EDITION. most beautiful narrative and explanation of some of the most interest ing events connected with the history of our race. Nor should mentiof TeYomitted, of those excellent counsels, and maxims of conduct which it so frequently suggests, conveyed in language too appropriate and beautiful to be easily erased from the memory, or carelessly disregarded. In conclusion, we may confidently adopt the words of Brydges, who has said, that to study Milton's poetry is not merely the delight of every accomplished mind, but it is a duty. He who is not conversant with it, cannot conceive how far the genius of the Muse can go. The bard, whatever might have been his inborn genius, could never have attained this height of argument and execution but by a life of laborious and holy preparation; a constant conversance with the ideas suggested by the sacred writings; the habitual resolve to lift his mind and heart above earthly thoughts; the incessant exercise of all the strongest faculties of the intellect; retirement, temperance, courage, hope, faith. He had all the aids of learning; all the fruit of all the wisdom of ages; all the effect of all that poetic genius, and all that philosophy had achieved. His poetry is pure majesty; the sober strength, the wisdom from above, that instructs and awes. It speaks as an oracle; not with a mortal voice. And indeed, it will not be too much to say, that of all uninspired writings, Milton's are the most worthy of profound study by all minds which would know the creativeness, the splendor, the learning, the eloquence, the wisdom, to which the human intellect can attain. NOTE. The names of the authors most frequently quoted will be indicated simply by the initial letters: those authors are Addison, Newton, E. Brydges, Todd, Hume, Kitto, Richardson, Thyer, Stebbing and Pearce. The Introductory Remarks upon the several Books are, generally, those found in Sir Egerton Brydges' edition, with the omission of such remarks as were deemed either incorrect, or of little interest and importance.

Page  11 BOOK I. THE ARGUMENT. Tins First Book proposes, first, in brief, the whole subject, Man's disobedience, and the loss thereupon of Paradise, wherein he was placed: then touches tht prime cause of his fall, the Serpent, or rather Satan in the serpent; who revolting from God, and drawing to his side many legions of Angels, was, by the command of God, driven out of Heaven, with all his crew, into the great deep. Which action passed over, the poem hastens into the midst of things, presenting Satan with his Angels now fallen into Hell, described here, not in the centre (for Heaven and Earth may be supposed as yet not made, certainly not yet accursed) but in a place of utter darkness, fitliest called Chaos: here Satan with his Angels lying on the burning lake, thunderstruck and astonished, after a certain space recovers, as from confusion, calls up him who next in order and dignity lay by him; they confer of their miserable fall. Satan awakens all his legions, who lay till then in the same manner confounded: they rise; their numbers, array of battle, their chief leaders named, according to the idols known afterward in Canaan and the countries adjoining. To these Satan directs his speech, comforts them with hope yet of regaining Heaven, but tells them lastly of a new world and new kind of creature to be created, according to an ancient prophecy or report in Heaven; for that Angels were long before this visible creation, was the opinion of many ancient Fathers. To find out the truth of this prophecy, and what to determine thereon, he refers to a full council. What his associates thence attempt. Pandemonium, the palace of Satan, rises, suddenly built out of the deep: the infernal peers tihere sit in council.

Page  12 BOOK I. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. THIS Book on the whole is so perfect from beginning to end, that it would be difficult to find a single superfluous passage. The matter, the illustrations and the allusions, are historically, naturally, and philosophically true. The learning is of every extent and diversity; recondite, classical, scientific, antiquarian. But the most surprising thing is, the manner in which he vivifies every topic he touches: he gives life and picturesqueness to the driest catalogue of buried names, personal or geographical. They who bring no learning, yet feel themselves charmed by sounds and epithets which give a vague pleasure, and stir up the imagination into an indistinct emotion. Poetical imagination is the power, not only of conceiving, but of creating embodied illustrations of abstract truths, which are sublime, or pathetic, or beautiful; but those ideas, which Milton has embodied, no imagination but his own would have dared to attempt; none else would have risen 'to the height of this great argument.' Every one else would have fallen short of it, and degraded it. Among the miraculous acquirements of Milton, was his deep and familial intimacy with all classical and all chivalrous literature; the amalgamation in his mind of all the philosophy and all the sublime and ornamental literature of the ancients, and all the abstruse, the laborious, the immature learning of those who again drew off the mantle of time from the ancient treasures of,cnius, and mingled with them their own crude conceptions and fantastic theories. He extracted from this mine all that would aid the imagination without shocking the reason. He never rejected philosophy; but where it was fabulous, only offered it as ornament. In Milton's language though there is internal force and splendor, there is outward plainness. Common readers think that it sounds and looks like prose. This is one of its attractions; while all that is stilted, and decorated, and affected, soon fatigues and satiates,'" Johnson says that " an inconvenience of Milton's design is, that it requires the description of what cannot be described,-the agency of spirits. He saw

Page  13 BOOK I. 13 that immateriality supplied no images, and that he could not q acting but by instruments of action: he therefore invested the and matter. This, being necessary, was therefore defensible, have secured the consistency of his system by keeping immate sight, and enticing his reader to drop it from his thoughts." Surely n was quite impossible, for the reason which Johnson himself has given. The imagination, by its natural tendencies, always embodies spirit. Poetry deals in pictures, though not exclusively in pictures. E. B. Upon the interesting topic here thus summarily though satisfactorily disposed of, Macaulay has furnished the following, among other admirable remarks: The most fatal error which a poet can possibly commit in the management of his machinery, is that of attempting to philosophise too much. Milton has been often censured for ascribing to spirits many functions of which spirits must be incapable. But these objections, though sanctioned by eminent names, originate, we venture to say, in profound ignorance of the art of poetry. What is spirit? What are our own minds, the portion of spirit with which we are best acquainted? We observe certain phenomena. We cannot explain them into material causes. We therefore infer that there exists something which is not material, but of this something we have no idea. We can define it only by negatives. We can reason about it only by symbols. We use the word but we have no image of the thing; and the business of poetry is with images, and not with words. (The poet uses words indeed, but they are merely the instruments of his art, not its objects) They are the materials which he is to dispose in such a manner as to present a picture to the mental eye. And, if they are not so disposed, they are no more entitled to be called poetry than a bale of canvas and a box of colors are to be called a painting. Logicians may reason about abstractions, but the great mass of mankind can never feel an interest in them. They must have images. The strong tendency of the multitude in all ages and nations to idolatry can be explained on no other principles. The first inhabitants of Greece, there is every reason to believe, worshipped one invisible Deity; but the necessity of having, omething more definite to adore produced, in a few centuries, the innumeralIle crowd of gods and goddesses. In like manner the ancient Persians 1 lought it impious to exhibit the Creator under a human form. Yet even they transferred to the sun the worship which, speculatively, they considered due only to the supreme mind. The history of the Jews is the record of a continual struggle between pure Theism, supported by the most terrible sanctions, and the strangely fascinating desire of having some visible and tangible object of adoration. Perhaps none of the secondary causes which Gibbon has assigned for the rapidity with which Christianity spread over the world, while Judaism scarcely ever acquired a proselyte, operated more powerfully than this feeling. God, the uncreated, the incomprehensible, the

Page  14 1,4 PARADISE LOST. tracted but few worshippers. A philosopher might admire so eption; but the crowd turned away in disgust from words which image to their minds. It was before Deity embodied in a huH alking among men, partaking of their infirmities, leaning on tlntmR ims, weeping over their graves, slumbering in the manger, bleeding on the cross, that the prejudices of the synagogue, and the doubts of the Academy, and the pride of the Portico, and the forces of the lictor, and the swords of thirty legions, were humbled in the dust. Soon after Christianity had achieved its triumph, the principle which had assisted it began to corrupt it. It became a new Paganism. Patron saints assumed the offices of household gods. St. George took the place of Mars. St. Elmo consoled the mariner for the loss of Castor and Pollux. The virgin Mary and Cecilia succeed to Venus and the Muses. The fascination of sex and loveliness was again joined to that of celestial dignity; and the homage of chivalry was blended with that of religion. Reformers have often made a stand against these feelings; but never with more than apparent and partial success. The men who demolished the images in cathedrals have not always been able to demolish those which were enshrined in their minds. It would not be difficult to show that in politics the same rule holds good. Doctrines, we are afraid, must generally be embodied before they can excite strong public feeling. The multitude is more easily'interested for the most unmeaning badge, or the most insignificant name, than for the most important principle. From these considerations, we infer that no poet who should affect that metaphysical accuracy for the want of which Milton has been blamed, would escape a disgraceful failure, still, however, there was another extreme, which, though one less dangerous, was also to be avoided. The imaginations of men are in a great measure under the control of their opinions. The most exquisite art of a poetical coloring can produce no illusion when it is employed to represent that which is at once perceived to be incongruous and absurd. Milton wrote in an age of philosophers and theologians. It was necessary therefore for him to abstain from giving such a shock to their understandings, as might break the charm which it was his object to throw Sover their imaginations. This is the real explanation of the indistinctness and inconsistency with which he has often been reproached. Dr. Johnson acknowledges that it was absolutely necessary for him to clothe his spirits with material forms. " But,"' says he, " he should have secured the consistency of his system, by keeping immateriality out of sight, and seducing the reader to drop it from his thoughts." This is easily said; but what if he could not seduce the reader to drop it from his thoughts? What if the contrary opinion had taken so full a possession of the minds of men, as to leave no room even for the quasi-belief which poetry requires? Such we suspect to have been the case. It was impossible for the poet to adopt altogether the material or the immaterial system. He therefore took his stand on the debateable ground. He left the whole in ambiguity. He has doubtless, by

Page  15 BOOK I. 15 so doing, laid himself open to the charge of inconsistency. But, tl.F losophically in the wrong, we cannot but believe that he was the right. This task, which almost any other writer would havw e practicable, was easy to him. The peculiar art which he possessed municating his meaning circuitously, through a long succession of associated ideas, and of intimating more than he expressed, enabled him to disguise those incongruities which he could not avoid. The spirits of Milton are unlike those of almost all other writers. His fiends, in particular, are wonderful creations. They are not metaphysical abstractions. They are not xwicked men. They are not ugly beasts. They have no horns, no tails. They have just enough in common with human nature to be intelligible to human beings. Their characters are. like their forms, marked by a certain dim resemblance to those of men, but exaggerated to gigantic dimensions and veiled in mysterious gloom.

Page  16 PARADISE LOST. OF man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, 5 Sing Heav'nly Muse, that on the secret top 1. As in the commencement of the Iliad, of the Odyssey, and of the jEneid, so here the subject of the poem is the first announcement that is made, and precedes the verb with which it stands connected, thus giving it due prominence. Besides the plainness and simplicity of the exordium, there is (as Newton has observed) a further beauty in the variety of the numbers, which of themselves charm every reader without any sublimity of thought or pomp of expression; and this variety of the numbers consists chiefly in the pause being so artfully varied that it falls upon a different syllable in almost every line. Thus, in the successive lines it occurs after the words disobedience, tree, world, Eden, us, Muse. In Milton's verse the pause is continually varied according to the sense through all the ten syllables of which it is composed; and to this peculiarity is to be ascribed the surpassing harmony of his numbers. 4. Eden: Here the whole is put for a part. It was the loss of Paradise only, the garden, the most beautiful part of Eden; for after the expulsion of our first parents from Paradise we read of their pursuing their solitary way in Eden, which was an extensive region. 5. Regain, -'c.: Compare XII. 463, whence it appears that in the opinion of Milton, after the general conflagration, the whole earth would be formed into another, and more beautiful, Paradise than the one that was lost. 6. Muse: One of those nine imaginary heathen divinities, that were

Page  17 BOOK I. 17 Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire That Shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed In the beginning, how the heav'ns and earth Rose out of Chaos. Or if Sion hill 10 Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flow'd Fast by the oracle of God; I thence * Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song, That with no middle flight intends to soar Above the Aonian Mount, while it pursues 16 Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme, And chiefly Thou, 0 Spirit, that dost prefer thought to preside over certain arts and sciences, is here, in conformity to classical custom, addressed. Secret top: set apart, interdicted. The Israelites, during the delivery of the law, were not allowed to ascend that mountain. 7. Horeb and Sinai were the names of two contiguous eminences of the same chain of mountains. Compare Exod. iii. 1, with Acts vii. 30. 8. Shepherd: Moses. Exod. iii. 1. 12. Oracle: God's temple; so called from the divine communications which were there granted to men. 15. The J.onian Mount; or Mount Helicon, the fabled residence of the Muses, in Bceotia, the earlier'lame of which was Aonia. Virgil's Eclog. vi. 65: Georg. iii. 11. / 16. Things unattempted: There were but few circumstances upon which Milton could raise his poem, and in everything which he added out of his own invention he was obliged, from the nature of the subject, to proceed with the greatest caution; yet he has filled his story with a surprising number of incidents, which bear so close an analogy with what is delivered in holy writ that it is capable of pleasing the most delicate reader without giving offence to the most scrupulous.-A. 17. Chiefly Thou, 0 Spirit: Invoking the Muse is commonly a matter of mere form, wherein the (modern) poets neither mean, nor desire to be thought to mean, anything seriously. But the Holy Spirit, here invoked, is too solemn a name to be used insignificantly: and besides, our author, in the i ing of his next work, 'Paradise Regained,' scruples not to say to the sa Divine Person" Inspire As Thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute." his address therefore is no mere formality.-HEYLIN. I is thought by Bp. Newton that the poet is liable to the charge of enthusism; having expected from the Divine Spirit a kind and degree of inspiratio similar to that which the writers of the sacred scriptures enjoyed. The 2

Page  18 18 PARADISE LOST, re all temples the upright heart and pure, 'uct me, for Thou know'st; Thou from the first t present, and with mighty wings outspread 20 Dovelike sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, And madest it pregnant: What in me is dark, Illumine; what is low, raise and support; That to the height of this great argument p may assert eternal Providence, 25 And justify the ways of God to Men. Say irst, for Heav'n hides nothing from thy view, Nor 4he deep tract of Hell; say first what cause Moved our grand parents, in that happy state, Favor'd of Heav'n so highly, to fall off 30 widow of Milton was accustomed to affirm that he considered himself as inspired; and this report is confirmed by a passage in his Second Book on Church Government, already quoted in our preliminary observations. 24. The height of the argument is precisely what distinguishes this poem of Milton fot 1r--a'l others. In other works of imagination the difficulty lie( in giving sufficient elevation to the subject; here it lies in raising the imagination up to the grandeur of the subject, in adequate conception of its mightiness, and in finding language of such majes'y as will not degrade it. A genius less gigantic and less holy than Milton's would have shrunk from the attempt. Milton not only does not lower; but he illumines the bright, and enlarges the great: he expands his wings, and " sails with supreme dominion" up to the heavens, parts the clouds, and communes with angels and unembodied spirits.-E. B. 27. The poets attribute a kind of omniscience to the Muse, as it enables them to speak of things which could not otherwise be supposed to come to their knowledge. Thus Homer, Iliad ii. 485, and Virgil, JEn. vii. 645. Milton's Muse, being the Holy Spirit, must of course be omniscient.-N. 30. Greatness, is an important requisite in the action or subject of an epic poem; and Milton here surpasses both Homer and Virgil. The an.er of Achilles embroiled the kings of Greece, destroyed the heroes of Troy,,nd engaged all the gods in factions.,Eneas' settlement in Italy produced the Caesars and gave birth to the Roman empire. Milton's subject do' determine the fate merely of single persons, or of a nation, but o- A.tire species. The united powers of Hell are joined together for the d(:tion of mankind, which they effected in part and would have completed, eI not Omnipotence itself interposed. The principal actors are man in his gr:atest perfection, and woman in her highest beauty. Their enemies are the fllen angels; the Meslih their friend, and the Almighty their Protector. In

Page  19 i9 BOOK I. From their Creator, and trangress his will For one restraint, lords of the world besides? Who first seduced them to that foul revolt? Th' infernal Sepent: he it was whose guile, Stirr'd up with envy and revenge, deceived 35 The mother of mankind, what time his(pridel Had cast him out from Heav'n, with all his host Of rebel Angels; by whose aid asirng To set himself in~glory 'bove his peers, He trusted to have equall'd the Most High, 40 If he opposed; and with ambitious aim Against the throne and monarchy of God, Raised impious war in Heav'n, and battle proud With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power Hurl'd headlong flaming from th' ethereal sky, 45 With hideous ruin and combustion down To bottomless perdition; there to dell In adamantine chains and penal fire, short, everything that is great in the whole circle of being, whether within the range of nature or beyond it, finds a place in this admirable poem.-A. SThe sublimest of all sujects (says Cowper) was reserved for Milton; and, bringing to the contemplation of that subject, not only a genius equal to the best of the ancients, but a heart also deeply impregnated with the divine truths which lay before him, it Tio-7e~n nder that he has produced a composition, on the whole, superior, to any that we have received from former ages. But he who addresses himself to the perusal of this work with a mind entirely unaccustome ious and spiritual contemplation, unacquainted with the word of G prejudiced against it, is ill qualified to appreciate the value of a poem bu t upon it, or to taste its beauties. 32. One restraint: one subject of restraint-the tree of knowledge of good and evil. 34. Serpent. Compare Gen. iii. 1 Tim. ii. 14. John viii. 44. 38. Aspiring: 1 Tim. iii. 6. 39. In glory: a divine glory, such as God himself possessed. This charge is brought against him, V. 725; it is also asserted in line 40; again in VI. 88, VII. 140. 46. Ruin is derived from ruo, and includes the idea of falling with violence and precipitation: combustion is more than flaming in the foregoing line; it is burning in a dreadful manner.-N. 48. Chains. Compare with Epistle of Jude v. 8. Also,.Eschylus Prometh. 6.

Page  20 20 PARADISE LOST. hbo durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms. times.th-.spacc atmeasures day and night 20 Inmortal men, he with his horrid crew faay vanquish'd, rolling in the fiery gulf, Confounded though immortal: But his doom Reserv d him to more wrath for now the thought Both ol lost happiness and lasting pain 55 Tormen s him; round he throws his baleful eyes, That w>* 'ss'd huge affliction and dismay, Mix'd v n obdurate pride and steadfast hate: At one, as far as angels' ken, he views The dismal situation waste and wild: 60 A dungeon horrible on all sides round, As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames No light; but rather darkness visible Served only to discover sights ofwoe, Regions of sorrow, dclful shades, where peace 65 And rest can never dwell: hope never comes, That comes to all: but torture without end Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed: Such place eternal justice had preparld 70 50. Nine times the space, c. Propriety sometimes requires the use of circumlocution, as in this case. To have said nine days and nights would not have been proper when talking of a period before the crealion of the sun, and consequently before time was portioned out-uy being in that manner.-CAMPBELL, Phil. Rhet. 52-3. The nine days' astonishment, in whic tie angels lay entranced after their dreadful overthrow and fall from heaven, before they could recover the use either of thought or speech, is a noble circumstance and very finely imagined. The division of hell into seas of fire, and into firm ground (227-8) impregnated with the same furious element, with that particular circumstance of the exclusion of hope from those infernal regions, are instances of the same great and fruitful invention.-A. 63. Darkness visible: gloom. Absolute darkness is, strictly speaking, invisible; but where there is a gloom only, there is so much light remaining as serves to show that there are objects, and yet those objects cannot be discanctly seen. Compare with the Penseroso, 79, 80: ' Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.'" R

Page  21 BOOK I. 21 For those rebellious; here their pris'n ordained Inrutter darkness, and their portion set As fiurxeminved from God and light of heaven, As Com the centre thrice to th' utmost pole. 0O how unlike the place from whence they fell! 75 There the corrnanions of his fall, o'erwhelmed With floods aild whirlwinds of tempestuous fire, He soon discerns, and welt'ring by his side One next himself in power, and next in crime, Long after known in Palestine, and named 80.Beelzebub. To whom th' Arch-Enemy, And thence in Heav'n call'd Satan, with bold words 72. Utter, has the same meaning as the word outer, which is applied to darkness in the Scriptures. Spenser uses utter in this sense. 74. Thrice as far as it is from the centre of the earth (which is the centre of the world, (universe,) according to Miltons s stem, IX. 103, and X. 671,) to the pole of the world; for it is the pole of the universe, far beyond the pole of the earth, which is here called the utmost pole. It is observable that Homer makes the seat of hell as far beneath the deepest pit of earth as the heaven is above the earth, Iliad viii. 16; Virgil makes it twice as far, AEneid vi. 577; and Milton thrice as far: as if these three great poets had stretched their utmost genius,.and vied with each other, in extending his idea of Hell farthest.-N 75. The language of the inspired writings (says Dugald Stewart) is on this as on other occasions, beautifully accommodated to the irresistible impressions of nature; availing itself of such popular and familiar words as upwards and downwards, above and below, in condescension to the frailty of the human mind, governed so much by sense and imagination, and so little by the abstractions of philosophy. Hence the expression of fallen angels, which, by recalling to us the eminence from which they fell, communicates, in a single word, a character of sublimity to the bottomless abyss.-WORKS, vol. iv. 288. 77. Fire. Compare with Mark ix. 45, 46. 81. Beelzebub. Compare with Mat. xii. 24. 2 Kings i. 2. The word means god offlies. Here he is made second to Satan. $2. Satan. Many other names are assigned, to this arch enemy of God and man, in the sacred scriptures. He is called the Devil, the Dragon, the Evil One, the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, the Prince of this World, the Prince of the power of the air, the God of this World, Apollyon. Abaddon, Belial, Beelzebub. Milton, it will be seen, applies some of these terms to other evil angels.

Page  22 22] PARADISE LOST. Breaking the horrid silence thus began: li If thou beest he; but 0 how fallen! how changed From him who, in the happy realms of light 85 Cloth'd with transcendent brightness didst outshine Myriads though bright! If he whom mutual league, United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise, Join'd with me once, now misery hath join'd 90 In equal ruin: into what pit thou seest From what height fall'n, so much the stronger proved He with his thunder: and till then who knew The force of those dire arms? yet not for those Nor what the potent victor in his rage 95 The term Satan denotes adversary; the term Devil denotes an accuser, See Kitto's Bib. Cycl. Upon the character of Satan as.described by Milton, Hazlitt has penned an admirable criticism, which win be found at the end of Book I: 84. The confusion of mind felt by Satan is happily shown by the abrupt and halting manner in which he commences this speech. Fallen; see Isaiah xiv. 12. Changed: see Virg. /En. ii. 274: "' Hei mihi qualis erat! Quantum mutatus ab illo!" 93. He with his thunder. There is an uncommon beauty in this expression. Satan disdains to utter the name of God, though he cannot but acknowledge his superiority. So again, line 257.-N. 94..Those: compare Azsch. Prometh. 991. 95-116. Amidst those impieties which this enraged spirit utters in various parts of the poem, the author has taken care to introduce none that is not big with absurdity, and incapable of shocking a religious reader; his words, as the poet himself describes them, bearing only a " semblance of worth, not substance." He is likewise with great art described as owning his adversary to be Almighty. Whatever perverse interpretation he puts on the justice, mercy, and other attributes of the Supreme Being, he frequently confesses his omnipotence, that being the perfection he was forced to allow, and the only consideration which could support his pride under the shame of his defeat.-A. Upon this important point Dr. Channing has made the following observations: " Some have doubted whether the moral effect of such delineations (as Milton has given) of the stormy and terrible workings of the soul is good; whether the interest felt in a spirit so transcendently evil as Satan favors our sympathies with virtue. But our interest fastens, in this and like cases, on what is not evil. We gaze on Satan with an awe not unmixed

Page  23 BOOK I. 23 Can else inflict, do I repent or change, Though changed in outward lustre, that fix'd mind And high disdain from sense of injured merit, That with the Mightiest raised me to contend, And to the fierce contention brought along Innumerable force of Spirits arm'd, That durst dislike his reign, and me preferring, His utmost pow'r with adverse pow'r opposed In dubious battle on th plains of Heav'n, And shook his throne. What though the field be h All is not lost; th' unconquerable will And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never t bubmit or yield: And what is esenot'to be overcome; That glly never shall his wrath or might Extort from me/ To bow and sue for grace With suppliant knee, and deify his powhr, Who from the terror of this arm so late Doubted his empire; that were low indeed! That were an ignominy and shame beneath This downfall: since by fate the strength of Gods And this empyreal substance cannot fail, 1001 ost? 105 110 115 with mysterious pleasure, as on a miraculous manifestation of the power of mInd. What chains us, as with a resistless spell, in such a character, is spiritual might (might of soul), made visible by the racking pains which it overpowers. There is something kindling and ennobling in the consciousness, however awakened, of the energy which resides in mind; and many a virtuous man has borrowed new strength from the force, constancy, and dauntless courage of evil agents." 109. Overcome: in some editions an interrogation point is placed after this word, but improperly; for, as Pearce remarks, the line means, 'and if there be anything else (besides the particulars mentioned) which is not to be overcome.' 110. That glory: referring to the possession of an unconquerable will, and the other particulars mentioned 107-9. 114. Doubted his empire: that is, doubted the stability of it. 116. Fate. Satan supposes the angels to subsist by necessity, and repre. Sthem of an empyreal, that is, fiery substance, as the Scripture does, Ps. 'Ieb. i. 7. Satan disdains to submit, since the angels (as he says) are - immortal and cannot be destroyed, and since too they are now experience.

Page  24 24 PARADISE LOST. Since through experience of this great event In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced, We may with more successful hope resolve 120 To wage by force or guile eternal war, Irreconcileable to our grand foe, Who now triumphs, and in th' excess of joy, -ole reigning holds the tyranny of heav'n. So spake th' apostate Angel, though in pain, 125 Vaunting aloud, but rack'd with deepgdespair: And him thus answer'd soon his bold compeer. // O Prince, 0 Chief of many hroned powers! That led the embattled Seraphim to war Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds 130 FAarless, endanger'd heav'n's perpetual King, And put to proof his high supremacy, Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or te; Too well I see and rite the dire event, That with sad overthrow and foul defeat 135 Hath lost us heav'n, and all this mighty host In horrible destruction laid thus low, As far as Gods and heav'nly essences Can perish; for the mind and spirit remains Invincible, and vigor soon returns, 140 Though all our glory extinct, and happy state Here swallow'd up in endless misery iiut what if he our conqu'ror (whom I now Of force believe almighty, since no less Than such could have overpower'd such force as ours) SHave left us this our spirit and strength entire 146 Strongly to suffer and support our pains, That we may so suffice his vengeful ire, Or do him mightier service as his thralls By right of war, whate'er his business be azujrspa. pandora på salg150 Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire, Or do his errands in the gloomy deep; What can it then avail, though yet we feel 129. Seraphim. Compare with Isaiah vi. 2-6. An order of ar the throne of God.

Page  25 BOOK I. Strength undiminish'd, or eternal being To undergo eternal punishment? i53 Whereto with speedy words th' Arch-Fiend replied: I Fall'n Cherub, to be weak is miserable Doing or suffering: but of this be sure, To do aught good neveLwill be our task, But ever to do ill our sol delight, 1:) As being the contrary to his high will Whom we resist. If then his providence Out of our evil seek to bring forth good, Our labor must be to pervert that end, And out of good still to find means of evil; 165 Which oft-times may succeed, so as perhaps Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and distitrb His inmost counsels fiom their destined aim. But see, the angry victor hath recall'd His ministers of vengeance and pursuit 170 Back to the gates of Heav'n; the sulph'rous hail Shot after us in storm, o'erblown hath laid The fiery surge, that from the precipice Of Heav'n received us falling; and the thunder, Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage, 175 Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now To bellow through the vast and boundless deep, Let us not slip th' occasion, whether scorn 157. Cherub. One of an order of angels next in rank to a seraph. Compare with Gen. iii. 24. Ezek. ch. x. 169. The account here given by Satan differs materially from that whib, Raphael gives, book vi. 880, but this is satisfactorily explained by referrinl to the circumstances of the two relators. RaphaePs account may be considered as the true one; but, as Newton remarks. in the other passages Sitan himself is the speaker, or some of his angels; and they were too pront and obstinate to acknowledge the Messiah for their conqueror as their rebellion was raised on his account, they would never own his superiority: they would rather ascribe their defeat to the whole host of heaven than tI( him alone. In book vi. 830 the noise of his chariot is compared to thisound of a numerous host; and perhaps their fears led them to think that they were really pursued by a numerous army. And what a slublime idea does it give us of the terrors of the Messiah, that he alone should be a- formidable, as if the whole host of Heaven were in pursuit of them.

Page  26 26 FARAIDISE LOST. Or satiate fury yield it from our foe. Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, 180 The seat of desolation, void of light, Save what the glimm'ring of these livid flames Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend From off the tossing of these fiery waves, There rest, if any rest can harbor there, 185 And reassembling our afflicted powers, Consult how we may henceforth most offend Our enemy, our own loss how repair, How overcome this dire calamity, What reinforcement we may gain from hope, 190 If not, what resolution from despair. \ Thuts Satan talking to his nearest mate 'With head uplift above the wave, and eyes That sparkling blazed, his other parts besides Prone on the flood, extended long and large, 195 Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge As whom the fables name of monstrous size Titanian, or Earth-born, that warr'd on Jove, 192. The incidents, in the passage that follows, to which Addison calls attention, are, Satan's being the first that wakens out of the general trance, his posture on the burning lake, his rising from it. and the description of his shield and spear; also his call to the fallen angels that lay plunged and stupifled in the sea of fire. (314--5.) 193. Prone on the flood, somewhat like those two monstrous serpents described by Virgil ii. 206: Pectora quorum inter fluctus arrecta, jiu, que Sanguinese exsuperant undas; pars cotera pontum Pone legit. 196. Rood, 4c.: a rood is the fourth part of an acre, so that the bulk of Satan is expressed by the same sort of measure, as that of one of the giants.il Virgil, En. vi. 596: Per tota novem cuijugera corpus Porrigitur. And also that of the old dragon in Spenser's Fairy Queen, book i. 'That with his largeness measured much land." N. i98. Titanian, or Earth-born: Genus antiquum terra, Titania pubes 2En. vi. 580

Page  27 BOOK.I Briareos, or Typhon, whom the den By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast 2'0 Leviathan, which God of all his works Created hugest that swim the ocean stream; Him haply slumb'ring on the Norway foaml The pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, 203 With fixed anchor in his scaly rind Moors by his side under the lea, while night Invests the sea and wish d morn delays: Here Milton comme ces that tin of learntd allusions which was among his peculiarities, and which he always makes poetical by some picturesque epithet, or simile.-E. B. 199. Briareos, a fabled giant (one of the Titans) possessed of a hundred hands. " Et centumgeminus Briareus." Virg. AEn. vi. 287. 201. Leviathan, a marine animal finely described in the book of Job, ch. xli. It is supposed by some to be the whale; by others, the crocodile, with less probability. See Brande's Cyc. 202. Swim the ocean-stream: What a force of imagination is there in this last expression! What an idea it conveys of the size of that largest of created beings, as if it shrunk up the ocean to a stream, and took up the sea in its nostrils as a very little thing! Force of style is one of Milton's great excellencies. Hence, perhaps, he stimulates us more in the reading, and less afterwards. The way to defend Milton against all impugners is to take down the book and read it.-HAZLITT. This line is by some found fault with as inharmonious; but good taste approves its structure, as being on this account better suited to convey a just idea of the size of this monster. 204. Night-foundered: overtaken by the night, and thus arrested in its course. The metaphor, as Hume observes, is taken from a foundered horse that can go no further. 207. Under the lee: in a place defended from the wind. 208. Invests the sea: an allusion to the figurative description of Night given by Spenser: " By this the drooping daylight 'gan to fate. And yield his room to sad succeeding night, Who with her sable mantle 'gan to shade The face of Earth." Milton also, in the same taste, speaking of the moon, IV. 609: 'And o'er the dark her silver mautle threw.' N

Page  28 28 So stretch'd out huge in length the Arch-Fiend lay Chain'd on the burning lake, nor ever thence 210 Had ris'n or heaved his head, but that the will And high permission of all-ruling Heav'n Left him at large to his own dark designs, That with reiterated crimes he might Heap on himself damnation, while he sought 215 Evil to others, and enraged might see How all his malice served but to bring forth Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy shewn On Man, by him seduced; bfft on himself Treble eonfusion, wrath, and vengeance pour'd. 220 Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool His mighty stature; on each hand the flames Driv'n backward slope their pointin.g spires, and roll'd In billows, leave i' th' midst a horrid vale. Then with expanded wings he steers his flight 225 Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air, 209. There are many examples in Milton of musical expression, or of an adaptation of the sound and movement of the verse to the meaning of the passage. This line is an instance. By its great length, and pectliar structure, being composed of monosyllables, it is admirably adapted to convey the idea of immense size. 210. Chained on the burning lake: There seems to be an allusion here to the legend of Prometheus, one of the Titans, who was exposed to the wrath of Jupiter on account of his having taught mortals the arts. and especially the use of fire, which he was said to have stolen from heaven, concealed in a reed. According to another story he was actually the creator of men, or at least inspired them with thought and sense. His punishment was to be chained to a rock on Caucasus, where a vulture perpetually gnawed his liver from which he was finally rescued by Hercnles. This legend has formed the subject of the grandest of all the poetical illustrations of Greek supernatural belief, the Prometheus Bound of,'schylus. Many have recognized in the indomitable resolution of this sa fuiring Titan, and his stern endurance of the evils inflicted on him by a power with which he had vainly warred for supremacy, the prototype of the arch-fiend of Milton.-BRANDE. 22G--7. That felt unusual weight: This conceit (as Thyer remarks) is borrowed fromn Spenser, who thus describes the old dragon, book i. ' Thein wlf h1; w~v- hng wifns dis om thae wide tm. elf p h; h ht lifret funm tle ground,

Page  29 BOOK I. 29 That felt unusual weight; till on dry land He lights, as if it were land that ever burn'd With solid, as the lake with liquid fire; And such appear'd in hue, as when the force 239 Of subterranean wind transports a hill Torn from Pelorus, or the shatter'd side Of thund'ring I.Etna, whose combustible And fuel'd entrails thence conceiving fire, And with strong flight did forcibly divide The yielding air, which nigh too feeble found Her flitting parts, and element unsound, To bear so great a weight." 229. Liquid fire. Virg. Ec. vi. 33. 'Et liquidi simul ignis.-N. 230. There are several noble similies and allusions in the first book of Paradise Lost. And here it must be observed that when Milton alludes either to things or persons he never quits his simile until it rises to some very great idea, which is often foreign to the occasion that gave birth to it. The simile does not perhaps occupy above a line or two, but the poet runs on with the hint until he has raised out of it some brilliant image or sentiment adapted to inflame the mind of the reader and to give it that sublime kind of entertainment which is suitable to the nature of an heroic poem. In short, if we look into the poems of Homer, Virgil, and Milton, we must observe, that as the great fable is the soul of each poem, so, to give their works the greater variety, the episodes employed by these authors may be regarded as so many short fables, their similies as so many short episodes, and their metaphors as so many short similies. If the comparisons in the first book of Milton, of the sun in an eclipse, of the sleeping leviathan, of: bees swarming about their hive, of the fairy dance, be regarded in this light the great beauties existing in each of these passages will readily be discovered.-A. 231. Wind: this should be altered to winds, to agree with the reading in line 235; or that should be altered to agree with this. 232. Pelorus: the eastern promontory of Sicily. 234. Thence conceiving fire: the combustible and fuelled entrails, or interior contents, of the mountain, are here represented as takingfire, as the result of the action of the subterranean wind, in removing the side of the mountain. The fire thus kindled was sublimed with mineral fury, that is, was heightened by the rapid combustion of mineral substances of a bituminous nature. The poet seems to have in his mind the description of JEtna by Virgil (book iii 572, 578.) Sed horrificis juxta tonat JEtna ruinis, Interdumque atram prorumpit ad athera nubem, Turbine fumantem piceo, et candente favilla; Attollitque globos flammarlum, et sidera lambit:

Page  30 30 PARADISE LOST., Sublimed with min'ral fury, aid the winds, 235 And leave a singed bottom all involved With stench and smoke; such resting found the sole Of unblest feet. Him follow'd his next mate, Both glorying to have 'scap'd the Stygian flood As Gods, and by their own recover'd strength, 240 Not by the sufPrance of Supernal Power. ýiTIs this the region, this the soil, the clime, Said then the lost Arch-A this the seat,That we must change for heav'n, this mournful gloom For that celestial light? Be it so, since he 245 Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid What shall be right: farthest from him is best, Whom reason hath equall'd, force hath made supreme Above his equals. Farewell happy fields, Where joy forever dwells: Hail horrors, hail 250 Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell Receive thy new possessor; one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time. The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n. 255 Interdum scopulos avulsaque viscera montis Erigit eructans. liquefactaque saxa sub auras Cum gemitu glomerat, fundoque exestuat imo. 239. Stygian flood; an expression here of the same import with infernal flood, alluding to the fabulous river Styx of the lower world, which the poets represented as a broad, dull and sluggish stream. 246. Sovran: from the Italian word sovrano. 250. Dr. Channing, writing upon Satan's character as drawn by the po t observes: " Hell yields to the spirit which it imprisons. The intensity of its fires reveals the intense passion and more vehement will of Satan; and the ruined archangel gathers into himself the sublimity of the scene which surrounds him. This forms the tremendous interest of these wonderful books. We see mind triumphant over the most terrible powers of natuire We see unutterable agony subdued by energy of soul." Addison remarks that Milton has attributed to Satan those sentiments which are every way answerable to his character, and suited to a created being of the most exalted and most depraved nature; as in this passage. which describes him as taking possession of his place of torments, 250-263. 253-5. These are some of the extravagances of the Stoics, and could not


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