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to the assembly of infernal spirits, as it is described in a beautilul pass.ge of the tenth book; and likewise by the vision, where n Adam, at the close of the poe'rl, sees his ottopring triumphing over his great enemy, ana hiimself restored to a happier Paradise than that from which he tell.
There is another objection against Milton's fable, which is indeed alınost the same with the former, though placed in a ditferent light, naniely, That the hero in the Paradise Lost is unsuccessful, and by no means a match for his ene. mies. This gave occasion to Mr. Dryden's reflection, that the Devil was in reality Milton's hero. I think I have obviated this objection in my first paper. The Paradise Lost is an epic, or a narrative Poem, and he that looks for an hero in it, searches for that which Milton never intended ; but if he will needs fix the name of an hero upon any person in it, 'tis certainly the Messiah is the hero, both in the principal action, and in the chief episodes. Paganism could not furnish out a real action for a fable greater than that of the Iliad or Æneid, and therefore an heathen could not form a higher notion of a poem than one of that kind which they call an heroic. Whether Milton's is not of a sublimer nature, I will not presume to determine : it is sufficient that I show there is in the Paradise Lost all the greatness of plan, regularity of design, and masterly beauties which we discover in Homer and Virgil.
I must in the next place observe, that Milton has interwoven, in the texture of his fable, some particulars which do not seem to have probability enough for an epic poem, particularly in the actions which he ascribes to Sin and Death, and the picture which he draws of the Limbo of Vanity, with other passages in the second book. Such allegories rather savour of the spirit of Spenser and Ariosto, than of Homer and Virgil.
In the structure of this poem he has likewise admitted of too many digressions. It is finely observed by Aristotle, that the author of an heroic poem should seldom speak himseit, but throw as much of his work as he can into the mouilis of thuse who are his principal actors. Aristotle has given no resson for this precept; bụt I presume it is be
cause the mind of the reader is more awed and elevated when he hears Æneas or Achilles speak, than when Virgil or Homer talk in their own persons. Besides that assuming the character of an eminent man is apt to fire the ima. gination, and raise the ideas of the author. Tully tells us, mentioning his dialogue of old age, in which Cato is the chief speaker, that upon a review of it he was agreeably imposed upon, and fancied that it was Cato, and not he himself, who uttered his thoughts on that subject.
If the reader would be at the pains to see how the story of the Iliad and Æneid is delivered by those persons who act in it, he will be surprised to find how little in either of these poems proceeds from the authors. Milton has, in the general disposition of his fable, very finely observed this great rule; insomuch that there is scarce a third part of which comes from the poet; the rest is spoken either by Adam and Eve, or by some good or evil Spirit who is engaged either in their destruction or defence.
From what has been here observed, it appears, that digressions are by no means to be allowed of in an epic poem. If the poet, even in the ordinary course of his narration, should speak as little as possible, he should certainly never let his narration sleep for the sake of any reflections of his own. I have often observed, with a secret admiration, that the longest reflection in the Æneid is in that passage of the tenth book, where Turnus is represented as dressing himself in the spoils of Pallas, whom he had slain. Virgil here lets his iable stand still for the sake of the following remark. • How is the mind of man ignorant of futurity, and unable to bear prosperous fortune with moderation ? The time will come when Turnus shall wish that he had • left the body of Pallas untouched, and curse the day on
which he dressed himself in these spoils." As the great event of the Æneid, and the death of Turnus, whom Æneas slew, because he saw him adorned with the spoils of Pallas, turns upon this incident, Virgil went out of his way to make this reflection upon it, without which so small a circumstance might possibly have slipt out of his reader's. memory. Lucan, who was an injudicious puet, lets drop his story very frequently for the sake of his unnecessary di
gressions, or his diverticula, as Scaliger calls thein. If he gives us an account of the prodigies which preceded the civil war, he declaims upon the occasion, and shows how much happier it would be for man, if he did not feel his evil fortune before it comes to pass, and suffer not only by its real weight, but by the apprehension of it. Milton's complaint of his blindness, his panegyric on marriage, his reflections on Adam and Eve's going naked, of the Angel's eating, and several other passages in his poem, are liable to the same exception, though I must confess there is so great a beauty in these very digressions that I would not wish them out of his poem.
I have, in a former paper, spoken of the character of Milton's Paradise Lost, and declared my opinion, as to the allegorical persons who are introduced in ita
If we look into the sentiments, I think they are sometimes defective under the following heads · First, as there are several of them too much pointed, and some that dege nerate even into puns. Of this last kiud, I am afraid is that in the first book, where speaking of the pigmies, he calls them
the small in fantry Warr'd on by cranes.
Another blemish that appears in some of his thoughts, is his frequent allusion to heathen fables, which are not certainly of a piece with the divine subject of which he treats, I do not find fault with these allusions, where the poet him. self represents them as fabulous, as he does in some places, but where he mentions them as truths and matters of tact. The limits of my paper will not give me leave to be particular in instances of this kind : the reader will easily remark them in his peruşal of the poem.
A third fault in his sentiments, is an unnecessary ostenfation of learning, which likewise occurs very frequently, It is certain, that both Homer and Virgil were masters of all the learning of their times, but it shows itseif in their works, after an indirect and concealed manner. Milton seems ambitious of letting us know, by his excursions on
free will and predestination, and his many glances upon hisa tory, astionomy, geography, and the like, as well as by the terms and phrases he sometimes makes use of, that he was acquainied with the whole circle of arts and sci
If, in the last place, we consider the language of this great poet, we must allow what I have hinted in a former paper, that it is often too much laboured, and sometimes obscured by old words, transpositions, and foreign idioms. Seneca's objection to the stile of a great author, Riget ejus oratio, nihil in ea placidum, nihil lene, is what many critics make to Milton : as I cannot wholly refute it, so I have already apologized for it in another paper ; to which I may farther add, that Milton's sentiments and ideas were so wonderfully sublime, that it would have been impossible for him to have represented them in their full strength and beauiy, without having recourse to these foreign assistan, ces. Our linguage sunk under him, and was unequal to that greatness of soul which furnished himn with such glo. rious conceptions. A second fault in his language is, that he often affects a
in his words, as in the following passages, and
many others :
kind of jin
That brought into this world a world of woe.
At one slight bound high over-leapt all bound. I know there are figures for this kind of speech, that somt of the greatest Ancients have been guilty of it, and that Aristotle himself has given it a place in his Rhetoric, among the beauties of that art. But as il is in itself poor and trifling, it is I think at present universally exploded by all the masters of polite writing,
The last fault which I shall take notice of in Milton's atile, is the frequent use of what the learned cail technical words or terms of art. It is one of the great beauties of poetry, to make hard things intelligible, and to deliver what
is abstruse of itself in such easy language as may be understood by ordinary readers. Besides that the knowledge of a poet should rather seem born with him, or inspired, than drawn from books and systems. I have often wondered, how Mr. Dryden could translate a passage out of Virgil after the following manner :
Tack to the larboard, and stand off to sea,
Milton makes use of Carboard in the same manner. When he is upon building, he mentions Doric pillars, pilasiers, cornice, freeze, arı bitrave. When he talks of heavenly bodies, you meet with e-liptic and eccentric, the trepidation, star: dropping from the zenith, rays culminating from ibe equa
To whii h might be added many instances of the like kind in several other arts and sciences.
I HAVE seen in the works of a modern philosopher a map of the spots in the sun. My last paper of the faults and blemishes in Milton's Paradise Lost, may be considered as a piece of the same nature. To pursue the allusion : As it is observed, that among the bright parts of the luminous body above-mentioned, there are some which glow more intensely, and dart a stronger light than others; so, notwithstanding I have already shown Milton's poem to be very beautiful in general, I shall now proceed to take notice of such beauties as appear to me more exquisite than the
[The Reader will find the remainder of the Critique of Mr. Addison interspersed with the other Notes, as mentioned in the Preface.]