Greek mythological ideas, is that passage in the Second Book, in which the journey of Satan from hell to earth is described, (II. 951):— "At length a universal hubbub wild,

Of stunning sounds and voices all confused,

Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his ear
With loudest vehemence: Thither he plies,
Undaunted to meet there whatever Power

Or Spirit of the nethermost abyss

Might in that noise reside, of whom to ask
Which way the nearest coast of darkness lies
Bordering on light; when straight behold the throne
Of Chaos, and his dark pavilion spread

Wide on the wasteful deep; with him enthroned
Sat sable-vested Night, eldest of things,

The consort of his reign; and by them stood

Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded Name

Of Demogorgon; Rumour next and Chance,
And Tumult and Confusion all embroil'd,

And Discord with a thousand various mouths."

We meet here with real beings, that have a personal existence, independent as it seems of God, and hostile to him. Nothing could be more offensive in a philosophical and religious point of view, or more improbable and aesthetically misplaced, than the god Chaos, and the goddess Night enthroned in royal state and in sullen independence of the spiritual hierarchy, which the poet acknowledges in the remainder of his work. It is nothing less than the acknowledgment of the eternity of matter.

Less blameable perhaps, though more generally condemned, are the two allegorical conceptions of Sin and Death. It must be confessed by Milton's most ardent admirers that they cannot be defended; and I for one can not agree with Mr. Hallam, who "does not wish them away," though he admits that "they will not bear exact criticism," (Lit. of Europe, vol. IV. chap. V. s. 28.) Who can bear to see Satan represented like another Zeus, generating a being from his head, or as having carnal connexion with a woman? It is doubtful what is more offensive, the idea in itself, or the corruption and misplacement of the Homeric fable in the Christian epic. These and all the other mythological persons taken from the Greek Parnassus to adorn Christian poetry, remind me of the marble statues of Zeus or Apollo taken from their ancient altars, and with a few adaptations in emblems, or with new heads, placed in Christian churches to represent St. Peter or St. John.

Johnson, p. 175.

That the mythological decorations in the "Paradise Lost" are undeniable blemishes of that sublime poem, is, I believe, conceded on all sides. But various attempts have been made by the unqualified admirers of Milton to justify the poet, or at least to palliate his fault. It has been said, and with truth, that the fable of the "Paradise Lost" is too devoid of incidents and variety to be deprived of the imagery which the rich mythology of Greece affords.* If this plea holds good, it is a very strong argument to prove my first position, viz. that the subject of the poem is far from being, as Mr. Hallam has said, "the finest that has ever been chosen for heroic poetry;" it is a defence of the poet's taste at the expense of his judgment; for his judgment should have led him to select a subject which would not compel him to offend against the rules of the highest poetic beauty which is inseparable from truth. However, this defence is utterly futile. The employment of mythological allusions is quite independent of the subject of the "Paradise Lost." The Comus aud Lycidas are quite as full of them. The fact is, Milton's classical learning had communicated

* Hallam, Lit. of Europe, vol. IV. ch. v. s. 32.

+ I can hardly understand the serious meaning of a passage in R. Chambers's Life of Milton, Cyclop. of Eng Literature, I. p. 331. "The theme of Paradise Lost' was in its nature connected with everything important in the circumstances of human history; and amidst these circumstances Milton saw that the fables of paganism were too important and poetical to be omitted."

Even the Hymn on the Nativity, Milton's earliest production, written when he was still at college, is not free from these mythological allusions, though the subject is purely Christian and devotional. The long list of Heathen Gods that are there mentioned as being hurled from their altars, are endowed with the reality of life:

It may be pleaded, that Milton had a right to speak of the Heathen Gods as real beings, as in doing so he adopted the views of venerable Fathers. This is his justification for the same view taken in Paradise Lost. But independently of this we find a merely ornamental figure in the following lines:

"Nature that heard such sound

Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling.
Now was almost won, &c."

to all his thoughts and writings a peculiar colouring: he was unable to rise above the element into which he had plunged in early youth; though he aspired to "soar with no middle flight above the Aonian Mount," his wings were too heavy with the element of the Parnassian Hippocrene; he sought his Muse on Oreb or on Sion; but still it was a muse that he sought, the daughter of Zeus and Mnemosyne, who dwelt among the shady groves of Helicon or Parnassus, and sang in the Olympian courts the loves of goddesses and the valiant deeds of gods and heroes.†

We now approach the much-debated topic of the materiality of Milton's spiritual beings. Johnson was the first, as far as I know, to charge Milton with inconsistency on this ground. He makes the following remarks:-" Another inconvenience of Milton's design is, that it requires the description of what cannot be described, the agency of spirits. He saw, that immateriality supplied no images, and that he could not show angels acting but by instruments of action; he, therefore, invested them with form and matter. This being necessary, was, therefore, defensible; and he should have secured the consistency of his system by keeping immateriality out of sight, and enticing his reader to drop it from his thoughts. But he has unhappily perplexed his poetry with his philosophy. His infernal and celestial powers are sometimes pure spirit, and sometimes animated body," &c. (p. 174.)

An attempt has been made by Macaulay to defend Milton against Dr. Johnson's charge. He argues, like Milton himself and Johnson, that to describe the agency of spirits to the comprehension of man materiality was necessary. "Logicians," he says, "may reason about abstractions, but the great mass of men must have images. The strong tendency of the multitude in all ages and nations to idolatry can be explained on no other principle." no other principle." Thus he justifies materialism. Good! "But," he continues, "Milton wrote in an age of philosophers and theologians. It was necessary therefore for him to abstain from

* Macaulay (Milton p. 9) says, " He who in an enlightened and literary society aspires to be a great poet must first become a little child. He must take to pieces the whole web of his mind. He must unlearn much of that knowledge which has perhaps constituted hitherto his chief title to superiority. His very talents will be a hindrance to him." Let the reader judge now, if Milton did put aside all his classical lore to become a man instead of a scholar, and a poet by nature instead of a poet by books. See Johnson, 168, "Milton saw nature through the spectacle of books, and on most occasions calls learning to his assistance. The garden of Eden brings to his mind the vale of Enna, where Proserpine was gathering flowers. Satan makes his way through fighting elements like Argo," &c.

+ Strange contradiction: that the muse should be invoked immediately after the gods of Doric Land had been declared to be embodied evil spirits, (I. 506)!

giving such a shock to their understandings, as might break the charm, which it was his object to throw over their imaginations." "It was impossible for the poet to adopt altogether the material or the immaterial system. He therefore took his stand on the debatable ground. He left the whole in ambiguity. He has, doubtless, by so doing, laid himself open to the charge of inconsistency. But, though philosophically in the wrong, we cannot but believe that he was poetically in the right." Such is (or was?) the opinion of Macaulay-no mean poet himself. I regret that I cannot agree with him. He has taken up a bad cause to plead for, and his arguments cannot mend his case. The truth is, they savour much of sophisms.

A line cannot

It is no use trying to reconcile things irreconcilable. be straight and curved at the same time, nor can a being be corporeal and non-corporeal, or spiritual and non-spiritual. We are, as human beings, partly spiritual and partly corporeal, but we cannot drop either spirit or body as we please, nor can we realise the angels of Milton as gifted with that power. I am utterly unable to see what Milton has gained poetically by the sacrifice of philosophical consistency. It is true, that the enjoyment of poetry requires a certain degree of madness both in author and reader; but if there is not method in the madness, no enjoyment is possible; if our reason is constantly outraged or puzzled, we may be surprised or bewildered, but we can never be pleased.

I will not maintain, that it was possible for Milton, as Dr. Johnson thought, "to keep immateriality out of sight and to seduce the reader to drop it from his thought." Not only the philosophers and theologians of the seventeenth century, but no enlightened Christian public of any age or country, would allow any poet so much license on this point, as Homer could indulge in, availing himself to the full of the poetic elements of an anthropomorphic polytheism, much less possible was it to support a narrative by purely spiritual agents. The poet was in a dilemma, in which failure was unavoidable; he is therefore not responsible for this failure, except in so much as it was the consequence of his choice of subject. This choice once made, more on philosophical and religious, than on poetic grounds; the poet grappled boldly and struggled manfully with the formidable difficulties it presented; he had that spirit, charcteristic of bold and haughty tempers, which challenges attack by working out a thesis to its most startling consequences. He was none of those who are afraid of the results of their own theories; he disdained to veil in mystic argument the asperities of his doctrines; he took particular pains in stating unmistakably what was his honest

P

conviction.* We must honour his manliness, but we cannot but regret that it should have contributed to increase the disproportions between his genius and his permanent fame, which his unhappy choice of subject produces.

We have now in succession discussed the subject, the design and the poetical apparatus of the "Paradise Lost." It remains, that we should speak of the language, the materials as it were of the structure, of which we have examined the site, the style and the decorations. On setting out I looked upon this part of my enquiry as the principal one, but I have been tempted to enlarge so much on the remarks, which were intended at first to be merely introductory, that I am afraid I shall have to contract this topic into narrower bounds than at first projected. I shall be the more easily permitted to do so, as all grammatical and lexicographical remarks are naturally of a less coherent and continuous flow, and, necessitating a frequent reference to texts, are perhaps less adapted for a lecture like the present.

As to the remarks I am going to make, I can only claim the merit of systematisation and more detailed analysis. The broad facts have long been felt and stated correctly, nor could they have remained doubtful, as the peculiarity of Milton's language distinguishes him from every author that either preceded or followed him. Language is the material which the poet employs to embody his productions, and to bring them under our senses; it is to him what stone and metal are to the sculptor, canvass and colour to the painter. In proportion as his subject is elevated, his language must rise above the level of familiar parlance; it must help to produce in us that illusion, that forgetfulness of external circumstances and the realities of every day life, which is essential for the enjoyment of poetry. It is evident, that the sacred epic requires a diction, if less elevated than the ode, yet raised high above the tone of common conversation or narrative.

A powerful aid towards attaining this elevation is afforded by a dignified metre, such as necessarily excludes vulgarity. The ancient classical languages had in this respect a vast superiority over those of modern Europe, not even excluding the German. In the perfection of prosodic modulation they afforded material for the richest variety of metres, without being compelled to have recourse to the jingling of rhyme. The

I entirely disagree with Mr. Macaulay, who says, (p. 23):-"The peculiar art which he possessed of communicating 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."