Dante; and certainly have little similitude to the tenderness, harmony, and soft and plaintive imagery of Petrarch. Indeed, our language will scarcely admit the softness of the Italian tones: but Wordsworth has shown what rich and harmonious poetry the legitimate sonnet will admit even in our language; and the late lamented Mrs. Hemans has done the same, though in a different style. Charlotte Smith's Sonnets excel in a soft melancholy; and T. Warton's are rich in description, and classical in expression.* But Dyer's collection will prove that there are many good sonnets by several modern authors, as Edwards, Bamfylde, Bowles, Kirke White, Leyden: but one I must especially quote; because it is by the last editor of Milton's poems, the Rev. John Mitford, of Benhall, in Suffolk; a man of great genius, great learning, and great taste, and an excellent prose writer as well as poet. It comes from a note to his 'Life of Milton,' p. xix. GENOA, 1822. Rise, Genoa, rise in beauty from the sea: * See Dyer's 'Specimens of English Sonnets,' 1833. This chronological and critical series of sonnets has been selected in concurrence with the opinions which I ventured to express to the editor. It appears to me an instructive gradation of specimens, and ought to be studied by every lover of English poetry with great attention: it shows the progress of language and thought, and proves that the genuine character of poetry is always the same. How little difference is there between the language and sentiment and harmony of Shakspeare, and those of the present day! the high intellect and sensibility of human nature are always the same. Flow then, ye emerald waters, bright and free; In Milton's Sonnets there is nothing of the flow and excited temperament of Lycidas:' the reiteration of the rhyme seems in general to embarrass and impede the author: the words are sometimes forced into their places: it seems as if the writer was resolved to rely solely on the strength or elevation of the thought: neither have they any imagination, except the last; nor any rural pictures. This is a less favourable view of these Sonnets than I have been accustomed hitherto to take; but it arises from a still more close and analytical dissection of them, or, perhaps, from a transient state of gloom and spleen in myself. I will never admit that the sonnet is not capable of every sort of sweetness and poetical spirit; but its shortness is some impediment to the gradual elevation to grand or passionate strains it has not Ample room and verge enough. Though Milton's single images are commonly given with extraordinary compression, yet the multitude of them is inconsistent with the limits of the sonnet: the power of the web depends on its combination and extension. The poet scorns all prettiness or littleness: I do not wonder, therefore, that in these short compositions he has not hit the popular taste: I am rather surprised, that, fond as he was of the Italian poets, he did not here catch more of their manner; at least, of the solemn and sombre inspiration of Dante, if not of the amatory tenderness of Petrarch. Loftiness of understanding, and the resolution of a bold, virtuous, strong, and uncompromising heart, the bard had at all times; they were inseparable from his nature: but I persevere in the conviction, that during that long period of his middle life, when he was engaged in political controversy and state affairs, the fire and tone of the Muse was suppressed, and partly forgotten. Mighty poet as he was, I am sure that he would have been still greater, if he had never engaged in politics: these politics weighed down and stifled all the romantic predilections and golden arrays of his youthful taste and enthusiastic imagination : chivalry was his early delight, and how could chivalry and democracy co-exist? Such are the inconsistencies of the most highly endowed and greatest of men! for what man has been greater or more virtuous than Milton? Though the idle pomps and riches of the world were not with him,-empty possessions which he scorned; yet how much greater was he than kings and heroes! In his solitary study, working out his glorious fables by the midnight lamp, how infinitely more exalted, than in his office of secretary; or than if he had been performing the acts of Cromwell and Fairfax, the themes of his majestic Muse! SONNETS. I. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May.' Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,' Portend success in love. O, if Jove's will Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; As thou from year to year hast sung too late 11 For my relief, yet hadst no reason why: Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, II. Donna legiadra, il cui bel nome honora E i don', che son d'amor saette ed arco, Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti Che'l disio amoroso al cuor s'invecchi. 10 III. Qual in colle aspro, al imbrunir di sera Va bagnando l'herbetta strana e bella Cosi Amor meco insù la lingua snella 10 |