-- which he had expreffed in the First Book of this Poem, where he declares that one of his earliest sentiments of virtue, more than human, was marked with a wifh "To rescue Ifrael from the Roman yoke." Our Lord's reply is clofe and pointed, and ferves further to unfold the character of our great pattern of every virtue. The fame objection ftill lies against the conclufion of this Book, as against that of the preceding one ;-by coming im mediately after a part fo highly finished, as the view of the Parthian power in all the splendour of a military expedition, it has not the effect it would otherwise have. It is however a neceffary conclufion, and one that materially carries on the business of the Poem. An effential teft of its merit is, that, however we might wish it shortened, it would fcarcely have been poffible to comprefs the matter it contains. It has been obferved of almost all the great epick poems, that they fall off, and become languid, in the conclufion. The fix laft books of the Eneid, and the twelve last of the Odyffey, are inferiour to the preceding parts of thofe poems. In the Paradise Loft the two laft books fall short of the majesty and fublimity of the reft: and fo, obferves Dr. Newton, do the two laft books of the Iliad. "With the fall of our firft parents," fays Dr. Blair, "Milton's genius feems to decline:" and, though he admits the Angel's showing Adam the fate of his pofterity to be happily imagined, "the execution," he adds, is "languid." Addison, in pointing out the particular beauties of the two laft books of the Paradife Loft, observes that, though these were not looked upon as the most fhining books of the poem, they ought not to be confidered as unequal parts of it.-Perhaps the two concluding books of the Paradife Loft might be defended by other arguments, and juftified in a more effectual manner, than has been done by Addison; but it is certainly fortunate when the subject and plan of an epick poem are fuch, that in the conclusion it may rife in dignity and fublimity, fo as to excite to the very laft the attention and admiration of the reader. This laft Book of the Paradife Regained is one of the finest conclufions of a poem, that can be produced. The Book of Job, which I have fuppofed to have been our Author's model, materially refembles it in this respect, and is perhaps the only inftance that can be put in competition with it.- -It has been remarked that there is not a fingle fimile in the First Iliad: neither do we meet with one in the three first Books of the Paradife Regained. In the beginning of the FOURTH BOOK the poet introduces an Homerick cluster of fimilies; which feems to mark an intention of beftowing more poetical decoration on the conclufion of the Poem, than on the preceding parts of it. -They who talk of our Author's genius being in the decline when he wrote his fecond Poem, and who therefore turn from it, as from a dry profaick compofition, are, I will venture to fay, no judges of poetry. With a fancy, fuch as Milton's, it must have been more difficult to forbear poetick decorations, than to furnish them; and a glaring profufion of ornament would, I conceive, have more decidedly betrayed the poeta fenefcens, than a want of it. The first book of the Paradife Loft abounds in fimilies, and is, in other respects, as elevated and fublime as any in the whole poem. But here the poet's plan was totally different. Though it may be faid of the Paradife Regained, as Longinus has faid of the Odysey, that it is the epilogue of the preceding poem, ftill the defign and conduct of it is as different, as that of the Georgicks from the Æneid. The Paradife Regained has fomething of the didactick character; it teaches not merely by the general moral, and by the character and conduct of its hero, but has also many pofitive precepts every where interfperfed. It is written for the moft part in a ftyle admirably condenfed, and with a ftudied referve of ornament: it is neverthelefs illuminated with beauties of the most captivating kind. Its leading feature throughout is that "excellence of compofition," which, as Lord Monboddo justly observes, fo eminently distinguished the writings of the ancients; and in which, of all modern authors, Milton most refembles them. At the commencement of this Book the argument of the Poem is confiderably advanced. Satan appears hopeless of success, but ftill perfifting in his enterprise. The defperate folly, and vain pertinacity, of this conduct, are perfectly well exemplified and illuftrated by three appofite fimilies, each fucceffively rifing in beauty above the other. The bufinefs of the Temptation being thus refumed, the Tempter takes our Lord to the western side of the mountain, and shows to him Italy; the fituation of which the poet marks with fingular accuracy, and, having traced the Tiber from its fource in the Apennines to Rome, he briefly enumerates the moft confpicuous objects that may be fuppofed at first to strike the eye on a diftant view of this celebrated city. Satan now becomes the speaker, and, in an admirably descriptive speech, points out more particularly the magnificent publick and private buildings of ancient Rome, defcanting on the splendour and power of its state, which he particularly exemplifies in the fuperb pomp with which their provincial magistrates proceed to their respective governments; and in the numerous ambassadours that arrive from every quarter of the habitable globe, to folicit the protection of Rome and the emperour. These are two pictures of the moft highly finished kind: the numerous figures are in motion before us; we abfolutely fee "Prætors, proconfuls, to their provinces Having obferved that fuch a power as this of Rome must reafonably be preferred to that of the Parthians, which he had dif played in the preceding Book, and that there were no other powers worth our Lord's attention, the Tempter now begins to apply all this to his purpose: by a ftrongly drawn description of the vicious and deteftable character of Tiberius, he shows how eafy it would be to expel him, to take poffeffion of his throne, and to free the Roman people from that flavery in which they were then held. This he proffers to accomplish for our Lord, whom he incites to accept the offer not only from a principle of ambition, but as the best means of securing to himself his promised inheritance, the throne of David. Qur Lord in reply fcarcely notices the arguments which Satan had been urging to him; and only takes occafion, from the defcription which had been given of the fplendour and magnificence of Rome, to arraign the fuperlatively extravagant luxury of the Romans, (poffibly not without a glance at the manners of our Court at that time,) and briefly to fum up thofe vices and mifconducts then rapidly advancing to their height, which foon brought on the decline, and in the end effectuated the fall, of the Roman power.-The next object, which our Author had in view in his propofed display of Heathen excellence, was a fcene of a different, but no lefs in toxicating, kind; Athens, in all its pride of literature and philo fophy. But he seems to have been well aware that an immediate tranfition, from the view of Rome to that of Athens, muft have diminished the effect of each. The intermediate fpace he has finely occupied. Our Lord, unmoved by the fplendid scene difplayed to captivate him, and having only been led by it to notice the vices and corruptions of the Heathen world, in the conclufion of his fpeech marks the vanity of all earthly power, by referring to his own future kingdom, as that which by fupernatural means fhould destroy all monarchies befides throughout the world." The Fiend hereupon urged by the violence of his defperation to an indifcretion, which he had not before showed, endeavours to enhance the value of his offers by declaring that the only terms, on which he would bestow them, were those of our Lord's falling down and worshipping him. To this our Saviour anfwers in a fpeech of marked abhorrence blended with contempt. This draws from Satan a reply of as much art, and as finely written, as any in the Poem; in which he endeavours, by an artful juftification of himself, to repair the indifcretion of his blafphemous propofal, and to foften the effect of it on our Bleffed Lord, fo far at least as to be enabled to refume the procefs of his enterprise. The tranfition, ver. 212, to his new ground of temptation is peculiarly happy having given up all profpect of working upon our Lord by the incitements of ambition, he now compliments him on his predilection for wisdom, and his early display of fuperiour knowledge; and recommends it to him, for the purpose of accomplishing his profeffed defign of reforming and converting mankind, to cultivate the literature and philofophy for which the most polished part of the Heathen world, and Greece in particular, was so emiThis leads to his View of Athens; which is given, with fingular effect, after the preceding dialogue, where the blaf. phemous rage of the Tempter, and the art with which he endeavours to recover it, ferve, by the variety of the fubject and the interefting nature of the circumftance, materially to relieve the preceding and enfuing defcriptions. The Tempter, resuming his ufual plausibility of language, now becomes the Hierophant of the scene, which he defcribes, as he shows it, with fo much accuracy, that we difcern every object diftinctly before us. The general view of Athens, with its moft celebrated buildings and nent. places of learned refort, is beautiful and original; and the defcription of its musicians, poets, orators, and philofophers, is given with the hand of a master, and with all the fond affection of an enthusiast in Greek literature. Our Lord's reply is no less admirable; particularly where he displays the fallacy of the Heathen philofophy, and points out the errours of its moft admired fects, with the greatest acuteness of argument, and at the same time in a noble ftrain of poetry. His contrafting the poetry and policy of the Hebrews with those of the Greeks, on the ground of what had been advanced by fome learned men in this refpect, is highly confiftent with the argument of this Poem; and is fo far from originating in that fanaticifm, with which some of his ableft commentators have chofen to brand our Author, that it ferves duly to counterbalance his preceding eloge on heathen literature. The next speech of the Tempter, ver. 368, is one of those mafterpieces of plain compofition, for which Milton is fo eminent: the fufferings of our Bleffed Lord are therein foretold with an energetick brevity, that, on fuch fubjects, has an effect fuperiour to the most flowery and decorated language. The dialogue here ceases for a fhort time. The poet, in his own perfon, now describes, ver. 394, &c. our Lord's being conveyed by Satan back to the wilderness, the ftorm which the Tempter there raises, the tre mendous night which our Lord paffes, and the beautiful morning by which it is fucceeded :-how exquifitely fublime and beautiful is all this! -Yet this is the Poem, from which the ardent admirers of Milton's other works turn, as from a cold, unintereft. ing compofition, the produce of his dotage,—of a palfied hand, no longer able to hold the pencil of poetry!The dialogue which enfues, is worthy of this Book, and carries on the subject in the best manner to its concluding Temptation. The last fpeech of Satan is particularly deferving out notice. The Fiend, now "fwoln with rage" at the repeated failure of his attacks, breaks out into a language of grofs infult, profeffing to doubt whether our Lord, whom he had before frequently addressed as the Son of God, is in any way entitled to that appellation. From this wantonly blafphemous obloquy he ftill recovers himself, and offers, with his ufual art, a qualification of what he had last said, and a juftification of his perfifting in further attempts on the Divine Perfon, by whom he had been fo conftantly foiled. These |