He, who with all Heaven's heraldry whilere Sore doth begin His infancy to seize ! O more exceeding love, or law more just? Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above And that great covenant which we still transgress And the full wrath beside Of vengeful justice, bore for our excess; And seals obedience first, with wounding smart, Huge pangs and strong Will pierce more near his heart. ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT, DYING OF A COUGH. O FAIREST flower, no sooner blown but blasted, That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss, For since grim Aquilo, his charioteer, By boisterous rape the Athenian damsel got, obvious objection, that material food does not belong to intellectual or ethereal substances: and to avoid certain circumstances, humiliating and disgraceful to the dignity of the angelic nature, the natural consequences of concoction and digestion, he forms a new theory of transpiration, suggested by the wonderful transmutations of chemistry. In the present instance, he wishes to make angels weep: but, being of the essence of fire, they cannot produce water: at length, he recollects that fire may produce burning sighs. It is debated in Thomas Aquinas whether angels have not, or may not have beards.-T. WARTON. b0 more exceeding love, or law more just? Just law indeed, but more exceeding love! Virgil, "Eel." viii. 49 :— Crudelis mater magis, an puer improbus ille? Improbus ille puer; crudelis tu quoque mater.-RICHARDSON. c Emptied his glory. An expression taken from Philipp. ii. 7, but not as in our translation,-" He made himself of no reputation;" but, as it is in the original, "He emptied himself.”— NEWTON. d Written in 1625, and first inserted in edition 1673. He was now seventeen.-T. WARTON. e For since grim Aquilo, &c. Boreas ravished Orithyia. Ovid. "Metam." vi. 677.-T. WARTON. He thought it touch'd his deity full near, Of long-uncoupled bed and childless eld, Which, 'mongst the wanton gods, a foul reproach was held So, mounting up in icy-pearled car, Through middle empire of the freezing air He wander'd long, till thee he spied from far; But, all unwares, with his cold-kind embrace Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate; But then transform'd him to a purple flower: Alack, that so to change thee Winter had no power! Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead, Or that thy corse corrupts in earth's dark womb, O, no! for something in thy face did shine Resolve me then, O soul most surely blest, O, say me true, if thou wert mortal wight, Wert thou some star, which from the ruin'd roof 1 For so Apollo, with unweeting hand, Whilom did slay his dearly-loved mate, From these lines one would suspect, although it does not immediately follow, that a boy was the subject of the Ode: but in the last stanza the poet says expressly:Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child, Her false-imagined loss cease to lament. Yet, in the eighth stanza the person lamented is alternately supposed to have been sent down to earth in the shape of two divinities, one of whom is styled a "just maid," and the other a "sweet-smiling youth." But the child was certainly a niece, a daughter of Milton's sister Philips, and probably her first child.-T. WARTON. If such there were. He should have said "are," if the rhyme had permitted.-HURD. Which careful Jove in Nature's true behoof Of sheeny Heaven, and thou some goddess fled, Or wert thou that just maid, who once before Or that crown'd matron sage, white-robed Truth? 65 Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some good? Or wert thou of the golden-winged host, To scorn the sordid world, and unto heaven aspire? But, O! why didst thou not stay here below To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart? But thou canst best perform that office where thou art. Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child, This, if thou do, he will an offspring give, That, till the world's last end shall make thy name to live. h To turn swift-rushing black Perdition hence, Or drive away the slaughtering Pestilence. 60 65 10 75 Among the blessings, which the "heaven-loved" innocence of this child might have imparted, by remaining upon earth, the application to present circumstances, the supposition that she might have averted the pestilence now raging in the kingdom, is happily and beautifully conceived. On the whole, from a boy of seventeen, this Ode is an extraordinary effort of fancy, expression, and versification: even in the conceits, which are many, we perceive strong and peculiar marks of genius. I think Milton has here given a very remarkable specimen of his ability to succeed in the Spenserian stanza. He moves with great ease and address amidst the embarrassment of a frequent return of rhyme.-T. WARTON. 45 ON TIME. FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race; Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain! For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd, And last of all thy greedy self consumed, Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss 5 10 With an individual' kiss; And Joy shall overtake us as a flood; When every thing that is sincerely good And perfectly divine, When Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine About the supreme throne Of him, to whose happy-making sight alone When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb; Then, all this earthy grossness quit, Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time.k AT A SOLEMN MUSICK. BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy; i In Milton's manuscript, written with his own hand, fol. 8, the title is, "On Time. To be set on a clock-case."-T. WARTON. i Individual. Eternal, inseparable. As in "Paradise Lost," b. iv. 485, b. v. 610.-T. WARTON. * Milton could not help applying the most solemn and mysterious truths of religion on all subjects and occasions. He has here introduced the beatific vision, and the investiture of the soul with a robe of stars, into an inscription on a clock-case. Perhaps something more moral, more plain and intelligible, would have been more proper. John Bunyan, if capable of rhyming, would have written such an inscription for a clockcase. The latter part of these lines may be thought wonderfully sublime; but it is in the cant of the times. The poet should be distinguished from the enthusiast.-T. WARTON. Yet still, I think, Milton is here no enthusiast: the triumph, which he mentions, will certainly be the triumph of every sincere Christian.-TODD. 1 That undisturbed song of pure concent, &c. The "undisturbed song of pure concent" is the diapason of the music of the spheres, to which, in Plato's system, God himself listens.-T. WARTON. With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee ; Singing everlastingly : That we on earth, with undiscording voice, As once we did, till disproportion'd sin Jarr'd against Nature's chime, and with harsh din To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd In first obedience, and their state of good. O, may we soon again renew that song, And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light! AN EPITAPH ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER. THIS rich marble doth inter The honour'd wife of Winchester, A viscount's daughter, an earl's heir, Added to her noble birth, More than she could own from earth. After so short time of breath, To house with darkness and with death. Yet had the number of her days Been as complete as was her praise, In giving limit to her life. Her high birth, and her graces sweet, m That we on earth, &c. Perhaps there are no finer lines in Milton, less obscured by conceit, less embarrassed by affected expressions, and less weakened by pompous epithets: and in this perspicuous and simple style are conveyed some of the noblest ideas of a most sublime philosophy, heightened by metaphors and allusions suitable to the subject.-T. WARTON. n Besides what her virtues fair, &c. In Howell's entertaining Letters, there is one to this lady, the Lady Jane Savage, Marchioness of Winchester, dated March 15, 1626. He says, he assisted her in learning Spanish; and that Nature and the Graces exhausted all their treasure and skill, in "framing this exact model of female perfection."-T. WARTON. o Her high birth, and her graces sweet, She was the wife of John, Marquis of Winchester, a conspicuous loyalist in the reign |