the manner of Euripides; and the descending Spirit that prologuizes, makes the finest and grandest opening of any theatrical piece that I know, ancient or modern. The conduct of the piece is answerable to the beginning, and the versification of it is finely varied by short and long verses, blank and rhyming, and the sweetest songs that ever were composed; nor do I know anything in English poetry comparable to it in this respect, except Dryden's "Ode on St. Cecilia;" which, for the length of the piece, has all the variety of versification that can well be imagined. As to the style of "Comus," it is more elevated, I think, than that of any of his writings, and so much above what is written at present that I am inclined to make the same distinction in the English language, that Homer made of the Greek in his time; and to say that Milton's language is the language of the gods; whereas we of this age speak and write the language of mere mortal men. If the "Comus" was to be properly represented, with all the dear rations which it requires, of machinery, scenery, dress, music, and dancing, it would be the finest exhibition that ever was seen upon any modern stage: but I am afraid, with all these, the principal part would be still wanting; mean players that could wield the language of Milton, and pronounce those fine periods of his, by which he has contrived to give his poetry the beauty of the finest prose composition, and without which there can be nothing great or noble in composition of any kind. Or if we could find players who had breath and organs (for these, as well as other things, begin to fail in this generation), and sense and taste enough, properly to pronounce such periods, I doubt it would not be easy to find an audience that could relish them, or perhaps, they would not have attention and comprehension sufficient to connect the sense of them. being accustomed to that trim, spruce, short cut of a style, which Tacitus, and his modern imitators, French and English, have made fashionable.-LORD MONBODDO. In poetical and picturesque circumstances, in wildness of fancy and imagery, and in weight of sentiment and moral, how greatly does "Comus" excel the "Aminta" of Tasso, and the "Pastor Fido" of Guarini! which Milton, from his love of Italian poetry must frequently have read. "Comus" like these two, is a pastoral drama; and I have often wondered it is not mentioned as such.-Jos. Warton. We must not read "Comus" with an eye to the stage, or with the expectation of dramatic propriety. Under this restriction the absurdity of the Spirit speaking to an audience in a solitary forest at midnight, and the want of reciprocation in the dialogue, are overlooked. "Comus" is a suite of speeches, not interesting by discrimination of character; not conveying a variety of incidents, nor gradually exciting curiosity: but perpetually attracting attention by sublime sentiment, by fanciful imagery of the richest vein, by an exuberance of picturesque description, poetical allusion, and ornamental expression. While it widely departs from the grotesque anomalies of the mask now in fashion, it does not nearly approach to the natural constitution of a regular play. There is a chastity in the application and conduct of the machinery; and Sabrina is introduced with much address after the Brothers had imprudently suffered the enchantment of Comus to take effect. This is the first time the old English mask was in some degree reduced to the principles and form of a rational composition; yet still it could not but retain some of its arbitrary peculiarities. The poet had here properly no more to do with the pathos of tragedy, than the character of comedy; nor do I know that he was confined to the usual modes of theatrical interlocution. A great critic observes, that the dispute between the Lady and Comus is the most animated and affecting scene of the piece. Perhaps some other scenes, either consisting only of a soliloquy, or of three or four speeches only, have afforded more true pleasure. The same critic thinks, that in all the moral dialogue, although the language is poetical, and the sentiments generous, something is still wanting to "allure attention." But surely, in such passages, sentiments so generous, and language so poetical, are sufficient to rouse all our feelings. For this reason I cannot admit his position, that "Comus" is a drama "tediously instructive:" and if, as he says, to these ethical discussions "the auditor listens as to a lecture, without passion, without anxiety," yet he listens with elevation and delight. The action is said to be improbable; because the Brothers, when their sister sinks with fatigue in a pathless wilderness, wander both away together in search of berries too far to find their way back; and leave a helpless lady to all the sadness and danger of golitude. But here is no desertion or neglect of the Lady: the Brothers leave their sister under a spreading pine in the forest, fainting for refreshment: they go to procure berries or some other fruit for her immediate relief; and, with great probability, lose their way in going or returning; to say nothing of the poet's art, in making this very natural and simple accident to be productive of the distress, which forms the future business and complication of the fable. It is certainly a fault that the Brothers, although with some indications of anxiety, should enter with so much tranquillity, when their sister is lost, and at leisure pronounce philosophical panegyrics on the mysteries of virginity but we must not too scrupulously attend to the exigencies of situation, na : suffer ourselves to suppose that we are reading a play, which Milton did not mean t write. These splendid insertions will please, independently of the story, from which however they result; and their elegance and sublimity will overbalance their want of place. In a Greek tragedy, such sentimental harangues, arising from the subject, would have been given to a Chorus. On the whole, whether "Comus" be or be not deficient as a drama, whether it is considered as an epic drama, a series of lines, a mask, or a poem, I am of opinion, that our author is here only inferior to his own "Paradise Lost."-T. WAarton. Milton's "Comus" is, in my judgment, the most beautiful and perfect poem of that sublime genius.—Wakefield. Perhaps the conduct and conversation of the Brothers, which Mr. Warton blames in the preceding note, may not be altogether indefensible. They have lost their way in a forest at night, and are in "want of light and noise:" it would now be dangerous for them to run about an unknown wilderness; and if they should separate, in order to seek their sister, they might lose each other: in the uncertainty of what was their best plan, they therefore naturally wait, expecting to hear perhaps the cry of their lost sister, or some noise to which they would have directed their step. The Younger Brother anxiously expresses his apprehensions for his sister: the Elder, in reply, trusts that she ls not in danger; and, instead of giving way to those fears, which the Younger repeats, expatiates on the strength of chastity; by the illustration of which argument he confidently maintains the hope of their sister's safety, while he beguiles the perplexity of their own situation. It has been observed, that "Comus" is not calculated to shine in theatric exhibition for those very reasons which constitute its essential and specific merit. The "Pastor Fido" of Guarini, which also ravishes the reader, and "The Faithful Shepherdess" of Fletcher, could not succeed upon the stage. However, it is sufficient, that "Comus" displays the true sources of poetical delight and moral instruction, in its charming imagery, in its original conceptions, in its sublime diction, in its virtuous sentiments. Its few inaccuracies weigh but as dust in the balance against its general merit: and, in short, if I may be allowed respectfully to differ from the high authority of a preceding note, I am of opinion, that this enchanting poem, or pastoral drama, is both gracefully splendid. and delightfully instructive.-TODD. : Dr. Johnson is more inclined to be favourable to "Comus than to any other poom of Milton he begins fairly enough, and gives it some of the praises which justly belong to it; but he gradually returns to his captious ill-humour, and ends with saying that it is "inelegantly splendid and tediously instructive." After this close, what is the value of his praise? If it is truly poetical, it cannot be inelegantly splendid! Milton's decorations are never out of place in this Mask: it contains not a single image or epithet which does not fill the reader of taste with delight: it contains no passion, but he did not intend it. Masks were always designed to play with the fancy; and from beginning to end, without the abatement of a single line, Milton has effected this. Such a series of rural and pastoral picturesqueness was never before brought together. It is worthy of remark with what admirable skill the poet gathered from all his predecessora, Spenser, Shakspeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, Drayton, and twenty more, every happy adjective of description and imaginative force, and combined them into the texture of his own fiction. As his power of creation was great, so was his memory both exact and abundant: whatever he borrowed, he made new by the fervid power of amalgamation. The flowing strains of the whole poem are eloquent and beautiful, enriched with phi losophic moral learning, and exalted by pure, generous, and lofty sentiment. Thus : Again, v. 476 : Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould How charming is divine philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, This poem is stated to have been the congenial prelude to "Paradise Lost." In that opinion I do not concur: the fable is too gay; the images are too full of delight: all the topics lie too much upon the surface. There is a rich invention, but it has not the depth, or strength. or sublimity of "Paradise Lost." This is playful; that is full of Bolemnity and awe. More than that, though the combination gives originality to "Comus," yet it has nothing like the degree of originality of the great epic; of which a large portion of the invention has no prototype. Nor do I admit that even the lan guage is of the same structure: it is, for the most part, more fluent and soft; it is, in short, pastoral, while the other is heroic. The sort of spiritual beings, which is introduced into "Comus," is of a much more humble degree than those of the latter poems. These invisible inhabitants of the earth gratify the gay freaks of our imagination: they do not excite the profounder move ments of the soul, and fill us with a sublime terror, like Satan and his crews of fallen angels. In the long interval between the composition of the Mask, and of "Paradise Lost," the wings of Milton's genius had expanded, and strengthened an hundred-fold: he was no longer a shepherd, of whose enchanting pipe the beautiful echoes resounded through the woods; but a sage, an oracle, and a prophet, with the inspired tongue of a divinity. I have observed, from the words of several of the critics here cited, that they have an opinion of poetry which I cannot believe to be quite correct. They seem to assume that picturesque imagery, drawn from the surface of natural scenery, combined with a sort of wild fiction of story which goes beyond the bounds of reality, constitutes the primary and most unmixed essence of poetry.-I admit that it does constitute very pure and beautiful poetry; but not the highest. The highest must go beyond sublunary objects: there must be an invention of character, not only ideal, but sublime: there must be intermingled intellectual and argumentative greatness: there must be a fable, which embodies abstract truths of severe and mighty import: there must be distinct characters, elevated by grand passions, each acting according to his own appro"riate impulses, and all going forward in regular progression, according to the rules of probability, to the accomplishment of the end proposed. This has been effected by Milton's epics; but there certainly is an implication on the part of these critics, that these compositions have not as much unmixed and positive poetry as the "Comus;" and this, because of the greater variety of their ingredients, and the introduction of other matter besides imagery and description. Such a reason shows the narrowness of their conception of this divine art. All the finest passages of poetry are complex, in which the heart and understanding have essential co-operation: the bard must imagine what the heart must colour, or perhaps instigate, and the understanding enlighten. Imagery is material, and will not do alone; there must be the union of spirituality with it. The fault of a great part of Pope is, that there is nothing but reasoning, without either imagination or sentiment. But, to return to "Comus:" let it not be inferred that I mean in the smallest degree to detract from its merits. I only wish to protest against rules and definitions injurious to still greater poems of the same inimitable author! "Comus" is perfect in its kind; out a pastoral Mask cannot be put upon a footing with a grand heroic poem. Milton, when he wrote these strains, was in the very opening of early youth, not more than twenty-four years old. Then all was, The purple light of love, and bloom of young desires. The woods and the rivers and all nature then seemed to his eyes to smile with delight; but as years passed along, and he saw the obliquities of mankind and the sorrows of life, his lays took a deeper tone, and his music was more magnificent and soul-moving The Lady and the two Brothers in "Comus" are all calm philosophy, and tender, hope ful confidence: to them the dawn is joy; the night-fall, peaceful slumbers: the demons of darkness dare not hurt them: the Lady has faith, even when left alone amid the dangers of a haunted forest. O fond imagination! O beamy visionariness of innocent inexperience! ARCADES: PART OF A MASK, PRESENTED AT HAREFIELD, BEFORE ALICE, COUNTESS DOWAGER OF DERBY. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. THE same character may be given of the style, sentiments, imagery, and tone of these Fragments, as far as they go, as of " Comus." Warton observes- "Unquestionably this Mask was a much longer performance. Milton seems only to have written the poetical part, consisting of these three songs, and the recitative soliloquy of the Genius; the rest was probably prose and machinery. In many of Jonson's Marques, the poet but rarely appears, amidst a cumbersome exhibition of heathen gods and mythology. 'Arcades' was acted by persons of Lady Derby's own family. The Genius says, v. 26: Stay gentle swains; for, though in this disguise, that is, although ye are disguised like rustics, I perceive that ye are of honourable Many parts of the soliloquy of the Genius are very highly poetical, as the passage beginning at v. 56: And early, ere the odorous breath of morn Awakes the slumbering leaves, or tassel'd horn With puissant words, and murmurs made to bless. PRELIMINARY NOTES ON ARCADES. HAREFIELD. WE are told by Norden, an accurate topographer, who wrote about the year 1590, in his "Speculum Britanniæ," under Harefield in Middlesex, "There sir Edmond Anderson, knight, lord chief justice of the common pleas, hath a faire house standing on the edge of the hill; the riuer Colne passing neare the same, through the pleasant meddowes and sweet pastures, yealding both delight and profit." "Spec. Brit." p. i. page 21. I viewed this house a few years ago, when it was for the most part remaining in its original state: it has since been pulled down: the porters' lodges on each side of the gateway are converted into a commodious dwelling-house: it is near Uxbridge: and Milton, when he wrote "Arcades," was still living with his father at Horton near Colnebrook in the same neighbourhood. He mentions the singular felicity he had in vain antici. pated, in the society of his friend Deodate, on the shady banks of the river Colne. "Epitaph. Damon." v. 149. Imus, et arguta paulum recubamus in umbra, Amidst the fruitful and delightful scenes of this river, the nymphs and shepherds had no reason to regret, as in the third Song, the Arcadian "Ladon's lilied banks."-T WARTON See an account of Harefield, in Lysons' "Environs of London," with a print of the Countess of Derby's monument there. It is probable that these "persons of Lady Derby's own family" were the children of the Earl of Bridgewater, who had married a daughter of the Countess: and "Arcades perhans was acted the year before "Comus." In 1632 Milton went to reside with his father at Horton, in the neighbourhood of Harefield; and might have been soon afterwards desired to compose this dramatic entertainment. Lord Brackley, Mr. Thomas Egerton, and Lady Alice Egerton, the performers in "Comus," appeared upon the stage at court in 1633, in Carew's Mask of "Cœlum Britannicum;" and "Arcades" might be a domestic exhibition somewhat prior to that of Carew's Mask; as being intended perhaps to try, and encourage, their confidence and skill, before they performed more publicly. Among the manuscripts that once belonged to Lord Chancellor Egerton, and which are now in the possession of the Marquis of Stafford, there is a curious illustration of domestic manners, on three folio sheets, in an "Account of disbursements for Harefield, where the Lord Keeper Egerton and the Countess of Derby resided in 1602.” -TODD. COUNTESS DOWAGER OF DERBY. ALICE, Countess Dowager of Derby, married Ferdinando Lord Strange; who, on the death of his father Henry, in 1594, became Earl of Derby, but died the next year. She was the sixth daughter of Sir John Spenser of Althorp in Northamptonshire: she was afterwards married [in 1600] to Lord Chancellor Egerton, who died in 1617. See Dugd. Baron. iii. 251, 414. She died Jan. 26, 1635-6, and was buried at Harefield: "Arcades" could not therefore have been acted after 1636. Milton is not the only great English poet who has celebrated this Countess Dowager of Derby. She was the sixth daughter, as we have seen, of Sir John Spenser, with whose family Spenser the poet claimed an alliance. In his "Colin Clout's come home again," written about 1595, he mentions her under the appellation of Amaryllis, with her sisters Phyllis, or Elizabeth; and Charillis, or Anne; these three of Sir John Spenser's daughters being best known at court. See v. 546. Ne less praise-worthie are the sisters three, The honor of the noble familie, Of which I meanest boast myselfe to be; And most that unto them I am so nie: After a panegyric on the first two, he next comes to Amaryllis, or Alice, our Lady, the But Amaryllis, whether fortunate Or else vnfortunate may I aread, That freed is from Cupids yoke by fate, Since which she doth new bands aduenture dread.- In this or that praysd diuersly apart, In her thou maiest them all assembled see, And sealed vp in the threasure of her heart. And in the same poem, he thus apostrophizes to her late husband earl Ferdinand, under Amyntas quite is gone, and lies full low, And to the same Lady Alice, when Lady Strange, before her husband Ferdinand's su |