LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS 
 
 O F 
 
 MILTON 
 
 TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE. 
 
G RALC 1 \ M V, ONIDEM 
 
 IB I ROMA MAR ON EM 
 
 UTRIQUE PAREMi 
 
 PARADISE REGAINED 
 
 JOHN MILTON 
 
 . A.Ravnbacii 
 
 FiLbiUh&L March 20^18 oB .by J J’dhnson. StHaulr Ionian. and/ I. Sc/up'ayc Gudicsta . 
 
 J.Flaizman HA. cLel. 
 
LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS 
 
 O F 
 
 MILTON 
 
 TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE , 
 
 AND A FRAGMENT OF A 
 
 COMMENTARY ON PARADISE LOST, 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER , Esqr. 
 
 WITH A 
 
 PREFACE BY THE EDITOR, 
 
 AND 
 
 NOTES OF V A Jl IOUS AUTHORS. 
 
 De studiis dicam - - - in quibus - - omne otiosum tempus contrivimus. Quarum rerum 
 recordatio et memoria, si una cum illo occidisset, desiderium conjunct simi atque amantissimi 
 
 erre nul o modo possem. sed nec ilia extincta sunt, alunturque potius et augentur cogitatione 
 et memoria. 
 
 Cicero. 
 
 PRINTED BY J. SEAGRAVE, CHICHESTER, 
 
 For J. J O H N S O N, Saint Paul's Church Yard, and R. H. EVANS, 
 
 Pall-Mall, London. 
 
 1808 . 
 
T O 
 
 JOSEPH HILL, ESQR. 
 
 Dear Sir , 
 
 Should I happen to surprize , I trust 
 I shall not displease you , by the liberty , I take , of prefixing 
 your name to this Volume; especially when I confess , that 
 I do so to gratify my own feelings of respect , ow/y for 
 
 the talents , but also for the attachments , of that excellent 
 person , delighted in saying (both in prose and rhyme) 
 
 that he found in you a long-tried and invariable friend , 
 tfAro’ «// the vicissitudes of his troubled life . 
 
 I shall esteem myself fortunate, if you feel, that 
 I have succeeded in my wish of shewing an affection , 
 
VI 
 
 DEDICATION . 
 
 warm and faithful like your own, for his various merits 5 by 
 making a worthy use of the many favours , which you , 
 and his admirable relation , owr /o,s£ lamented friend , 
 
 Lady Hesketh , have most kindly bestowed 
 
 ON YOUR HIGHLY OBLIGED , 
 
 AND VERY GRATEFUL 
 
 FRIEND AND SERVANT , 
 
 Fflpiizm, 
 
 February 1808 . 
 
 JF. HAYLEY. 
 
4 
 
 preface. 
 
 F E W duties of friendship can be more sacred, or more 
 soothing, to an affectionate spirit, than the duty of 
 paying due regard to those posthumous writings of an 
 illustrious author, on which he had bestowed conside- 
 rable time and attention, especially if he had finished 
 (and such is the present case) the most delicate, and 
 arduous, portion of his work, in a manner, that ex- 
 cited the sincere applause of his friends. 
 
 The writings of Cowper, that relate to Milton, 
 can hardly fail to interest the public: In my own bosom 
 they have a peculiar tendency to excite a variety of 
 emotions. I feel an inexhaustible delight in contem- 
 plating the excellence of these Translations, and in re- 
 flecting, they were the source of that intimacy with the 
 Poet of Weston, which I justly consider among the 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 viii 
 
 primary blessings of my life. Indeed it is hardly pos- 
 sible to over-value the esteem and fraternal regard of a 
 man, whose heart was distinguished by its purity, and 
 whose mind was pre-eminent in the most exquisite of 
 mental endowments. 
 
 In recollecting several incidents, that occurred, 
 while Cowper was anxious concerning his compositions 
 relating to Milton, I cannot but feel some degree of 
 regret, that his engagements in a suspended project 
 appeared sometimes to throw a load of vexation, and 
 embarassment, on his tender spirit; but all sensations of 
 regret are absorbed in my animating hope, and persua- 
 sion, that the ultimate destination of his interrupted 
 Miltonic work will be such, as may afford him the 
 highest gratification, if the departed spirits of “ just 
 men made perfect” are conscious of the fate, that is 
 assigned to their posthumous productions. 
 
 Could the benevolent mind of Cowper have 
 foreseen, that his writings, here imparted to the public, 
 would be suspended in his life-time, that, in a subse- 
 quent period, they might be rendered beneficial to his 
 orphan Godchild by the favor of his country, his com- 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 IX 
 
 passionate heart would have exulted in such a destina- 
 tion of his work. Such, I trust, it is now on the point 
 of fulfilling*, for as his numerous admirers are already 
 apprized of the desirable purpose, which the success of 
 this publication will promote, I persuade myself it will 
 find many liberal patrons in that host of readers, whose 
 hearts have been warmed by the fervency of the poet, 
 and are thus prepared to take a generous pleasure in 
 befriending* an object of his regard. 
 
 I consider it as a duty incumbent on me to pre- 
 fix a brief history of the writings contained in this vo- 
 lume; and that I may render my account of them the 
 more satisfactory, I shall seize every opportunity of 
 giving it in the words of my departed friend. 
 
 In the autumn of 1791 he was invited by his 
 bookseller, Mr. Johnson, to eng*ag*e in the project of 
 preparing a magnificent edition of Milton. The pro- 
 posal had much to please, and little to alarm his fancy; 
 for he esteemed both the intelligence, and the integrity 
 of the person, who was to conduct the business; and he 
 was animated with a fervent desire to promote the glory 
 
 b 
 
X 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 of his favourite poet. Yet such was the genuine modesty, 
 with which Cowper used to contemplate his own ex- 
 traordinary mental powers, that his native diffidence 
 induced him at first to decline the invitation. A let- 
 ter that he wrote to Mr. Johnson, after thinking more 
 deliberately on the subject, contains the following ex- 
 pressions. 
 
 “ Weston, Sept. 6, 1791. 
 
 I have at length brought myself to some- 
 thing like a hope, that I may perhaps prove equal 
 to this business, and in consequence have resolved to 
 attempt it: but must depend on you for my implements. 
 Newton’s edition I have, but have nothing more.” 
 
 Writing to his friend, Mr. Rose, in the same 
 month, he thus completely explains the extent of his 
 new undertaking. 
 
 46 The Lodge, Sept. 14, 1791. 
 
 You, who know how necessary it is for me 
 to be employed, will be glad to hear, that I have 
 been called to a new literary engagement, and that I 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 XI 
 
 have not refused it. A Milton, that is to rival, and if 
 possible to exceed in splendor Boydell’s Shakespeare, is 
 in contemplation; and I am in the editor’s office. Fuseli 
 is the painter. My business will be to select notes from 
 others, and to write original notes; to translate the 
 Latin and Italian poems, and to give a correct text. I 
 shall have years allowed me to do it in.” 
 
 Altho’ the translator seems, in this letter, to 
 have taken some pleasure in reflecting, that a great 
 length of time was to be allowed for his performance, 
 he had a mind naturally fervent, that loved to grapple 
 itself, without delay, to a laudable enterprize, and not 
 to recede from its work, while any part of it remained 
 unfinished. With this spirit he immediately began his 
 translations; and in November 1791, he thus informed 
 his friend Mr. Hill, how he advanced in the work. 
 
 “ I have made a considerable progress in the 
 translation of Milton’s Latin poems. I give them, as 
 opportunity offers, all the variety of measure, that I 
 can. Some I render in heroic rhyme, some in stanzas, 
 some in seven, and some in eight syllable measure, and 
 
 b 2 
 
Xll 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 some in blank verse. They will altogether, I hope, 
 make an agreeable miscellany for the English reader. 
 They are certainly good in themselves, and cannot fail 
 to please, but by the fault of the translator.” 
 
 Cowper proceeded so chearfully in his work, 
 that altho’ he did not begin the series of his translations 
 till towards the middle of September 1791, he had nearly 
 completed the whole before the end of that year. 
 
 On the 10th of December he gave the follow- 
 ing account of himself, and of his advancing perfor- 
 mance, to his friend Mr. Hurdis. 
 
 “ I am much obliged to you for wishing that I 
 were employed in some original work, rather than in 
 translation. To tell the truth, I am of your mind; and 
 unless I could find another Homer, I shall promise (I 
 believe) and vow, when I have done with Milton, never 
 to translate again. But my veneration for our great 
 countryman is equal to what I feel for the Grecian ; and 
 consequently I am happy, and feel myself honorably em- 
 ployed whatever I can do for Milton. I am now tran- 
 slating his Epitaphium Damonis; a pastoral, in my judge- 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 xiii 
 
 ment, equal to any of Virgil’s bucolics, but of which 
 Dr. Johnson (so it pleased him) speaks as I remember 
 contemptuously. Rut he, who never saw any beauty in 
 a rural scene, was not likely to have much taste for a 
 pastoral . — In pace qniescat /” 
 
 It appears probable from a subsequent letter to 
 the same friend, that the whole series of Cowper’s tran- 
 slations from Milton was completed in February 1792, 
 for in that month he said to Mr. Hurdis: 
 
 “ Milton at present engrosses me altogether. 
 His Latin pieces I have translated, and have begun with 
 the Italian: These are few, and will not detain me long. 
 I shall then proceed immediately to deliberate upon, and 
 to settle, the plan of my commentary, which I have 
 hitherto had but little time to consider.” 
 
 Letters written before my first acquaintance 
 with Cowper, have supplied the preceding account of 
 the origin, and progress, of this posthumous publican 
 tion ; what I have yet to add concerning it will chiefly 
 consist of a few particulars, that I learned in the course 
 of my own intimacy with Cowper. 
 
XIV 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 That intimacy commenced in consequence of my 
 writing to him in February 1792, on hearing, that we 
 had been represented as rival biographers. 
 
 His reply to my first letter was liberal, and 
 friendly, in so high a degree, that I shall indulge an 
 honest pride in transcribing the following passage. 
 
 “ I rejoice that you are employed to do justice 
 to the character of a man, perhaps the chief of all, who 
 have ever done honour to our country, and whose very 
 name I reverence. Here we shall not clash, or inter- 
 fere with each other, for a life of Milton is no part of 
 my bargain. In short we will cope with each other in 
 nothing, but that affection, which you avow for me, 
 unworthy of it as I am, and which your character 
 and writings, and especially your kind letter have 
 begotten in my heart for you.” 
 
 “ Every remark of yours on Milton will be 
 highly valued by me.” 
 
 The kindness of Cowper made me anxious to 
 afford him all the encouragement, and assistance, in his 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 xv 
 
 new undertaking*, that sympathy and friendship could 
 supply. As Milton was to each of us an object of con- 
 stant admiration, and at this time of immediate study, 
 for different purposes, we mutually took a pleasure in 
 animating each other to the prosecution of our respec- 
 tive works. In the summer of 1792, when Cowper was 
 my guest in Sussex, our attention was doubly devoted to 
 Milton, for after fulfilling my promise of imparting to 
 my friend that life of our favourite poet, in which I had 
 then made some progress, I had the great pleasure of 
 revising with him all his translations from the Latin and 
 Italian poetry of Milton. We compared the versions 
 continually with the originals, and the excellent tran- 
 slator in the course of this revisal made many and con- 
 siderable improvements in various parts of his work. Let 
 me here remark, to the honour of Cowper, that with all 
 his poetic powers, he was ever willing to receive, and 
 to avail himself of friendly criticism, with a spirit 
 equally modest and grateful. Our sentiments concern- 
 ing the many compositions which we examined together 
 were so happily in unison, that we had no difference of 
 opinion upon any one poem of the di versified collection ; 
 and we most cordially agreed in thinking, that the 
 verses addressed by Milton to his father are the most 
 
XY1 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 exquisite, and delightful, in the whole series of his Latin 
 poetry. They have a peculiar tenderness and dignity 
 of sentiment, united to the most delicate and powerful 
 expression. 
 
 Of this charming poem Dr. Symmons has added 
 a translation in rhyme to his animated life of Milton. 
 His translation has considerable merit; but my opinion 
 of the respectable author’s taste and candour is such, 
 that I persuade myself he will agree with me in think- 
 ing the blank verse of Cowper, in expressing the same 
 ideas, has more happily caught the sweetness and spirit 
 of the original. 
 
 Another favourite of Cowper’s, the Epitaphium 
 Damonis, has been translated in part, and elegantly 
 translated, by Langhorne; but, I trust, I am not influ- 
 enced by any undue partiality in preferring the version 
 of my friend. 
 
 He finished his revisal, and correction, of all 
 the translated poems, while he was with me in Sussex: 
 but at a period much later, and when his spirits had 
 suffered the most deplorable depression, his compassi- 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 xvii 
 
 onate kinsman, with whom he resided at Dereham, con- 
 trived to amuse his mind by reading’ to him these tran- 
 slations, and by inducing* him to retouch a few passages. 
 It is worthy of remark, that, dejected as he was, he made 
 a considerable improvement in his conclusion of the 
 ode to Rouse, by new-modelling the four last lines. 
 His kind relation added a memorandum with a pencil at 
 the bottom of the page, by which it appears, that the 
 improvement, I speak of, was made by Cowper on the 
 22d of August, 1798, a time, when the calamitous state 
 of his health gave a peculiar interest to every exertion 
 of his mind. 
 
 But to return to the happier season, when he 
 spoke ch ear fully at Eartham of what he had already 
 done, and what he intended to do, as an editor of Milton ! 
 Altho’ the translations were completed, the more bur- 
 thensome part of his undertaking*, a projected commen- 
 tary, was hardly begun — but to this he looked forward 
 with chearful hopes, and he thus expressed his own 
 feelings on the subject in Avriting to Mr. Johnson. 
 
 c 
 
XV111 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 “ Eartham, August 21 , 1792. 
 
 - - - - Since our arrival here Mrs. Unwin has 
 seemed daily to recover strength, so that I have hopes 
 of carrying her back, to Weston about the middle of 
 September, in such a state of health as will consist with 
 a little more diligence and constancy on my part in the 
 work, you have given me to do. 
 
 I thank you for setting my heart at rest from the 
 disquietude, I felt, when I wrote last, on the score of 
 time, lest I should not be ready at the moment. I long 
 nevertheless to be making a progress; and shall not allow 
 myself to loiter merely because I am not pressed. In truth 
 I have no wish at present more sincere, or ardent, than 
 to finish my Miltonic labours, that I may find myself at 
 full leisure for poetry, having learned by experience, 
 that to divide my attention between two objects, is to 
 give neither of them a sufficient share of it!” 
 
 When Cowper first thought of forming a com- 
 mentary on Milton, he felt the want of a proper collec- 
 tion of books for that purpose : but he had several friends, 
 who took a pleasure in the hope of supplying him with 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 xix 
 
 every thing he could require. One sent him that rarity 
 of Italian literature, the Adamo of Andreini. Another a 
 copy of Bentley’s Milton, containing many very severe 
 censures, in manuscript, against the presumptuous edi- 
 tor, written probably when the book was published in 
 1732. These smothered embers of ancient animosity (to 
 borrow a metaphor which Cowper used on another oc- 
 casion) he was far from wishing to rekindle; for altho’ 
 he did not scruple to join a host of eminent writers in 
 blaming the arrogance of Bentley, (in one of his letters 
 he alludes, with much pleasantry, to the Doctor’s con- 
 tentious spirit) yet he considered the bitter squabbles of 
 literary men as a disgrace to literature; and thought it 
 most worthy of a scholar, and a Christian, rather to 
 suppress the hasty occasional virulence even of angry 
 wit, than to give it new circulation. 
 
 The task of pointing out the numerous absurdi- 
 ties of Bentley, in his endeavour to improve the poetry 
 of Milton, would not properly have belonged to Cowper, 
 had he continued his commentary, because that painful 
 task had been sufficiently, and temperately, performed 
 
 c 2 
 
XX 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 by Doctor Pearce in his judicious “ Reviezv of the Text 
 of Paradise lost” 
 
 When Bentley’s unfortunate Milton first ap- 
 peared, “ it was received (says Mr. Todd) zvith disgust 
 and derision /” It has given rise to various angry invec- 
 tives against the veteran of criticism, who was at that 
 time so far advanced in the vale of years, that he ought 
 perhaps to have been universally treated with pity, rather 
 than anger; for his Milton was a work of the great scho- 
 lar’s declining days, and seems to prove, that he was 
 then sinking into that most pitiable dotage, to which the 
 acutest of human minds are liable ; especially those ac- 
 tive minds, whose ardour may have hurried them into 
 excesses of mental labour! But Bentley had rendered 
 himself an object of much satirical indignation: he had 
 indulged his spleen in the unbecoming, and perilous, 
 habit of speaking very contemptuously of other eminent 
 writers. He had superciliously offended an irritable race, 
 whom however he regarded so highly, that he shewed 
 something like a desire to be reckoned one of their tribe, 
 for, in the preface to his Milton, he applied to himself 
 the following words of a great poet. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 xxi 
 
 " Sunt et mihi carmina; me quoque dicunt 
 Vatem pastores; sed non ego credulus illis.” 
 
 Whatever might be the Doctor’s credulity, or 
 incredulity on this topic, he had the temerity to insult 
 Pope in conversation, by calling his Homer a pretty poem; 
 and the insult was so powerfully avenged, that its punish- 
 ment can never be forgotten. 
 
 The irritability of authors appears to have been, 
 in all ages, a subject of regret to their friends, but the 
 author, whose posthumous work I am now introducing 
 to the public, either happily escaped, or had the virtue 
 to correct in himself that infectious failing, which a 
 Roman poet who had studied mankind, has mentioned 
 as a characteristic of his fraternity. 
 
 The pure mind of Cowper was a stranger, in its 
 own feelings, to the common animosities of the world; 
 and he was, on all occasions, evangelically disposed to 
 promote peace, and good-will among men. How much 
 he was influenced by an amiable desire to avoid what 
 might awaken, or encrease, enmity, and bitterness of 
 spirit, he has shewn in the course of these translations 
 from Milton, by omitting to translate compositions of 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 xxii 
 
 extreme severity against the Catholics, and by thus de- 
 claring his reason for the omission. 
 
 “ The poems on the subject of the Gunpowder 
 Treason I have not translated; both because the matter 
 of them is unpleasant, and because they are written 
 with an asperity, which, however it might be warranted 
 in Milton’s day, would be extremely unseasonable now!” 
 
 In writing to Mr. Johnson on this subject, he 
 explained his sentiments still further. 
 
 46 Weston, Oct. 30, 1791. 
 
 “ We and the Papists are at present on amicable 
 terms. They have behaved themselves peaceably many 
 years, and have lately received favours from government: 
 I should think therefore, that the dying embers of anti- 
 ent animosity had better not be troubled.” 
 
 The translator likewise omitted a few of the 
 minuter poems, which he thought not worthy of ranking 
 with the rest; a privilege, that the editor has also 
 exerted! 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 xxm 
 
 When Cowper was preparing to comment on the 
 Paradise Lost, his bookseller furnished Jiim with an in- 
 terleaved copy of Newton’s edition: in this he inserted a 
 series of occasional remarks, proceeding regularly as far 
 as the 341st line of the 3d book. When he was with me 
 in Sussex, I suggested to him a little alteration in his 
 plan, supposing that his projected work might be more 
 pleasing, both to himself, and his readers, if he converted 
 a ‘multitude of notes into a few dissertations, devoting 
 one to each book of the poem. He approved the sug- 
 gestion, and resolved to pursue it on his return to 
 Weston. 
 
 But the distress of heart, which he felt in con- 
 templating the shattered state of his venerable compa- 
 nion, Mrs. Unwin, and his own declining health, pre- 
 cluded him most severely from advancing in this, and 
 in other literary intentions. To every reader, who has 
 proper compassion, and respeet, for the calamities of 
 afflicted genius, the following account, which Cowper 
 gave me of his fruitless endeavour to proceed in his 
 work, must be interesting, in no common degree. 
 
XXIV 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 66 Weston, Oct. 2, 17S2. 
 
 Yesterday was a day of assignation with myself, 
 the day, of which I said, some days before it came, when 
 that day comes, I will begin my dissertations. Accord- 
 ingly when it came, I prepared to do so, filled a letter- 
 case with fresh paper, furnished my self with a pretty 
 good pen, and replenished my ink-bottle ; but partly 
 from one cause, and partly from another, chiefly how- 
 ever from distress and dejection, after writing and obli- 
 terating about six lines, in the composition of which I 
 spent near an hour, I was obliged to relinquish the at- 
 tempt. An attempt so unsuccessful could have no other 
 effect than to dishearten me, and it has had that effect 
 to such a degree, that I know not, when I shall find 
 courage to make another.’" 
 
 In a subsequent letter of the same month he 
 
 says : 
 
 44 The consciousness, that there is much to do, 
 and nothing done, is a burthen, I am not able to bear. 
 Milton especially is my grievance ; and I might almost 
 as well be haunted by his ghost, as goaded with continual 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 XXV 
 
 reproaches for neglecting him. I will therefore begin : 
 I will do my best ; and if, after all, that best prove good 
 for nothing, I will even send the notes, worthless as they 
 are, that I have made already.” 
 
 Anxious, as Cowper was, to complete his de- 
 sign, the variety of avocations and afflictions, that en- 
 creased upon him in his latter years rendered such a 
 completion impossible. Yet I have reason to believe, 
 that he actually finished two of the intended disserta- 
 tions : but they have unfortunately perished in the con- 
 fusion of his papers, and I can only afford his reader the 
 mournful gratification of perusing the imperfect notes, 
 that I have mentioned. 
 
 These I believe every reader of taste will con- 
 template with a melancholy delight, for they are suffi- 
 cient to shew, that the minds of Milton and Cowper 
 were most truly congenial, and to excite a sincere regret, 
 that a commentator so worthy of our divine bard was 
 calamitously precluded from attending him according 
 to his intention. Let us however enjoy, what he has hap- 
 pily accomplished! For my own part I am persuaded, that 
 
 d 
 
XXVI 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Milton could hardly receive an earthly honour more ac- 
 ceptable to his spirit, than the honour of having his 
 Latin poems translated by Cowper. I feel a cordial 
 satisfaction in beholding two poets so exquisite in ge- 
 nius, and so pure of heart, thus united in their posthu- 
 mous renown. Happy indeed if their union in this 
 volume may so interest, and so powerfully call forth the 
 liberality of our country, as to answer one most desi- 
 rable purpose of its publication, by proving highly be- 
 neficial to the orphan Godchild of Cowper. 
 
 The purport of this publication has induced a 
 most friendly artist to favour it, in the kindest manner, 
 with such decorations, as may be peculiarly gratifying to 
 those friends of Cowper, who have heard him declare 
 (as he frequently did) that he should esteem it a most 
 pleasing honour to have his poetry adorned with de- 
 signs by Flaxman. 
 
 With this advantage, I trust, the book will be 
 found not unworthy of the two associated poets, who 
 not only resembled each other in the purity and preva- 
 lence of their poetical talents, but in suffering as au- 
 thors, tho’ in very different degrees, both detraction and 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 xxvii 
 
 neglect : — The reputation of Milton in particular, after 
 sinking like a Titan overwhelmed under mountains of 
 obloquy and oppression, has arisen with all the energy 
 of a giant refreshed by slumber, and taken its proper 
 place of pre-eminence among the few names of universal 
 celebrity, that are privileged to sleep no more. 
 

 
 
 
 • 7 >. r 
 
 
 
 
 
 - ■ " i >7 7 1 1 ’• ’ ,.* 7 tO 
 
 : : • 
 
 : 7 m"? »? 77 6 •' ' i f.i^rV 
 
 
 --- 
 
COMPLIMENTARY PIECES, 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE 
 
 LA TIN 3.n d I T A L I A N 
 
 Well as the Author knows that the following testimonies are not so 
 much about as above him, and that men of great ingenuity, as well as our 
 friends, are apt, through abundant zeal, so to praise us as rather to draw their 
 own likeness than ours, he was yet unwilling that the world should remain 
 always ignorant of compositions, that do him so much honour; and especially 
 because he has other friends, who have, with much importunity, solicited their 
 publication. Aware that excessive commendation awakens envy, he would 
 with both hands thrust it from him, preferring just so much of that dangerous 
 
 tribute as may of right belong to him ; but at the same time he cannot deny 
 
 that he sets the highest value on the suffrages of judicious and distinguished 
 persons. 
 
 A 
 
2 
 
 The Neapolitan JOHN BAPTIST MANSO , 
 
 MARQUIS OF VILLA, 
 
 To the Englishman JOHN MILTON . 
 
 What features, form, mien, manners, with a mind 
 Oh how intelligent! and how refined ! 
 
 Were but thy piety from fault as free, 
 
 Thou would’st no Angle* but an Angel be. 
 
 * The reader perceives that the word Angle is essential, because the 
 Epigram turns upon it. 
 
 An EPIGRAM 
 
 Addressed to the Englishman JOHN MILTON, 
 
 21 POET WORTHY OF THREE LAURELS, 
 
 The Grecian, Latin, and Etruscan, 
 
 By JOHN SALSILLO of Rome. 
 
 Meles* and Mincio,+ both your urns depress, 
 
 SebetusJ boast henceforth thy Tasso less, 
 
 * Meles is a river of Ionia, in the neighbourhood of Smyrna, whence 
 Homer is called Melesigenes. 
 
 f The Mincio watered the city of Mantua famous as the birth-place of 
 Virgil. 
 
 + Sebetus is now called the Flume della Maddalena — it runs through Naples. 
 + 
 
3 
 
 But let the Thames o’er- peer all floods, since he 
 For Milton famed shall, single, match the three. 
 
 To JOHN MILTON 
 
 Greece, sound thy Homer’s, Rome, thy Virgil’s name. 
 
 But England’s Milton equals both in fame. 
 
 Selvaggi. 
 
 An ODE 
 
 Addressed to the illustrious Englishman Mr, JOHN MILTON, 
 
 B Y 
 
 Signior ANTONIO FRANC IN I, 
 
 GENTLEMAN OF FLORENCE. 
 
 Exalt me, Clio, to the skies. 
 
 That I may form a starry crown 
 Beyond what Helicon supplies 
 In laureate garlands of renown ; 
 
 To nobler worth be brighter glory giv’n. 
 
 And to a heav’nly mind a recompense from heav’n. 
 
 Time’s wasteful hunger cannot prey 
 On everlasting high desert. 
 
 Nor can Oblivion steal away. 
 
 Its record graven on the heart ; 
 
 A 2 
 
4 
 
 Lodge but an arrow, Virtue, on the bow 
 
 That binds my lyre, and Death shall be a vanquish’d foe. 
 
 In Ocean’s blazing flood enshrin’d 
 Whose vassal tide around her swells, 
 
 Albion from other realms disjoin’d 
 The prowess of the world excells. 
 
 She teems with heroes, that to glory rise, 
 
 With more than human force in our astonish’d eyes. 
 
 To Virtue, driv’n from other lands. 
 
 Their bosoms yield a safe retreat; 
 
 Her law alone their deed commands ; 
 
 Her smiles they feel divinely sweet. 
 
 Confirm this record, Milton, gen’rous youth ! 
 
 And by true virtue prove thy virtue’s praise a truth. 
 
 Zeuxis, all energy and flame, 
 
 Set ardent forth in his career ; 
 
 Urged to bis task by Helen’s fame 
 Resounding ever in his ear ; 
 
 To make his image to her beauty true 
 
 From the collected Fair each sov’reign charm he drew. 
 
 The bee with subtlest skill endued 
 Thus toils to earn her precious juice 
 
 * 
 
 ♦ 
 
5 
 
 From all the flowery myriads strew’d 
 O’er meadow and parterre, profuse ; 
 
 Confed’rate voices one sweet air compound, 
 
 And various chords consent in one harmonious sound. 
 
 An artist of celestial aim 
 
 Thy genius, caught by moral grace. 
 
 With ardent emulation’s flame 
 The steps of Virtue toil’d to trace, 
 
 Observ’d in ev’ry land who brightest shone, 
 
 And blending all their best, made perfect good thy own. 
 
 From all, in Florence born, or taught 
 Our country’s sweetest accent there. 
 
 Whose works, with learned labour wrought, 
 Immortal honours justly share. 
 
 Thou hast such treasure drawn of purest ore, 
 
 That not e’en Tuscan bards can boast a richer store, 
 
 Babel confus’d, and with her tow’rs 
 Unfinish’d spreading wide the plain, 
 
 Has serv’d but to evince thy pow’rs 
 With all her tongues confus’d in vain. 
 
 Since not alone thy England’s purest phrase 
 
 But every polish’d realm thy various speech displays. 
 
6 
 
 The secret things of heav’n and earth 
 By Nature, too reserv’d, conceal’d 
 From other minds of highest worth, 
 
 To thee are copiously reveal’d. 
 
 Thou know’st them clearly, and thy views attain 
 The utmost bounds prescrib’d to moral Truth’s domain. 
 
 Let Time no more his wing display, 
 
 And boast his ruinous career. 
 
 For Virtue rescued from his sway 
 His injuries may cease to fear ; 
 
 Since all events, that claim remembrance, find 
 A chronicle exact in thy capacious mind. 
 
 Give me, that I may praise thy song, 
 
 Thy lyre, by which alone I can. 
 
 Which, placing thee the stars among, 
 
 Already proves thee more than man ; 
 
 And Thames shall seem Permessus, while his stream. 
 Graced with a swan like thee, shall be my fav’rite theme. 
 
 I, who beside the Arno, strain 
 To match thy merit with my lays. 
 
 Learn, after many an effort vain, 
 
 T* admire thee rather than to praise, 
 
7 
 
 And that by mute astonishment alone. 
 
 Not by the falt’ring tongue, thy worth may best be shown. 
 
 To Mr. JOHN MILTON 
 
 OF LONDON, 
 
 A Youth eminent from his Country and his Virtues , 
 
 Who in his travels has made himself acquainted with many nati- 
 ons, and in his studies, with all ; that, like another Ulysses, he 
 might learn all that all could teach him ; 
 
 Skilful in many tongues, on whose lips languages now mute 
 so live again, that the idioms of all are insufficient to his praise ; 
 happy acquistion by which he understands the universal admira- 
 tion, and applause, his talents have excited ; 
 
 Whose endowments of mind, and person, move us to wonder, 
 but at the same time fix us immoveable ; whose works prompt us 
 to extol him, but by their beauty strike us mute ; 
 
 In whose memory the whole world is treasured ; in whose 
 intellect, wisdom ; in whose heart, the ardent desire of glory ; and 
 in whose mouth, eloquence. Who with Astronomy for his con- 
 ductor, hears the music of the spheres ; with Philosophy for his 
 teacher, decyphers the hand writing of God, in those wonders of 
 
8 
 
 creation, which proclaim his greatness ; and with the most unwea- 
 ried literary Industry for his associate. 
 
 Examines, restores, penetrates with ease the obscurities of 
 antiquity, the desolations of ages, and the labyrinths of learning ; 
 
 « But wherefore toil to reach these arduous heights ?” 
 
 To him, in short, whose virtues the mouths of Fame are too 
 few to celebrate, and whom astonishment forbids us to praise as 
 he deserves, this tribute due to his merits, and the offering of re- 
 verence and affection, is paid by 
 
 CARLO DAT I \ 
 
 A PATRICIAN FLORENTINE, 
 
 This great man's servant and this good man's friend * 
 
 * These complimentary pieces have been sufficiently censured by a 
 great authority, but no very candid judge either of Milton or his panegyrists. 
 He, however, must have a heart sadly indifferent to the glory of his country, 
 who is not gratified by the thought that she may exult in a son, whom young 
 as he was, the Learned of Italy thus contended to honour. 
 
9 
 
 ELEGIES. 
 
 ELEGY I. 
 
 To CHARLES DEO DATE 
 
 At length, my friend, the far-sent letters come, 
 Charged with thy kindness, to their destin’d home, 
 They come, at length, from Deva’s Western side, 
 Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide. 
 
 Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst be, 
 Though born of foreign race, yet born for me, 
 
 And that my sprightly friend, now free to roam, 
 Must seek again so soon his wonted home. 
 
 I well content, where Thames with refluent tide 
 My native city laves, meantime reside. 
 
 Nor zeal nor duty, now, my steps impell 
 To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell. 
 
 B 
 
io 
 
 Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I, 
 
 That, to the musing bard, all shade deny. 
 
 Tis time, that I, a pedant’s threats disdain. 
 
 And fly from wrongs, my soul will ne’er sustain. 
 If peaceful days, in letter’d leisure spent, 
 
 Beneath my father’s roof, be banishment, 
 
 Then call me banish’d, I will ne’er refuse 
 A name expressive of the lot I chuse. 
 
 I would, that, exiled to the Pontic shore, 
 
 Rome’s hapless bard had suffer’d nothing more. 
 
 He then had equall’d even Homer’s lays. 
 
 And Virgil ! thou hadst won but second praise : 
 For here I woo the muse ; with no controul. 
 
 And here my books — my life — absorb me whole. 
 Here too I visit, or to smile, or weep. 
 
 The winding theatre’s majestic sweep ; 
 
 The grave or gay colloquial scene recruits 
 My spirits, spent in learning’s long pursuits ; 
 Whether some senior shrewd, or spendthrift heir. 
 Suitor, or soldier, now unarm’d, be there. 
 
 Or some coif’d brooder o’er a ten years’ cause. 
 Thunder the Norman gibb’rish of the laws. 
 
 The lacquey, there, oft dupes the wary sire. 
 
 And, artful, speeds th’ enamour’d spn’s desire.' 
 There, virgins oft, unconscious what they prove, 
 What love is, know not, yet, unknowing, love. 
 
11 
 
 Or, if impassion’d Tragedy wield high 
 The bloody sceptre, give her locks to fly 
 Wild as the winds, and roll her haggard eye, 
 
 I gaze, and grieve, still cherishing my grief. 
 
 At times, e’en bitter tears ! yield sweet relief. 
 
 As when from bliss untasted torn away. 
 
 Some youth dies, hapless, on his bridal day. 
 
 Or when the ghost, sent back from shades below, 
 Fills the assassin’s heart with vengeful woe. 
 
 When Troy, or Argos, the dire scene affords, 
 
 Or Creon’s hall laments its guilty lords. 
 
 Nor always city-pent, or pent at home, 
 
 I dwell; but, when spring calls me forth to roam, 
 Expatiate in our proud suburban shades 
 Of branching elm, that never sun pervades. 
 
 Here many a virgin troop I may descry. 
 
 Like stars of mildest influence, gliding by. 
 
 Oh forms divine ! Oh looks that might inspire 
 E’en Jove himself, grown old, with young desire ! 
 Oft have I gazed on gem-surpassing eyes. 
 Out-sparkling every star, that gilds the skies. 
 
 Necks whiter than the ivory arm bestowed 
 By Jove on Pelops, or the milky road ! 
 
 Bright locks. Love’s golden snare ! these falling low, 
 Those playing wanton o’er the graceful brow ! 
 
 B 2 
 
 
12 
 
 Cheeks too, more winning sweet than after show’r 
 Adonis turn’d to Flora’s fav’rite flower ! 
 
 Yield, heroines, yield, and ye who shar’d th’ embrace 
 Of Jupiter in antient times, give place! 
 
 Give place, ye turban’d fair of Persia’s coast ! 
 
 And ye, not less renown’d, Assyria’s boast ! 
 
 Submit, ye nymphs of Greece! ye, once the bloom 
 Of I lion ! and all ye, of haughty Rome, 
 
 Who swept, of old, her theatres with trains 
 Redundant, and still live in classic strains ! 
 
 To British damsels beauty’s palm is due, 
 
 Aliens ! to follow them is fame for you. 
 
 Oh city, founded by Dardanian hands, 
 
 Whose towering front the circling realm commands, 
 Too blest abode ! no loveliness we see 
 In all the earth, but it abounds in thee. 
 
 The virgin multitude that daily meets. 
 
 Radiant with gold and beauty, in thy streets. 
 
 Out numbers all her train, of starry fires, 
 
 With which Diana gilds thy lofty spires. 
 
 Fame says, that wafted hither by her doves. 
 
 With all her host of quiver-bearing loves, 
 
 Venus, prefering Paphian scenes no more. 
 
 Has fix’d her empire on thy nobler shore. 
 
 But lest the sightless boy inforce my stay, 
 
 I leave these happy walls, while yet I may. 
 
*3 
 
 Immortal Moly shall secure my heart 
 From all the sorc’ry of Circsean art. 
 
 And I will e’en repass Cam’s reedy pools 
 To face once more the warfare of the schools. 
 Meantime accept this trifle ! rhimes though few, 
 Yet such, as prove thy friends’ remembrance true 
 
 / 
 
14 
 
 ELEGY II. 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF THE UNIVERSITY BEADLE 
 
 2LT C 2L M BRIDGE. 
 
 Composed by Milton in the 17 th year of his age. 
 
 Thee, whose refulgent staff, and summons clear, 
 
 Minerva’s flock long time was wont t’ obey, 
 
 Although thyself an herald, famous here, 
 
 The last of heralds, Death, has snatch’d away. 
 
 He calls on all alike, nor even deigns 
 To spare the office, that himself sustains. 
 
 Thy locks were whiter than the plumes display’d 
 By Leda’s paramour in antient time, 
 
 But thou was’t worthy ne’er to have decay’d, 
 
 Or yEson-like to know a second prime. 
 
 Worthy, for whom some goddess should have won 
 New life, oft kneeling to Apollo’s son. 
 
 Commission’d to convene, with hasty call, 
 
 The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou stand ! 
 
 So stood Cyllenius erst in Priam’s hall. 
 
 Wing-footed messenger of Jove’s command ! 
 
 And so Eurybates, when he address’d 
 To Peleus’ son, Atrides, proud behest. 
 
1 5 
 
 Dread queen of sepulchres ! whose rig’rous laws 
 
 And watchful eyes, run through the realms below. 
 Oh, oft too adverse to Minerva’s cause ! 
 
 Too often to the muse not less a foe ! 
 
 Chuse meaner marks, and with more equal aim 
 Pierce useless drones, earth’s burthen, and its shame ! 
 
 Flow, therefore, tears for him, from ev’ry eye, 
 
 All ye disciples of the muses, weep ! 
 
 Assembling, all, in robes of sable dye. 
 
 Around his bier, lament his endless sleep ! 
 
 And let complaining elegy rehearse. 
 
 In every school, her sweetest, saddest verse. 
 
i6 
 
 ELEGY III. 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. 
 
 Composed in the Author’s 17 th year. 
 
 Silent I sat, dejected, and alone. 
 
 Making, in thought, the public woes my own. 
 
 When, first, arose the image in my breast 
 Of England’s sufferings by that scourge, the Pest ! 
 
 How death, his fun’ral torch and scythe in hand. 
 
 Entering the lordliest mansions of the land. 
 
 Has laid the gem-illumin’d palace low. 
 
 And levelPd tribes of nobles, at a blow. 
 
 I, next, deplor’d the fam’d paternal pair. 
 
 Too soon to ashes turn’d, and empty air ! 
 
 The heroes next, whom snatch’d into the skies. 
 
 All Belgia saw, and follow’d with her sighs. 
 
 But thee far most I mourn’d, regretted most, 
 
 Winton’s chief shepherd, and her worthiest boast ! 
 
 Pour’d out in tears I thus complaining said : 
 
 “ Death, next in pow’r to him, who rules the dead ! 
 
 Is’t not enough that all the woodlands yield 
 To thy fell force, and ev’ry verdant field, 
 
 That lilies, at one noisome blast of thine, 
 
 And ev’n the Cyprian queen’s own roses, pine, 
 
1 7 
 
 That oaks themselves, although the running rill 
 Suckle their roots, must wither at thy will. 
 
 That all the winged nations, even those. 
 
 Whose heav’n-directed flight the future shows. 
 
 And all the beasts, that in dark forests stray. 
 
 And all the herds of Proteus are thy prey. 
 
 Ah envious ! arm’d with pow’rs so unconfin’d ! 
 
 Why stain thy hands with blood of human kind ? 
 Why take delight, with darts, that never roam. 
 
 To chase a heav’n-born spirit from her home?” 
 
 While thus I mourn’d, the star of evening stood. 
 Now newly ris’n above the western flood. 
 
 And Phaebus from his morning-goal again 
 Had leachd the gulphs of the Iberian main. 
 
 I wish’d repose, and, on my couch reclin’d 
 Took early rest, to night and sleep resign’d. 
 
 When — Oh for words to paint what I beheld ! 
 
 I seem d to wander in a spacious field. 
 
 Where all the champaign glow’d with purple light 
 Like that of sun-rise on the mountain height ; 
 
 Flow’n, over all the field, of ev’ry hue 
 That ever Iris wore, luxuriant grew. 
 
 Nor Chloris, with whom am’rous Zephyrs play, 
 
 Ee’r dress’d Alcinous’ garden half so gay. 
 
 c 
 
i8 
 
 A silver current, like the Tagus, roll’d 
 O’er golden sands, but sands of purer gold. 
 
 With dewy airs Favonius fann’d the flow rs, 
 
 With airs awaken’d under rosy bow’rs. 
 
 Such, poets feign, irradiated all o’er 
 The sun’s abode on India’s utmost shore. 
 
 While I, that splendour, and the mingled shade 
 Of fruitful vines, with wonder fixt survey’d. 
 
 At once, with looks, that beam’d celestial grace. 
 
 The seer of Winton stood before my face. 
 
 His snowy vesture’s hem descending low 
 His golden sandals swept, and pure as snow 
 New-fallen shone the mitre on his brow. 
 
 Where’er he trod a tremulous sweet sound 
 Of gladness shook the flow’ry scene around : 
 Attendant angels clap their starry wings. 
 
 The trumpet shakes the sky, all aether rings. 
 
 Each chaunts his welcome, folds him to his breast, 
 And thus a sweeter voice than all the rest : 
 
 “ Ascend, my son ! thy father’s kingdom share ! 
 
 My son ! henceforth be free’d from ev’ry care ! 
 
 So spake the voice, and at its tender close 
 With psaltry’s sound th’ angelic band arose. 
 
§■»! 
 
 
 vs 
 
 gr sffvj 
 
19 
 
 Then night retired, and chas’d by dawning day 
 The visionary bliss pass’d all away, 
 
 I mourn’d my banish’d sleep, with fond concern 
 Frequent to me may dreams like this return ! 
 
20 
 
 ELEGY IV. 
 
 To his Tutor, THOMAS YOUNG, 
 
 Chaplain to the English Factory at Hamburgh, 
 Written in the Author’s 18 th year. 
 
 Hence my epistle— skim the deep— fly o’er 
 Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonic shore ! 
 
 Haste lest a friend should grieve for thy delay — 
 
 And the Gods grant, that nothing thwart thy way ! 
 
 I will myself invoke the king, who binds, 
 
 In his Sicanian echoing vault, the winds. 
 
 With Doris and her nymphs, and all the throng 
 Of azure gods, to speed thee safe along. 
 
 But rather, to insure thy happier haste. 
 
 Ascend Medea’s chariot, if thou may’st; 
 
 Or that, whence young Triptolemus of yore 
 Descended, welcome on the Scythian shore. 
 
 The sands, that line the German coast, descried. 
 
 To opulent Hamburga turn aside ! 
 
 So called, if legendary fame be true. 
 
 From Hama, whom a club-arm’d Cimbrian slew ! 
 
 There lives, deep-learn’d and primitively just, 
 
 A faithful steward of his Christian trust. 
 
With Doris , and her Nymphs, and ad the tb'cng 
 Of azure Gods , to speed fk&c safe along! 
 
21 
 
 My friend, and favorite innate of my heart. 
 
 That now is forced to want its better part ! 
 
 What mountains now, and seas, alas ! how wide 
 F rom me this other, dearer self divide. 
 
 Dear, as the sage renown’d for moral truth 
 To the prime spirit of the attic youth ! 
 
 Dear, as the Stagyrite to Ammon’s son, 
 
 His pupil, who disdain’d the world he won ! 
 
 Nor so did Chiron, or so Phoenix shine 
 In young Achilles’ eyes, as he in mine. 
 
 First led by him thro’ sweet Aonian shade 
 Each sacred haunt of Pindus I survey’d ; 
 
 And favor d by the muse, whom I implor’d. 
 Thrice on my lip the hallow’d stream I pour’d. 
 But thrice the sun’s resplendent chariot roll’d 
 To Aries, has new ting’d his fleece with gold, 
 
 And Chloris twice has dress’d the meadows gay. 
 And twice has summer parch d their bloom away, 
 Since last delighted on his looks I hung, 
 
 Or my ear drank the music of his tongue i 
 Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempest’s speed! 
 Aware thyself, that there is urgent need ! 
 
 Him, entering, thou shalt haply seated see 
 Beside his spouse, his infants on his knee. 
 
 Or turning, page by page, with studious look. 
 Some bulky father, or God’s holy book. 
 
22 
 
 Or minist’ring (which is his weightiest care) 
 
 To Christ’s assembled flock their heavenly fare. 
 
 Give him, whatever his employment be, 
 
 Such gratulation, as he claims from me ! 
 
 And, with a down-cast eye, and carriage meek, 
 Addressing him, forget not thus to speak ! 
 
 If, compass’d round with arms thou canst attend 
 To verse, verse greets thee from a distant friend. 
 
 Long due, and late, I left the English shore ; 
 
 But make me welcome for that cause the more, 
 
 Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer, 
 
 The slow epistle came, tho’ late, sincere. 
 
 But wherefore, this ? why palliate I the deed. 
 
 For which the culprit’s self could hardly plead ? 
 
 Self charged, and self-condemn’d, his proper part 
 He feels neglected, with an aching heart ; 
 
 But thott forgive — delinquents, who confess, 
 
 And pray forgiveness, merit anger less ; 
 
 From timid foes the lion turns away, 
 
 Nor yawns upon or rends a crouching prey. 
 
 Even pike-wielding Thracians learn to spare, 
 
 Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer ; 
 
 And heav’n’s dread thunderbolt arrested stands 
 By a cheap victim, and uplifted hands. 
 
2 3 
 
 Long had he wish’d to write, but was with-held, 
 And, writes at last, by love alone compell’d, 
 
 For fame, too often true, when she alarms. 
 
 Reports thy neighbouring-fields a scene of arms ; 
 
 Thy city against fierce besiegers barr’d. 
 
 And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepar’d. 
 
 Enyo wastes thy country wide around. 
 
 And saturates with blood the tainted ground ; 
 
 Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more. 
 
 But goads his steeds to fields of German gore, 
 
 The ever verdant olive fades and dies. 
 
 And peace, the trumpet-hating goddess, flies. 
 
 Flies from that earth which justice long had left, 
 
 And leaves the world of its last guard bereft. 
 
 Thus horror girds thee round. Meantime alone 
 Thou dwell’st, and helpless in a soil unknown ; 
 
 Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand 
 The aid denied thee in thy native land. 
 
 Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more 
 Than thy own billow-beaten chalky shore ! 
 
 Leav’st thou to foreign care the worthies, given 
 By providence, to guide thy steps to Heav’n? 
 
 His ministers, commission’d to proclaim 
 Eternal blessings in a Saviour’s name ! 
 
24 
 
 Ah then most worthy, with a soul unfed, 
 
 In Stygian night to lie for ever dead ! ! 
 
 So once the venerable Tishbite stray’d 
 An exil’d fugitive from shade to shade. 
 
 When, flying Ahab, and his fury wife, 
 
 In lone Arabian wilds, he shelter’d life ; 
 
 So, from Philippi, wander’d forth forlorn 
 Cilician Paul, with sounding scourges torn ; 
 
 And Christ himself, so left, and trod no more. 
 
 The thankless Gergesene’s forbidden shore. 
 
 But thou take courage ! strive against despair 
 Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious care ! 
 Grim war indeed on ev’ry side appears, 
 
 And thou art menac’d by a thousand spears ; 
 
 Yet none shall drink thy blood, or shall offend 
 Ev’n the defenceless bosom of my friend. 
 
 For thee the ALgis of thy God shall hide, 
 
 Jehova’s self shall combat on thy side. 
 
 The same, who vanquish’d under Sion’s towr’s 
 At silent midnight, all Assyria’s powr’s, 
 
 The same who overthrew in ages past, 
 
 Damascus’ sons that lay’d Samaria waste ; 
 
 Their king he fill’d and them with fatal fears 
 By mimic sounds of clarions in their ears. 
 
Of hoofs, and wheels, and neighings from afar 
 Of clashing armour, and the din of war. 
 
 Thou, therefore, (as the most afflicted may) 
 Still hope, and triumph, o’er thy evil day! 
 
 Look forth, expecting happier times to come. 
 And to enjoy, once more, thy native home ! 
 
26 
 
 ELEGY V. 
 
 ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. 
 
 Written in the Author’s 20 th year. 
 
 Time, never wand’ring from his annual round, 
 
 Bids Zephyr breathe the spring, and thaw the ground *, 
 
 Bleak winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain. 
 
 And earth assumes her transient youth again. 
 
 Dream I, or also to the spring belong 
 Increase of genius, and new pow’rs of song ? 
 
 Spring gives them, and, how strange soe’r it seems. 
 
 Impels me now to some harmonious themes. 
 
 Castalia’s fountain, and the forked hill 
 By day, by night, my raptur’d fancy fill. 
 
 My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within 
 A sacred sound, that prompts me to begin. 
 
 Lo! Phaebus comes, with his bright hair he blends 
 The radiant laurel wreath ; Phoebus descends ; 
 
 I mount, and, undepress’d by cumb’rous clay, 
 
 Through cloudy regions win my easy way ; 
 
 Rapt through poetic shadowy haunts I fly : 
 
 The shrines all open to my dauntless eye, 
 
 My spirit searches all the realms of light, 
 
 And no Tartarean gulphs elude my sight. 
 
27 
 
 But this ecstatic trance — this glorious storm 
 Of inspiration — what will it perform ? 
 
 Spring claims the verse, that with his influence glows. 
 And shall be paid with what himself bestows. 
 
 Thou, veil’d with op’ning foliage, leads’t the throng 
 Of feather’d minstrels, Philomel ! in song ; 
 
 Let us, in concert, to the season sing. 
 
 Civic, and sylvan heralds of the spring! 
 
 With notes triumphant spring’s approach declare! 
 
 To spring, ye Muses, annual tribute bear ! 
 
 The Orient left, and Ethiopia’s plains, 
 
 The Sun now northward turns his golden reins ; 
 
 Night creeps not now ; yet rules with gentle sway. 
 
 And drives her dusky horrors swift away ; 
 
 Now less fatigued, on his aetherial plain 
 Bootes follows his celestial wain ; 
 
 And now the radiant centinels above. 
 
 Less num’rous, watch around the courts of Jove, 
 
 For, with the night, force, ambush, slaughter fly, 
 
 And no gigantic guilt alarms the sky. 
 
 Now haply says some shepherd, while he views, 
 Recumbent on a rock, the redd’ning dews, 
 
 D 2 
 
28 
 
 This night, this surely, Phoebus miss’d the fair, 
 Who stops his chariot by her am’rous care. 
 
 Cynthia, delighted by the morning’s glow, 
 
 Speeds to the woodland, and resumes her bow; 
 Resigns her beams, and, glad to disappear. 
 
 Blesses his aid, who shortens her career. 
 
 Come — Phoebus cries — Aurora come — too late 
 Thou linger’st, slumb’ring, with thy wither’d mate! 
 Leave him, and to Hymettus’ top repair ! 
 
 Thy darling Cephalus expects thee there. 
 
 The goddess, with a blush, her love betrays. 
 
 But mounts, and driving rapidly, obeys. 
 
 Earth now desires thee, Phoebus ! and t’ engage 
 Thy warm embrace, casts off the guise of age ; 
 Desires thee, and deserves ; for who so sweet. 
 When her rich bosom courts thy genial heat ? 
 
 Her breath imparts to ev’ry breeze, that blows, 
 Arabia’s harvest, and the Paphian rose. 
 
 Her lofty front she diadems around 
 
 With sacred pines, like Ops on Ida crown’d ; 
 
 Her dewy locks, with various flow’rs new-blown. 
 She interweaves, various, and all her own. 
 
 For Proserpine, in such a wreath attired, 
 
 Taenarian Dis himself with love inspired. 
 
 Fear not, lest, cold and coy, the nymph refuse ! 
 Herself, with all her sighing Zephyrs, sues ; 
 
2 9 
 
 Each courts thee, fanning soft his scented wing. 
 
 And all her groves with warbled wishes ring. 
 
 Nor, unendow’d and indigent, aspires 
 
 The am’rous Earth to engage thy warm desires, 
 
 But, rich in balmy drugs, assists thy claim 
 Divine Physician! to that glorious name. 
 
 If splendid recompense, if gifts can move 
 Desire in thee (gifts often purchase love) 
 
 She offers all the wealth, her mountains hide. 
 
 And all that rests beneath the boundless tide. 
 
 How oft, when headlong from the heav’nly steep, 
 She sees thee playing in the western, deep. 
 
 How oft she cries — “Ah Phoebus ! why repair 
 Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment there ? 
 
 Can Tethys win thee ? wherefore shouldst thou lave 
 A face so fair in her unpleasant wave ? 
 
 Come, seek my green retreats, and rather chuse 
 To cool thy tresses in my chrystal dews, 
 
 I he grassy turf shall yield thee sweeter rest ;. 
 
 Come, lay thy evening glories on my breast, 
 
 And breathing fresh, through many a humid rose, 
 Soft whispering airs shall lull thee to repose! 
 
 No fears I feel like Semele to die. 
 
 Nor let thy burning wheels approach too nigh,. 
 
 For thou can’s t govern them, here therefore rest,. 
 And lay thy evening glories on my breast!” 
 
3 ° 
 
 Thus breathes the wanton Earth her am’rous flame. 
 And all her countless offspring feel the same ; 
 
 For Cupid now through every region strays, 
 
 Bright’ning his faded fires with solar rays. 
 
 His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier sound. 
 
 And his new-pointed shafts more deeply wound; 
 
 Nor Dian’s self escapes him now untried 
 Nor even Vesta at her altar-side ; 
 
 His mother too repairs her beauty’s wane, 
 
 And seems sprung newly from the deep again. 
 
 Exulting youths the Hymeneal sing, 
 
 With Hymen’s name roofs, rocks, and vallies, ring ; 
 He, new-attired, and by the season, drest. 
 
 Proceeds, all fragrant, in his saffron vest. 
 
 Now, many a golden-cinctur’d virgin roves 
 To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves, 
 
 All wish, and each alike, some fav’rite youth 
 Hers, in the bonds of Hymeneal truth. 
 
 Now pipes the shepherd through his reeds again. 
 
 Nor Phillis wants a song, that suits the strain, 
 
 With songs the seaman hails the starry sphere, 
 
 And dolphins rise from the abyss to hear, 
 
 Jove feels himself the season, sports again 
 With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train. 
 
 Now too the Satyrs, in the dusk of eve. 
 
 Their mazy dance through flowery meadows weave. 
 
3 * 
 
 And neither god nor goat, but both in kind, 
 
 Sylvanus, wreath’d with cypress, skips behind. 
 
 The Dryads leave their hollow sylvan cells 
 To roam the banks, and solitary dells ; 
 
 Pan riots now ; and from his amorous chafe 
 Ceres and Cybele seem hardly safe. 
 
 And Faunus, all on fire to reach the prize. 
 
 In chase of some enticing Oread, flies ; 
 
 She bounds before, but fears too swift a bound. 
 
 And hidden lies, but wishes to be found. 
 
 Our shades entice th’ Immortals from above. 
 
 And some kind pow’r presides o’er every grove ; 
 
 And long, ye pow’rs, o’er every grove preside. 
 
 For all is safe, and blest, where ye abide ! 
 
 Return, O Jove ! the age of gold restore — 
 
 Why chuse to dwell, where storms and thunder roar ? 
 At least, thou, Phsebus ! moderate thy speed ! 
 
 Let not the vernal hours too swift proceed. 
 
 Command rough Winter back, nor yield the pole 
 Too soon to Night’s encroaching, long controul ! 
 
3 2 
 
 ELEGY VI. 
 
 To CHARLES DEO DATE 
 
 Who, while he spent his Christmas in the country, sent the Author a poetical 
 epistle, in which he requested that his verses, if not so good as usual, might 
 be excused on account of the many feasts, to which his friends invited him, 
 and which would not allow him leisure to finish them, as he wished. 
 
 With no rich viands overcharg’d, I send 
 Health, which perchance you want, my pamper’d friend. 
 But wherefore should thy muse tempt mine away 
 From what she loves, from darkness into day ? 
 
 Art thou desirous to be told how well 
 I love thee, and in verse ? verse cannot tell. 
 
 For verse has bounds, and must in measure move ; 
 
 But neither bounds nor measure knows my love. 
 
 How pleasant, in thy lines describ’d, appear 
 December’s harmless sports, and rural cheer ! 
 
 French spirits kindling with caerulean fires. 
 
 And all such gambols, as the time inspires ! 
 
33 
 
 Think not that wine against good verse offends ; 
 The Muse and Bacchus have been always friends, 
 Nor Phoebus blushes sometimes to be found 
 With ivy, rather than with laurel, crown’d. 
 
 The Nine themselves oftimes have join’d the song, 
 And revels of the Bacchanalian throng ; 
 
 Not even Ovid could in Scythian air 
 Sing sweetly — why? no vine would flourish there. 
 What in brief numbers sung Anacreon’s muse ? 
 Wine, and the rose, that sparkling wine bedews. 
 Pindar with Bacchus glows — his every line 
 Breathes the rich fragrance of inspiring wine, 
 
 While, with loud crash o’erturn’d, the chariot lies 
 And brown with dust the fiery courser flies. 
 
 The Roman lyrist steep’d in wine his lays 
 So sweet in Glycera’s, and Chloe’s praise. 
 
 Now too the plenteous feast, and mantling bowl 
 Nourish the vigour of thy sprightly soul ; 
 
 The flowing goblet makes thy numbers flow, 
 
 And casks not wine alone, but verse, bestow. 
 
 Thus Phoebus favors, and the arts attend, 
 
 Whom Bacchus, and whom Ceres, both befriend. 
 What wonder then, thy verses are so sweet. 
 
 In which these triple powers so kindly meet. 
 
 E 
 
34 
 
 The lute now also sounds, with gold in- wrought, 
 And touch’d, with flying fingers, nicely taught. 
 
 In tap’stried halls, high roof’d, the sprightly lyre 
 Directs the dancers of the virgin choir. 
 
 If, dull repletion fright the Muse away, 
 
 Sights, gay as these, may more invite her stay ; 
 And, trust me, while the iv’ry keys resound. 
 
 Fair damsels sport, and perfumes steam around, 
 Apollo’s influence, like aethereal flame. 
 
 Shall animate, at once, thy glowing frame. 
 
 And all the Muse shall rush into thy breast. 
 
 By love and music’s blended pow’rs possest. 
 
 For num’rous pow’rs light Elegy befriend. 
 
 Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend ; 
 
 Her, Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve, 
 
 And, with his blushing mother, gentle Love. 
 Hence to such bards we grant the copious use 
 Of banquets, and the vine’s delicious juice. 
 
 But they, who demi-gods, and heroes praise. 
 
 And feats perform’d in Jove’s more youthful days, 
 Who now the counsels of high heaven explore. 
 Now shades, that echo the Cerberean roar. 
 
 Simply let these, like him of Samos live. 
 
 Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give ; 
 
 In beechen goblets let their bev’rage shine. 
 
 Cool from the chrystal spring, their sober wine ! 
 
35 
 
 Their youth should pass, in innocence, secure 
 From stain licentious, and in manners pure. 
 
 Pure as the priest, when rob’d in white he stands, 
 
 The fresh lustration ready in his hands. 
 
 Thus Linus liv’d, and thus, as poets write, 
 
 Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sight ! 
 
 Thus exil’d Chalcas, thus the bard of Thrace, 
 
 Melodious tamer of the savage race ! 
 
 Thus train’d by temp’rance, Homer led, of yore. 
 
 His chief of Ithaca from shore to shore. 
 
 Through magic Circe’s monster*peopled reign, 
 
 And shoals insidious with the siren train ; 
 
 And through the realms, where grizzly spectres dwell, 
 Whose tribes he fetter’d in a gory spell; 
 
 For these are sacred bards, and, from above. 
 
 Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove ! 
 
 Would’st thou (perhaps ’tis hardly worth thine ear) 
 Would’st thou be told my occupation here ? 
 
 The promised King of peace employs my pen, 
 
 Th’ eternal cov’nant made for guilty men. 
 
 The new-born Deity with infant cries 
 Filling the sordid hovel, where he lies ; 
 
 E 2 
 
3 6 
 
 \ 
 
 The hymning angels, and the herald star. 
 
 That led the Wise, who sought him from afar, 
 And idols on their own unhallow’d shore 
 Dash’d, at his birth, to be revered no more ! 
 
 This theme on reeds of Albion I rehearse 
 The dawn of that blest day inspired the verse ; 
 Verse, that, reserv’d in secret, shall attend 
 Thy candid voice, my critic, and my friend ! 
 
 / 
 
37 
 
 ELEGY VII. 
 
 Composed in the Author's Nineteenth Year . 
 
 As yet a stranger to the gentle fires. 
 
 That Amathusia’s smiling queen inspires. 
 
 Not seldom I derided Cupid’s darts. 
 
 And scorn’d his claim to rule all human hearts. 
 
 “ Go, child,” I said, <c transfix the tim’rous dove ! 
 An easy conquest suits an infant love ; 
 
 Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be 
 Sufficient triumph to a chief like thee ! 
 
 Why aim thy idle arms at human kind ? 
 
 Thy shaf ts prevail not ’gainst the noble mind. ” 
 
 The Cyprian heard, and, kindling into ire, 
 (None kindles sooner) burn’d with double fire. 
 
 It was the spring, and newly risen day 
 Peep’d o’er the hamlets on the first of May ; 
 
 My eyes too tender for the blaze of light. 
 
 Still sought the shelter of retiring night, 
 
 When Love approach’d, in painted plumes array’d ; 
 Th’ insidious god his rattling darts betray’d. 
 
38 
 
 Nor less his infant features, and the sly, 
 
 Sweet intimations of his threading eye. 
 
 * r 
 
 Such the Sigeian boy is seen above. 
 
 Filling the goblet for imperial Jove ; 
 
 Such he, on whom the nymphs bestow’d their charms, 
 Hylas, who perish’d in a Naiad’s arms. 
 
 Angry he seem’d, yet graceful in his ire, 
 
 And added threats, not destitute of fire. 
 
 « My power,” he said, “ by others pain alone, 
 
 Twere best to learn; now learn it by thy own ! 
 
 With those, who feel my power, that pow’r attest ! 
 And in thy anguish be my sway confest ! 
 
 I vanquish’d Phoebus, though returning vain 
 From his new triumph o’er the Python slain, 
 
 And, when he thinks on Daphne, even he 
 Will yield the prize of archery to me. 
 
 A dart less true the Parthian horseman sped. 
 
 Behind him kill’d, and conquer’d as he fled : 
 
 Less true th’ expert Cydonian, and less true 
 The youth, whose shaft his latent Procris slew. 
 Vanquish’d by me see huge Orion bend, 
 
 By me Alcides, and Alcides’ friend. 
 
 At me should Jove himself a bolt design, 
 
 His bosom first should bleed transfixt by mine. 
 
e 
 
 39 
 
 But all thy doubts this shaft will best explain. 
 
 Nor shall it reach thee with a trivial pain. 
 
 Thy Muse, vain youth ! shall not thy peace ensure. 
 Nor Phoebus’ serpent yield thy wound a cure. ” 
 
 He spoke, and, waving a bright shaft in air, 
 Sought the warm bosom of the Cyprian fair. 
 
 That thus a child should bluster in my ear. 
 Provok’d my laughter, more than mov’d my fear. 
 
 I shunn’d not, therefore, public haunts, but stray’d 
 Careless in city, or suburban shade. 
 
 And passing, and repassing, nymphs, that mov’d 
 With grace divine, beheld where’er I rov’d. 
 
 Bright shone the vernal day, with double blaze. 
 
 As beauty gave new force to Phoebus’ rays. 
 
 By no grave scruples check’d, I freely eyed 
 The dang’rous show, rash youth my only guide. 
 And many a look of many a fair unknown 
 Met full, unable to controul my own. 
 
 But one I mark’d (then peace forsook my breast) 
 One — Oh how far superior to the rest ! 
 
 What lovely features ! such the Cyprian queen 
 Herself might wish, and Juno wish her mien. 
 
 The very nymph was she, whom when I dar’d 
 His arrows, Love had even then prepar’d ! 
 
40 
 
 Nor was himself remote, nor unsupplied 
 With torch well-trimm’d and, quiver at his side ; 
 Now to her lips he elung, her eye-lids now, 
 
 Then settled on her cheeks* or on her brow. 
 
 And with a thousand wounds from ev’ry part 
 Pierced, and transpierced, my undefended heart. 
 
 A fever, new to me, of fierce desire 
 Now seiz’d my soul, and I was all on fire, 
 
 But she, the while, whom only I adore. 
 
 Was gone, and vanish’d, to appear no more. 
 
 In silent sadness I pursue my way; 
 
 I pause, I turn, proceed, yet wish to stay. 
 
 And while I follow her in thought, bemoan 
 With tears, my soul’s delight so quickly flown. 
 When Jove had hurl’d him to the Lemnian coast, 
 So Vulcan sorrow’d for Olympus lost. 
 
 And so Oeclides, sinking into night, 
 
 From the deep gulph look’d up to distant light. 
 
 Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain. 
 Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain ? 
 
 Oh could I once, once more behold the fair. 
 
 Speak to her, tell her, of the pangs I bear, 
 
 Perhaps she is not adamant, would show 
 Perhaps some pity at my tale of woe. 
 
4 * 
 
 Oh inauspicious flame — tis mine to prove 
 A matchless instance of disastrous love. 
 
 Ah spare me, gentle pow’r ! — If such thou be, 
 Let not thy deeds, and nature, disagree. 
 
 Spare me, and I will worship at no shrine 
 With vow and sacrifice, save only thine. 
 
 Now I revere thy fires, thy bow, thy darts : 
 Now own thee sov’reign of all human hearts. 
 Remove ! no — grant me still this raging woe ! 
 Sweet is the wretchedness, that lovers know : 
 But pierce hereafter (should I chance to see 
 One destin’d mine) at once both her, and me. 
 
 Such were the trophies, that, in earlier days. 
 By vanity seduced, I toil’d to raise. 
 
 Studious, yet indolent, and urg’d by youth. 
 That worst of teachers ! from the ways of truth ; 
 Till learning taught me, in his shady bow’r. 
 
 To quit loye’s servile yoke, and spurn his pow’r. 
 Then, on a sudden, the fierce flame supprest, 
 
 A frost continual settled on my breast. 
 
 Whence Cupid fears his flames extinct to see. 
 And Venus dreads a Diomede in me. 
 
 F 
 
42 
 
 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 ON THE INVENTOR OF GUNS. 
 
 Praise in old time the sage Prometheus won. 
 
 Who stole aethereal radiance from the sun ; 
 
 But greater he, whose bold invention strove 
 To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove. 
 
 To LEONORA singing at Rome* 
 
 Another Leonora once inspir’d 
 Tasso, with fatal love to phrenzy fir’d, 
 
 The Poems on the subject of the Gunpowder Treason I have not translated, 
 both because the matter of them is unpleasant, and because they aie written 
 with an asperity, which, however it might be warranted in Milton s Day, would 
 be extremely unseasonable now. 
 
 * I have translated only two of the three poetical compliments addressed to 
 Leonora, as they appear to me far superior to what I have omitted. 
 
43 
 
 But how much happier, liv’d he now, were he, 
 Pierc’d with whatever pangs for love of thee ! 
 
 Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine. 
 With Adriana’s lute of sound divine, 
 
 Fiercer than Pentheus’ tho’ his eye might roll. 
 
 Or ideot apathy benumb his soul. 
 
 You still, with medicinal sounds, might cheer 
 His senses wandering in a blind career; 
 
 And sweetly breathing thro* his wounded breast, 
 Charm, with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest* 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Naples, too credulous, ah! boast no more 
 The sweet- voic’d Siren buried on thy shore, 
 
 T hat, when Parthenope deceas’d, she gave 
 Her sacred dust to a Chalcidic grave, 
 
 For still she lives, but has exchang’d the hoarse 
 Pausilipo for Tiber’s placid course. 
 
 Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains. 
 Of magic song, both gods, and men, detains. 
 
 F 2 
 
44 
 
 The COTTAGER and his LANDLORD. 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 A peasant to his lord pay’d yearly court, 
 
 Presenting pippins, of so rich a sort 
 That he, displeas’d to have a part alone. 
 
 Remov’d the tree, that all might be his own. 
 
 The tree, too old to travel, though before 
 So fruitful, wither’d, and would yield no more. 
 
 The ’squire, perceiving all his labour void. 
 
 Curs’d his own pains, so foolishly employ’d. 
 
 And “ Oh,” he cried, “ that I had liv’d content 
 With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant! 
 
 My av’rice has expensive prov’d to me, 
 
 Has cost me both my pippins, and my tree.” 
 
 To CHRISTINA , Queen of Sweden . , 
 
 WITH 
 
 CROMWELL’S PICTURE. 
 
 Christina, maiden of heroic mien ! 
 
 Star of the North! of northern stars the queen! 
 
45 
 
 Behold what wrinkles I have earn’d, and how 
 The iron casque still chafes my vet’ran brow. 
 While following fate’s dark footsteps, I fulfil 
 The dictates of a hardy people’s will. 
 
 But soften’d, in thy sight, my looks appear, 
 Not to all Queens or Kings alike severe. 
 

 4 6 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 On the DEATH of the VICE-CHANCELLOR. 
 
 3L PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Learn, ye nations of the earth, 
 
 The condition of your birth. 
 
 Now be taught your feeble state ! 
 
 Know, that all must yield to fate ! 
 
 If the mournful rover, Death, 
 
 Say but once — “ resign your breath !” 
 
 Vainly of escape you dream. 
 
 You must pass the Stygian stream. 
 
47 
 
 Could the stoutest overcome 
 Death’s assault, and baffle doom, 
 Hercules had both withstood. 
 Undiseas’d by Nessus’ blood. 
 
 Ne’er had Hector press’d the plain 
 By a trick of Pallas slain. 
 
 Nor the chief to Jove allied 
 By Achilles’ phantom died. 
 
 Could enchantments life prolong, 
 Circe, sav’d by magic song, 
 
 Still had liv’d, and equal skill 
 Had preserv’d Medea still. 
 
 Dwelt in herbs, and drugs, a pow’r 
 To avert man’s destin’d hour, 
 
 Learn’d Machaon should have known 
 Doubtless to avert his own. 
 
 Chiron had surviv’d the smart 
 Of the Hydra-tainted dart. 
 
 And Jove’s bolt had been, with ease. 
 Foil’d by Asclepiades. 
 
48 
 
 Thou too, sage! of whom forlorn 
 Helicon and Cirrha mourn, 
 
 Still had’st fill’d thy princely place, 
 Regent of the gowned race. 
 
 Had’st advanc’d to higher fame 
 Still, thy much-ennobled name. 
 Nor in Charon’s skiff explor’d 
 The Tartarean gulph abhorr’d. 
 
 But resentful Proserpine, 
 
 Jealous of thy skill divine, 
 Snapping short thy vital thread 
 Thee too number’d with the dead. 
 
 Wise and good ! untroubled be 
 The green turf, that covers thee ! 
 Thence, in gay profusion, grow 
 All the sweetest flow’rs, that blow ! 
 
 Pluto’s consort bid thee rest ! 
 CEacus pronounce thee blest ! 
 
 To her home thy shade consign ! 
 Make Elysium ever thine ! 
 
 
49 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE 
 
 BISHOP OF ELY, 
 
 WRITTEN 
 
 In the Author’s 17th Year. 
 
 My lids with grief were tumid yet. 
 
 And still my sullied cheek was wet 
 With briny dews, profusely shed 
 For venerable Winton dead ; 
 
 When Fame, whose tales of saddest sound 
 Alas ! are ever truest found, 
 
 The news through all our cities spread 
 Of yet another mitred head 
 By ruthless fate to death consign’d, 
 
 Ely, the honour of his kind ! 
 
 At once, a storm of passion heav’d 
 My boiling bosom, much I griev’d 
 But more I rag’d, at ev’ry breath 
 Devoting Death himself to death. 
 
 With less revenge did Naso teem, 
 
 When hated Ibis was his theme; 
 
 G 
 
 / 
 
5 ° 
 
 / 
 
 With less, Archilochus, denied 
 The lovely Greek, his promis’d bride. 
 
 But lo ! while thus I execrate. 
 
 Incens’d, the minister of fate, 
 
 Wond’rous accents, soft, yet clear. 
 
 Wafted on the gale I hear. 
 
 " Ah, much deluded ! lay aside 
 Thy threats, and anger misapplied ! 
 
 Art not afraid with sounds like these 
 T’ offend, where thou canst not appease ? 
 Death is not (wherefore dream’st thou thus ?) 
 The son of Night, and Erebus : 
 
 Nor was of fell Erynnis born 
 On gulphs, where Chaos rules forlorn : 
 
 But sent from God ; his presence leaves. 
 
 To gather home his ripen’d sheaves. 
 
 To call encumber’d souls away 
 From fleshly bonds to boundless day, 
 
 (As when the winged hours excite, 
 
 And summon forth the morning-light) 
 
 And each to convoy to her place 
 Before th’ Eternal Father’s face. 
 
 V 
 
 l 
 
5 1 
 
 \ 
 
 But not the Wicked them, severe 
 
 Yet just, from all their pleasures here 
 He hurries to the realms below. 
 Terrific realms of penal woe ! 
 
 Myself no sooner heard his call, 
 
 Than, scaping through my prison-wall, 
 I bade adieu to bolts and bars. 
 
 And soar’d, with angels, to the stars. 
 Like him of old, to whom ’twas giv’n 
 To mount, on fiery wheels, to Heav’n. 
 Bootes’ waggon, slow with cold. 
 Appall’d me not ; nor to behold 
 The sword, that vast Orion draws. 
 
 Or ev’n the Scorpion’s horrid claws. 
 Beyond the Sun’s bright orb I fly, 
 
 And, far beneath my feet, descry 
 Night’s dread goddess, seen with awe, 
 Whom her winged dragons draw. 
 
 Thus, ever wond’ring at my speed. 
 Augmented still as I proceed, 
 
 I pass the planetary sphere, 
 
 The Milky Way — and now appear 
 Heav’ns chrystal battlements, her door 
 Of massy pearl, and em’rald floor. 
 
 o 2 
 
5 2 
 
 Eut here I cease. For never can 
 The tongue of once a mortal man 
 In suitable description trace 
 The pleasures of that happy place ; 
 Suffice it, that those joys divine 
 Are all, and all for ever, mine!” 
 
53 
 
 NATURE UNIMPAIRED BY TIME. 
 
 Ah, now the human mind wearies her self 
 With her own wand’rings, and, involv’d in gloom 
 Impenetrable, speculates amiss ! 
 
 Measuring, in her folly, things divine 
 By human ; laws inscrib’d on adamant 
 By laws of man’s device, and counsels fixt 
 For ever, by the hours, that pass, and die. 
 
 How? — shall the face of nature then be plough’d 
 Into deep wrinkles, and shall years at last 
 On the great Parent fix a sterile curse ? 
 
 Shall even she confess old age, and halt 
 And, palsy-smitten, shake her starry brows ? 
 
 Shall foul Antiquity with rust and drought. 
 
 And Famine, vex the radiant worlds above ? 
 
 Shall Time’s unsated maw crave and ingulph 
 The very Heav’ns, that regulate his flight ? 
 
 And was the Sire of all able to fence 
 
 His works, and to uphold the circling worlds. 
 
 But, through improvident, and heedless haste. 
 
 Let slip th’ occasion ? — so then — all is lost 
 
 And in some future evil hour, yon arch 
 
 Shall crumble, and come thund’ring down, the poles 
 
 Jar in collision, the Olympian king 
 
54 
 
 Fall with his throne, and Pallas, holding forth 
 The terrors of the Gorgon shield in vain. 
 
 Shall rush to the abyss, like Vulcan hurl’d 
 Down into Lemnos, through the gate of Heav’n. 
 Thou also, with precipitated wheels, 
 
 Phoebus ! thy own son’s fall shalt imitate. 
 
 With hideous ruin shalt impress the deep 
 Suddenly, and the flood shall reek, and hiss. 
 
 At the extinction of the lamp of day. 
 
 Then too^ shall Haemus, cloven to his base, 
 
 Be shattered, and the huge Ceraunian hills. 
 
 Once weapons of Tartarean Dis, immers’d 
 In Erebus, shall fill himself with fear. 
 
 No. The Almighty Father surer lay’d 
 His deep foundations, and providing well 
 For the event of all, the scales of Fate 
 Suspended, in just equipoise, and bade 
 His universal works, from age to age. 
 
 One tenour hold, perpetual, undisturb’d. 
 
 Hence the Prime mover wheels itself about 
 Continual, day by day, and with it bears 
 In social measure swift the heav’ns around. 
 
 Not tardier now is Satan than of old, 
 
 Nor radiant less the burning casque of Mars. 
 
55 
 
 Phoebus, his vigour unimpair’d, still shows 
 Th’ effulgence of his youth, nor needs the god 
 A downward course, that he may warm the vales ; 
 But, ever rich in influence, runs his road, 
 
 Sign after sign, through all the heav’nly zone. 
 Beautiful, as at first, ascends the star 
 From odorif ’rous Ind, whose office is 
 To gather home betimes th’ ethereal flock. 
 
 To pour them o’er the skies again at eve. 
 
 And to discriminate the night and day. 
 
 Still Cynthia’s changeful horn waxes, and wanes. 
 Alternate, and with arms extended still. 
 
 She welcomes to her breast her brother’s beams. 
 
 Nor have the elements deserted yet 
 Their functions, thunder with as loud a stroke 
 As erst, smites through the rocks, and scatters them. 
 The east still howls, still the relefitless north 
 Invades the shudd’ring Scythian, still he breathes, 
 The winter, and still rolls the storms along. 
 
 The king of ocean, with his wonted force. 
 
 Beats on Pelorus, o’er the deep is heard 
 The hoarse alarm of Triton’s sounding shell. 
 
 Nor swim the monsters of the Aegean sea. 
 
 In shallows, or beneath diminish’d waves* 
 
 Thou too, thy antient vegetative pow’r 
 Enjoy’st, O Earth ! Narcissus still is sweet, 
 
56 
 
 And, Phoebus ! still thy favourite, and still 
 Thy fav’rite, Cytherea ! both retain 
 Their beauty, nor the mountains, ore-enrich’d 
 For punishment of man, with purer gold 
 Teem’d ever, or with brighter gems the Deep. 
 
 Thus, in unbroken series, all proceeds ; 
 And shall, till wide involving either pole. 
 
 And the immensity of yonder heav’n. 
 
 The final flames of destiny absorb 
 
 The world, consum’d in one enormous pyre ! 
 
V 
 
 57 
 
 ON THE PLATONIC IDEA, 
 
 As it was understood by Aristotle . 
 
 Ye sister pow’rs, who o’er the sacred groves 
 Preside, and thou, fair mother of them all, 
 Mnemosyne ! and, thou, who in thy grot 
 Immense reclin’d at leisure, hast in charge 
 The archives, and the ord’nances of Jove, 
 
 And dost record the festivals of heav’n, 
 
 Eternity ! — Inform us who is He, 
 
 That great original by nature chos’n 
 To be the archetype of human kind. 
 
 Unchangeable, immortal, with the poles 
 Themselves coaeval, one, yet ev’ry where. 
 
 An image of the god, who gave him being? 
 Twin-brother of the goddess born from Jove, 
 
 He dwells not in his father’s mind, but, though 
 Of common nature with ourselves, exists 
 Apart, and occupies a local home. 
 
 Whether, companion of the stars, he spend 
 
 Eternal ages, roaming at his will 
 
 From sphere to sphere the tenfold heav’ns, or dwell 
 
 On the moon’s side, that nearest neighbours earth. 
 
 Or torpid on the banks of Lethe sit 
 
 Among the multitude of souls ordain’d 
 
 u 
 
5 « 
 
 To flesh and blood, or whether (as may chance) 
 That vast and giant model of our kind 
 In some far distant region of this globe 
 Sequester’d stalk, with lifted head on high 
 O’ertow’ring Atlas, on whose shoulders rest 
 The stars, terrific even to the gods. 
 
 Never the Theban seer, whose blindness prov’d 
 His best illumination, him beheld 
 In secret vision; never him the son 
 Of Pleione, amid the noiseless night 
 Descending, to the prophet-choir reveal’d ; 
 
 Him never knew th’ Assyrian priest, who yet 
 The ancestry of Ninus chronicles, 
 
 And Belus, and Osiris far-renown’d ; 
 
 Nor even thrice great Hermes, although skill’d 
 So deep in myst’ry, to the worshippers 
 Of Isis show’d a prodigy like him. 
 
 And thou, who hast immortaliz’d the shades 
 Of Academus, if the schools receiv’d 
 This monster of the fancy first from thee. 
 
 Either recall at once the banish’d bards 
 To thy republic, or thyself evinc’d 
 A wilder fabulist, go also forth. 
 
59 
 
 To his FATHER. 
 
 Oh that Pieria’s spring would thro’ my breast 
 Pour its inspiring influence, and rush 
 No rill, but rather an o’erflowing flood ! 
 
 That, for my venerable Father’s sake 
 
 All meaner themes renounc’d, my muse, on wings 
 
 Of duty borne, might reach a loftier strain. 
 
 For thee, my Father ! howsoe’er it please, 
 
 She frames this slender work, nor know I aught. 
 That may thy gifts more suitably requite ; 
 
 Though to requite them suitably would ask 
 Returns much nobler, and surpassing far 
 The meagre stores of verbal gratitude : 
 
 But, such as I possess, I send thee all. 
 
 This page presents thee in their full amount 
 With thy son’s treasures, and the sum is nought; 
 Nought, save the riches that from airy dream 
 In secret grottos, and in laurel bow’rs, | 
 
 I have, by golden Clio’s gift, acquir’d. 
 
 Verse is a work divine ; despise not thou 
 Verse therefore, which evinces (nothing more) 
 Man’s heavenly source, and which, retaining still 
 Some scintillations of Promethean fire. 
 
 H 2 
 
6o 
 
 Bespeaks him animated from above. 
 
 The Gods love verse ; the infernal Pow rs themselves 
 Confess the influence of verse, which stirs 
 The lowest deep, and binds in triple chains 
 Of adamant both Pluto and the Shades. 
 
 In verse the Delphic priestess, and the pale 
 Tremulous Sybil, make the tuture known, 
 
 And he who sacrifices, on the shrine 
 
 Hangs verse, both when he smites the threat ning bull. 
 
 And when he spreads his reeking entrails wide 
 
 To scrutinize the Fates invelop’d there. 
 
 We too, ourselves, what time we seek again 
 Our native skies, and one eternal now 
 Shall be the only measure of our being. 
 
 Crown’d all with gold, and chaunting to the lyre 
 Harmonious verse, shall range the courts above. 
 
 And make the starry firmament resound. 
 
 And, even now, the fiery spirit pure 
 
 That wheels yon circling orbs, directs, himself. 
 
 Their mazy dance with melody of verse 
 Unutt’rable, immortal, hearing which 
 Huge Ophiuchus holds his hiss suppress’d, 
 
 Orion soften’d, drops his ardent blade. 
 
 And Atlas stands unconscious of his load. 
 
 Verse grac’d of old the feasts of kings, ere yet 
 Luxurious dainties, destind to the gulph 
 
6 1 
 
 Immense of gluttony, were known, and ere 
 Lyaeus delug’d yet the temp’rate board. 
 
 Then sat the bard a customary guest 
 To share the banquet, and, his length of locks 
 With beechen honours bound, propos’d in verse 
 The characters of heroes, and their deeds. 
 
 To imitation, sang of Chaos old. 
 
 Of nature’s birth, of gods that crept in search 
 Of acorns fall’n, and of the thunder bolt 
 Not yet produc’d from Etna’s fiery cave. 
 
 And what avails, at last, tune without voice. 
 Devoid of matter ? Such may suit perhaps 
 The rural dance, but such was ne’er the song 
 Of Orpheus, whom the streams stood still to hear 
 And the oaks follow’d. Not by chords alone 
 Well touch’d, but by resistless accents more 
 To sympathetic tears the ghosts themselves 
 He mov’d : these praises to his verse he owes. 
 
 Nor thou persist, I pray thee, still to slight 
 The sacred Nine, and to imagine vain 
 And useless, pow’rs, by whom inspir’d, thyself 
 Art skilful to associate verse with airs 
 Harmonious, and to give the human voice 
 A thousand modulations, heir by right 
 Indisputable of Arion’s fame. 
 
 Now say, what wonder is it, if a son 
 
62 
 
 Of thine delight in verse, if so conjoin'd 
 In close affinity, we sympathize 
 In social arts, and kindred studies sweet ? 
 
 Such distribution of himself to us 
 
 Was Phoebus’ choice ; thou hast thy gift, and I 
 
 Mine also, and between us we receive. 
 
 Father and son, the whole inspiring God. 
 
 No ! howsoe’er the semblance thou assume 
 Of hate, thou hatest not the gentle Muse, 
 
 My Father ! for thou never bad’st me tread 
 The beaten path, and broad, that leads right on 
 To opulence, nor did’st condemn thy son 
 To the insipid clamours of the bar, 
 
 To laws voluminous, and ill observ’d ; 
 
 But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill 
 My mind with treasure, led’st me far away 
 From city-din to deep retreats, to banks 
 And streams Aonian, and, with free consent, 
 Didst place me happy at Apollo’s side. 
 
 I speak not now, on more important themes 
 Intent, of common benefits, and such 
 As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts 
 My Father! who, when I had open’d once 
 The stores of Roman rhetorick, and learn’d 
 The full-ton’d language, of the eloquent Greeks, 
 
6 3 
 
 Whose lofty music grac’d the lips of Jove, 
 
 Thyself did’st counsel me to add the floors, 
 
 That Gallia boasts, those too, with which the smooth 
 Italian his degen’rate speech adorns. 
 
 That witnesses his mixture with the Goth ; 
 
 And Palestine’s prophetic songs divine. 
 
 To sum the whole, whate’er the heav’n contains. 
 
 The earth beneath it, and the air between. 
 
 The rivers and the restless deep, may all 
 Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish 
 Concurring with thy will ; science herself. 
 
 All cloud remov’d, inclines her beauteous head. 
 
 And offers me the lip, if, dull of heart, 
 
 I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon. 
 
 Go now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds. 
 That covet it ; what could my Father more ? 
 
 What more could Jove himself, unless he gave 
 His own abode, the heav’n, in which he reigns ? 
 
 More eligible gifts than these were not 
 Apollo’s to his son, had they been safe, 
 
 As they were insecure, who made the boy 
 The world’s vice-luminary, bade him rule 
 The radiant chariot of the day, and bind 
 To his young brows his own all dazzling-wreath. 
 
 I therefore, although last and least, my place 
 
6 4 
 
 Among the learned in the laurel grove 
 Will hold, and where the conqu’ror’s ivy twines, 
 Henceforth exempt from the unletter’d throng 
 Profane, nor even to be seen by such. 
 
 Away then, sleepless Care, Complaint away. 
 
 And Envy, with thy “ jealous leer malign !” 
 
 Nor let the monster Calumny shoot forth 
 Her venom’d tongue at me. Detested foes ! 
 
 Ye all are impotent against my peace, 
 
 For I am privileg’d, and bear iny breast 
 Safe, and too high, for your viperean wound. 
 
 But thou ! my Father ! since to render thanks 
 Equivalent, and to requite by deeds 
 Thy liberality, exceeds my power. 
 
 Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts. 
 
 And bear them treasur’d in a grateful mind ! 
 
 Ye too, the favourite pastime of my youth, 
 
 Mv voluntary numbers, if ye dare 
 To hope longevity, and to survive 
 Your master’s funeral, not soon absorb d 
 In the oblivious Lethaean gulph 
 
 \ 
 
 Shall to futurity perhaps convey 
 
 This theme, and by these praises of my sire 
 
 Improve the Fathers of a distant age ! 
 
65 
 
 To SALSILLUS, a Roman Poet, 
 
 MUCH INDISPOSED. 
 
 The original is written in a measure called Scazon , which signifies 
 limping, and the measure is so denominated, because, though in other re- 
 spects Iambic, it terminates with a Spondee, and has consequently a more 
 tardy movement. 
 
 The reader will immediately see that this property of the Latin verse, 
 cannot be imitated in English. 
 
 My halting Muse, that dragg’st by choice along 
 Thy slow, slow step, in melancholy song. 
 
 And lik’st that pace, expressive of thy cares. 
 
 Not less than Diopeia’s sprightlier airs. 
 
 When, in the dance, she beats, with measur’d tread, 
 Heav n s floor , in front of Juno’s golden bed ; 
 
 Salute Salsillus, who to verse divine 
 Prefers, with partial love, such lays as mine. 
 
 Thus writes that Milton then, who wafted o’er 
 From his own nest, on Albion’s stormy shore. 
 
 i 
 
66 
 
 Where Eurus, fiercest of the iEolian band. 
 
 Sweeps, with ungovern’d rage, the blasted land. 
 
 Of late to more serene Ausonia came 
 To view her cities of illustrious name. 
 
 To prove, himself a witness of the truth, 
 
 How wise her elders, and how learn’d her youth. 
 Much good, Salsillus! and a body free 
 From all disease, that Milton asks for thee. 
 
 Who now endur’st the languor, and the pains. 
 
 That bile inflicts, diffus’d through all thy veins, 
 
 • t : ' 
 
 Relentless malady ! not mov’d to spare 
 By thy sweet Roman voice, and Lesbian air ! 
 
 Health, Hebe’s sister, sent us from the skies, 
 And thou, Apollo, whom all sickness flies, 
 
 Pythius, or Paean, or what name divine 
 Soe’er thou chuse, haste, heal a priest of thine ! 
 
 Ye groves of Faunus, and ye hills, that melt 
 With vinous dews, where meek Evander dwelt ! 
 
 i '■■'.} )> • • • t S'-* - : f ■ 
 
 If aught salubrious in your confines grow. 
 
 Strive which shall soonest heal your poet’s woe, 
 That, render’d to the Muse he loves, again 
 He may enchant the meadows with his strain. 
 Numa, reclin’d in everlasting ease. 
 
 Amid the shade of dark embow’ring trees, 
 
6 7 
 
 Viewing with eyes of unabated fire 
 His lov’d Algeria, shall that strain admire : 
 
 So sooth’d, the tumid Tiber shall revere 
 The tombs of kings, nor desolate the year. 
 
 Shall curb his waters with a friendly rein. 
 
 And guide them harmless, till they meet the main. 
 
 i> ;1 . • ' - ; ■; 
 
 f 1 1 ; , | Cl !;l \ 
 
 I 2 
 
 j 
 
68 
 
 To GIOVANNI BATTISTA MANSO, 
 
 MARQUIS OF VILLA . 
 
 jL b'vc i giH 
 
 iO <■; Oil! 
 
 j;: vL:.r ; j.-. r ; i I v/ KTO’^v/' feiii dlUD ilBlid 
 
 MILTON’S ACCOUNT OF MANSO. 
 
 Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa, is an Italian nobleman of 
 the highest estimation among his countrymen, for genius, literature, and 
 military accomplishments. To him Torquato Tasso addressed his Dialogues 
 on Friendship, for he was much the friend of Tasso, who has also celebrated 
 him among the other princes of his country, in his poem entitled, Gerusalemme 
 Conquistata, book xx. 
 
 Fra cavalier magnanimi, e cortesi, 
 
 Risplende il Manso. 
 
 During the Author’s stay at Naples, he received at the hands of the Marquis a 
 thousand kind offices and civilities, and, desirous not to appear ungrateful, 
 sent him this poem a short time before his departure from that city. 
 
 These verses also to thy praise the Nine, 
 Oh Manso ! happy in that theme design, 
 
 For, Gallus, and Maecenas gone, they see 
 None such besides, or whom they love as thee. 
 And, if my verse may give the meed of fame. 
 Thine too shall prove an everlasting name. 
 
6 9 
 
 Already such, it shines in Tasso’s page 
 
 (For thou wast Tasso’s friend) from age to age. 
 
 And, next, the Muse consign’d, (not unaware 
 How high the charge,) Marino to thy care. 
 
 Who, singing, to the nymphs, Adonis’ praise. 
 
 Boasts thee the patron of his copious lays. 
 
 To thee alone the poet would entrust 
 His latest vows, to thee alone his dust ; 
 
 And thou with punctual piety hast paid. 
 
 In labour’d brass, thy tribute to his shade. 
 
 Nor this contented thee — but lest the grave 
 Should aught absorb of their’s, which thou could’st save, 
 All future ages thou hast deign’d to teach 
 The life, lot, genius, character of each. 
 
 Eloquent as the Carian sage, who true 
 To his great theme, the life of Homer drew. 
 
 I, therefore, though a stranger youth, who come 
 Chill’d by rude blasts, that freeze my Northern home. 
 Thee dear to Clio, confident proclaim. 
 
 And thine, for Phoebus’ sake, a deathless name. 
 
 Nor thou, so kind, wilt view with scornful eye 
 A muse scarce rear’d beneath our sullen sky. 
 
 Who fears not, indiscreet as she is young, 
 
 To seek in Latium hearers of her song. 
 
7 ° 
 
 We too, where Thames with his unsullied waves 
 The tresses of the blue-hair’d Ocean laves, 
 
 Hear oft by night, or, slumb’ring, seem to hear. 
 
 O’er his wide stream, the swan’s voice warbling clear. 
 And we could boast a Tityrus of yore. 
 
 Who trod, a welcome guest, your happy shore. 
 
 Yes — dreary as we own our Northern clime. 
 E’en we to Phoebus raise the polish’d rhyme, 
 
 We too serve Phoebus ; Phoebus has receiv’d, * 
 
 (If legends old may claim to be believ’d) 
 
 No sordid gifts from us, the golden ear. 
 
 The burnish’d apple, ruddiest of the year. 
 
 The fragrant crocus, and to grace his fane. 
 
 Fair damsels chosen from the Druid train ; 
 
 Druids, our native bards in antient time. 
 
 Who gods and heroes prais’d in hallow’d rhyme ! 
 Hence, often as the maids of Greece surround 
 Apollo’s shrine with hymns of festive sound, 
 
 They name the virgins, who arriv’d of yore, 
 
 With British off ’rings, on the Delian shore, 
 
 Loxo, from giant Corineus sprung, 
 
 Upis, on whose blest lips the future hung, 
 
 And Hecaerge, with the golden hair. 
 
 All deck’d with Pictish hues, and all with bosoms bare. 
 
71 
 
 Thou, therefore, happy sage, whatever clime 
 Shall ring with Tasso’s praise in after- time, 
 
 Or with Marino’s, shall be known their friend, 
 
 And with an equal flight to fame ascend. 
 
 The world shall hear how Phoebus, and the Nine, 
 Were inmates once, and willing guests of thine. 
 
 Yet Phoebus, when of old constrain’d to roam 
 The earth, an exile from his heavenly home, 
 
 Enter’d, no willing guest, Admetus* door. 
 
 Though Hercules had ventur’d there before. 
 
 But gentle Chiron’s cave was near, a scene 
 Of rural peace, cloth’d with perpetual green. 
 
 And thither, oft as respite he requir’d 
 From rustic clamours loud, the god retir’d. 
 
 There, many a time, on Peneus’ bank reclin’d 
 At some oak’s root, with ivy thick entwin’d. 
 
 Won by his hospitable friend’s desire 
 He sooth’d his pains of exile with the lyre. 
 
 Then shook the hills, then trembled Peneus’ shore. 
 Nor Oeta felt his load of forests more ; 
 
 The upland elms descended to the plain. 
 
 And soften’d lynxes wonder’d at the strain. 
 
 Well may we think, O dear to all above ! 
 
 Thy birth distinguish’d by the smile of Jove, 
 
72 
 
 And that Apollo shed his kindliest pow’r, 
 
 And Maia’s son, on that propitious hour. 
 
 Since only minds so born can comprehend 
 A poet’s worth, or yield that worth a friend. 
 Hence, on thy yet unfaded cheek appears 
 The ling’ring freshness of thy greener years. 
 
 Hence, in thy front, and features, we admire 
 Nature unwither’d, and a mind entire. 
 
 Oh might so true a friend to me belong, 
 
 So skill’d to grace the votaries of song, 
 
 Should I recall hereafter into rhyme 
 The kings, and heroes of my native clime, 
 
 Arthur the chief, who even now prepares, 
 
 In subterraneous being, future wars. 
 
 With all his martial knights, to be restor’d. 
 
 Each to his seat, around the fed’ral board. 
 
 And Oh. if spirit fail me not, disperse 
 Our Saxon plund’rers, in triumphant verse ! 
 
 Then, after all, when, with the past content, 
 
 A life I finish, not in silence spent, 
 
 Should he, kind mourner, o’er my death-bed bend 
 I shall but need to say — “ Be yet my friend!” 
 
 He, too, perhaps, shall bid the marble breathe 
 To honour me, and with the graceful wreath 
 
73 
 
 Or of Parnassus, or the Paphian isle, 
 
 Shall bind my brows — but I shall rest the while. 
 Then also, if the fruits of Faith endure. 
 
 And Virtue’s promis’d recompense be sure. 
 
 Born to those seats, to which the blest aspire 
 By purity of soul, and virtuous fire. 
 
 These rites, as Fate permits, I shall survey 
 With eyes illumin’d by celestial day, 
 
 And, ev’ry cloud from my pure spirit driv’n, 
 Joy in the bright beatitude of Heav’n ! 
 
 K 
 
 - \ 
 
74 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF DAMON. 
 
 THE 2LRGUMENT • 
 
 Thyrsis and Damon, shepherds and neighbours, had always pursued 
 the same studies, and had, from their earliest days, been united in the closest 
 friendship. Thyrsis, while travelling for improvement, received intelligence 
 of the death of Damon, and, after a time, returning and finding it true, de- 
 plores himself, and his solitary condition, in this poem. 
 
 By Damon is to be understood Charles Deodati, connected with the 
 Italian city of Lucca by his father’s side, in other respects an Englishman ; a 
 youth of uncommon genius, erudition, and virtue. 
 
 Ye Nymphs of Himera (for ye have shed 
 Erewhile for Daphnis, and for Hylas dead, 
 
 And over Bion’s long-lamented bier, 
 
 The fruitless meed of many a sacred tear) 
 
 Now through the villas lav’d by Thames, rehearse 
 The woes of Thyrsis in Sicilian verse. 
 
 What sighs he heav’d, and how with groans profound 
 He made the woods, and hollow rocks resound, 
 
75 
 
 Young Damon dead; nor even ceas’d to pour 
 His lonely sorrows at the midnight hour. 
 
 The green wheat twice had nodded in the ear, 
 
 And golden harvest twice enrich’d the year. 
 
 Since Damon’s lips had gasp’d for vital air 
 The last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet was there ; 
 
 For he, enamour’d of the Muse, remain’d 
 In Tuscan Fiorenza long detain’d. 
 
 But, stor’d at length with all, he wish’d to learn, 
 
 For his flock’s sake now hasted to return, 
 
 And when the shepherd had resum’d his seat 
 At the elm’s root, within his old retreat, 
 
 Then ’twas his lot, then, all his loss to know, 
 
 And, from his burthen’d heart, he vented thus his woe. 
 
 “ Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 
 Alas ! what deities shall I suppose 
 
 In heav’n, or earth, concern’d for human woes. 
 
 Since, Oh my Damon ! their severe decree 
 So soon condemns me to regret of thee ! 
 
 Depart’st thou thus, thy virtues unrepaid 
 With fame and honour, like a vulgar shade ? 
 
 K 2 
 
7 6 
 
 Let him forbid it, whose briight rod controuls, 
 
 And sep’rates sordid from illlustrious souls. 
 
 Drive far the rabble, and to thee assign 
 A happier lot, with spirits w orthy thine ! 
 
 “ Go, seek your homie, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those o f feeding you. 
 
 Whate’er befall, unless by cruel chance 
 The wolf first give me a forbidding glance, 
 
 Thou shalt not moulder undieplor’d, but long 
 Thy praise shall dwell on ev ’ry shepherd’s tongue ; 
 
 To Daphnis first they shall delight to pay, 
 
 And, after him, to thee the votive lay. 
 
 While Pales shall the flocks, and pastures, love. 
 
 Or Faunus to frequent the field, or grove. 
 
 At least, if antient piety andi truth, 
 
 With all the learned labours of thy youth. 
 
 May serve thee aught, or to have left behind 
 A sorrowing friend, and of the tuneful kind. 
 
 tc Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 
 Yes, Damon ! such thy sure reward shall be ; 
 
 But ah, what doom awaits unhappy me ? 
 
 Who, now, my pains and perils shall divide, 
 
 As thou wast wont, for ever at my side, 
 
77 
 
 Both when the rugged frost annoy’d our feet, 
 
 And when the herbage all was parch’d with heat 
 Whether the grim wolf’s ravage to prevent, 
 
 Or the huge lion’s, arm’d with darts we went? 
 
 Whose converse, now, shall calm my stormy day, 
 
 With charming song, who now beguile my way ? 
 
 “ Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 
 In whom shall I confide ? Whose counsel find 
 A balmy med’cine for my troubled mind ? 
 
 Or whose discourse, with innocent delight. 
 
 Shall fill me now, and cheat the wint’ry night. 
 
 While hisses on my hearth, the pulpy pear. 
 
 And black’ning chesnuts start and crackle there. 
 
 While storms abroad the dreary meadows whelm, 
 
 And the wind thunders thro’ the neighb’ring elm. 
 
 “ Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 
 Or who, when summer suns their summit reach. 
 
 And Pan sleeps hidden by the shelt’ring beech. 
 
 When shepherds disappear, nymphs seek the sedge. 
 
 And the stretch’d rustic snores beneath the hedge, 
 
 Who then shall render me thy pleasant vein 
 Of Attic wit, thy jests, thy smiles again ? 
 
7 8 
 
 “ Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 
 Where glens and vales are thickest overgrown 
 With tangled boughs, I wander now alone. 
 
 Till night descend, while blust’ring wind and show’r 
 Beat on my temples through the shatter’d bow’r. 
 
 “ Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 
 Alas ! what rampant weeds now shame my fields, 
 
 And what a mildew’d crop the furrow yields ! 
 
 My rambling vines, unwedded to the trees, 
 
 Bear shrivell’d grapes, my myrtles fail to please, 
 
 Nor please me more my flocks ; they, slighted, turn 
 Their unavailing looks on me, and mourn. 
 
 « Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 y£gon invites me to the hazel grove, 
 
 Amyntas, on the river’s bank to rove, 
 
 And young Alphesiboeus to a seat 
 
 Where branching elms exclude the mid-day heat. 
 
 “ Here fountains spring — here mossy hillocks rise;” 
 
 Cf Here Zephyr whispers, and the stream replies.’ 
 
 Thus each persuades, but, deaf to ev’ry call, 
 
 I gain the thickets, and escape them all. 
 
79 
 
 “ Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 
 Then Mopsus said, (the same who reads so well 
 The voice of birds, and what the stars foretell. 
 
 For he by chance had noticed my return) 
 
 <e What means thy sullen mood, this deep concern ? 
 
 Ah Thyrsis ! thou art either craz’d with love, 
 
 Or some sinister influence from above ; 
 
 Dull Saturn’s influence oft the shepherds rue ; 
 
 His leaden shaft oblique has pierc’d thee through.” 
 
 “ Go, go, my lambs, unpastur’d as ye are. 
 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 
 The nymphs amaz’d, my melancholy see. 
 
 And, “Thyrsis !” cry “ what will become of thee ? 
 
 What would’st thou, Thyrsis ? such should not appear 
 The brow of youth, stern, gloomy, and severe; 
 
 Brisk youth should laugh, and love — -ah shun the fate 
 Of those, twice wretched mopes! who love too late!” 
 
 “ Go, go, my lambs, unpastur’d as ye are, 
 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 
 ALgle with Hyas came, to sooth my pain. 
 
 And Baucis’ daughter, Dryope the vain. 
 
 Fair Dryope, for voice and finger neat 
 Known far and near, and for her self-conceit ; 
 
8o 
 
 Chloris too came, whose cottage on the lands, 
 
 That skirt the Idumanian current, stands ; 
 
 But all in vain they came, and but to see 
 Kind words, and comfortable, lost on me. 
 
 w Go, go, my lambs, unpastur’d as ye are, 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 
 Ah blest indiff ’rence of the playful herd. 
 
 None by his fellow chosen, or preferr’d ! 
 
 No bonds of amity the flocks enthrall. 
 
 But each associates, and is pleas’d with all ; 
 
 So graze the dappled deer in num’rous droves, 
 
 And all his kind alike the zebra loves ; 
 
 The same law governs, where the billows roar. 
 And Proteus’ shoals o’erspread the desert shore ; 
 The sparrow, meanest of the feather’d race. 
 
 His fit companion finds in ev’ry place, 
 
 With whom he picks the grain, that suits him best. 
 Flirts here and there, and late returns to rest, 
 
 And whom if chance the falcon make his prey, 
 
 Or hedger with his well aim’d arrow slay. 
 
 For no such loss the gay survivor grieves ; 
 
 New love he seeks, and new delight receives. 
 
 We only, an obdurate kind, rejoice. 
 
 Scorning all others, in a single choice, 
 
8.i 
 
 We scarce in thousands meet one kindred mind. 
 
 And if the long-sought good at last we find. 
 
 When least we fear it, Death our treasure steals, 
 
 And gives our heart a wound, that nothing heals . 
 
 “ Go, go, my lambs, unpastur’d as ye are. 
 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 
 Ah, what delusion lur’d me from my flocks, 
 
 To traverse Alpine snows, and rugged rocks ! 
 
 What need so great had I to visit Rome, 
 
 Now sunk in ruins, and herself a tomb ? 
 
 Or, had she flourish’d still as when, of old. 
 
 For her sake Tityrus forsook his fold. 
 
 What need so great had I t’ incur a pause 
 Of thy sweet intercourse for such a cause. 
 
 For such a cause to place the roaring sea. 
 
 Rocks, mountains, woods, between my friend and me ? 
 Else, had I grasp’d thy feeble hand, compos’d 
 Thy decent limbs, thy drooping eye-lids clos’d. 
 
 And, at the last, had said “ Farewell — ascend — 
 
 Nor even in the skies forget thy friend !” 
 
 “ Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare. 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 
 L 
 
82 
 
 Although well-pleas’d, ye tuneful Tuscan swains! 
 
 My mind the mem’jy of your worth retains. 
 
 Yet not your worth can teach me less to mourn 
 My Damon lost. — He too was Tuscan born. 
 
 Born in your Lucca, city of renown ! 
 
 And wit possess’d, and genius, like your own. 
 
 Oh how elate was I, when stretch’d beside 
 The murm’ring course of Arno’s breezy tide, 
 
 Beneath the poplar grove I pass’d my hours, 
 
 Now cropping myrtles, and now vernal flow’rs. 
 
 And hearing, as I lay at ease along, 
 
 Your swains contending for the prize of song ! 
 
 I also dar’d attempt (and, as it seems. 
 
 Not much displeas’d attempting) various themes. 
 
 For even I can presents boast from you, 
 
 The shepherd’s pipe, and ozier basket too, 
 
 And Dati, and Francini, both have made 
 My name familiar to the beechen shade, 
 
 And they are learn’d, and each in ev’ry place 
 Renown’d for song, and both of Lydian race. 
 
 “ Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare, 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 
 While bright the dewy grass with moon-beams shone. 
 And I stood hurdling in my kids alone. 
 
83 
 
 How often have I said (but thou had’st found 
 Ere then thy dark cold lodgment under ground) 
 Now Damon sings, or springes sets for hares. 
 
 Or wicker work for various use prepares ! 
 
 How oft, indulging fancy, have I plann’d 
 New scenes of pleasure, that I hop’d at hand, 
 Call’d thee abroad as I was wont, and cried — 
 
 « What hoa ! my friend — come, lay thy task aside, 
 
 Haste, let us forth together, and beguile 
 
 The heat, beneath yon whisp’ring shades awhile. 
 
 Or on the margin stray of Colne’s clear flood, 
 
 Or where Cassibelan’s grey turrets stood ! 
 
 There thou shalt cull me simples, and shalt teach 
 Thy friend the name, and healing pow’rs of each. 
 From the tall blue-bell to the dwarfish weed. 
 
 What the dry land, and what the marshes breed. 
 For all their kinds alike to thee are known, 
 
 And the whole art of Galen is thy own. 
 
 Ah, perish Galen’s art, and wither’d be 
 The useless herbs, that gave not health to thee ! 
 Twelve evenings since, as in poetic dream 
 I meditating sat some statelier theme. 
 
 The reeds no sooner touch’d my lip, though new, 
 And unassay’d before, than wide they flew, 
 
 L 2 
 
8 4 
 
 Bursting their waxen bands, nor could sustain 
 The deep-ton’d music of the solemn strain ; 
 
 And I am vain perhaps, but I will tell 
 
 How proud a theme I chuse — ye groves farewell ! 
 
 “ Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 
 Of Brutus, Dardan chief, my song shall be. 
 
 How with his barks he plough’d the British sea, 
 
 First from Rutupia’s tow’ring headland seen. 
 
 And of his consort’s reign, fair Imogen ; 
 
 Of Brennus, and Belinus, brothers bold. 
 
 And of Arviragus, and how of old 
 Our hardy sires th’ Armorican controll’d. 
 
 And of the wife of Gorlois, who, surpris’d 
 By Uther, in her husband’s form disguis’d, 
 
 (Such was the force of Merlin’s art) became 
 Pregnant with Arthur of heroic fame. 
 
 These themes I now revolve — and Oh — -if Fate 
 Proportion to these themes my lengthen’d date. 
 
 Adieu my shepherd’s reed — yon pine-tree bough 
 Shall be thy future home, there dangle thou 
 Forgotten and disus’d, unless ere long 
 Thou change thy Latian for a British song; 
 
85 
 
 A British? — even so — the pow’rs of man 
 Are bounded ; little is the most he can ; 
 
 And it shall well suffice me, and shall be 
 Fame, and proud recompence enough for me. 
 
 If Usa, golden-hair’d, my verse may learn. 
 
 If Alain bending o’er his chrystal urn. 
 
 Swift-whirling Abra, Trent’s o’ershadow’d stream 
 Thames, lovelier far than all in my esteem, 
 
 Tamar’s ore-tinctur’d flood, and, after these. 
 
 The wave-worn shores of utmost Orcades. 
 
 “ Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare. 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 
 All this I kept in leaves of laurel-rind 
 Enfolded safe, and for thy view design’d. 
 
 This — and a gift from Manso’s hand beside, 
 
 (Manso, not least his native city’s pride) 
 
 Two cups, that radiant as their giver shone. 
 
 Adorn’d by sculpture with a double zone. 
 
 The spring was graven there ; here slowly wind 
 The Red-sea shores with groves of spices lin’d ; 
 
 Her plumes of various hues amid the boughs 
 The sacred, solitary Phoenix shows. 
 
 And watchful of the dawn, reverts her head. 
 
 To see Aurora leave her wat’ry bed. 
 
86 
 
 — In other part, th s expansive vault above. 
 
 And there too, even there, the God of love ; 
 
 With quiver arm’d he mounts, his torch displays 
 A vivid light, his gem-tipt arrows blaze. 
 
 Around, his bright and fiery eyes he rolls, 
 
 Nor aims at vulgar minds, or little souls. 
 
 Nor deigns one look below, but aiming high 
 Sends every arrow to the lofty sky. 
 
 Hence forms divine, and minds immortal, learn 
 The pow’r of Cupid, and enamour’d burn. 
 
 « Thou also Damon (neither need I fear 
 That hope delusive) thou art also there ; 
 
 For whither should simplicity like thine 
 Retire, where else such spotless virtue shine ? 
 
 Thou dwell’st not (thought profane) in shades below. 
 Nor tears suit thee — cease then my tears to flow. 
 Away with grief! on Damon ill-bestow’d! 
 
 Who, pure himself, has found a pure abode, 
 
 Has pass’d the show’ry arch, henceforth resides 
 With saints and heroes, and from flowing tides 
 Quaffs copious immortality, and joy. 
 
 With hallow’d lips! — Oh! blest without alloy. 
 
 And now enrich’d with all, that faith can claim. 
 
 Look down, entreated by whatever name. 
 
8 7 
 
 If Damon please thee most (that rural sound 
 Shall oft with echoes fill the groves around) 
 
 Or if Diodatus, by which alone 
 
 In those etherial mansions thou art known. 
 
 Thy blush was maiden, and thy youth the taste 
 Of wedded bliss knew never, pure and chaste, 
 The honours, therefore, by divine decree 
 The lot of virgin worth are given to thee ; 
 
 Thy brows encircled with a radiant band. 
 
 And the green palm-branch waving in thy hand, 
 Thou in immortal nuptials shalt rejoice. 
 
 And join with seraphs thy according voice. 
 Where rapture reigns, and the ecstatic lyre 
 Guides the blest orgies of the blazing quire. ” 
 
88 
 
 An O D E 
 
 Addressed to Mr. JOHN R 0 U S E, Librarian, 
 
 Of the University of Oxford, 
 
 On a lost Volume of my Poems , which he desired me to replace , that he might 
 add them to my other Works deposited in the Library . 
 
 This Ode is rendered without rhime, that it might more adequately 
 represent the original, which, as Milton himself informs us, is of no certain 
 measure. It mav possibly for this reason disappoint the reader, though it 
 cost the writer more labour than the translation of any other piece in the 
 whole collection. 
 
 STROPHE. 
 
 My two-fold book ! single in show. 
 But double in contents. 
 
 Neat, but not curiously adorn’d. 
 Which, in his early youth, 
 
 A poet gave, no lofty one in truth. 
 Although an earnest wooer of the Muse — 
 Say while in cool Ausonian shades. 
 Or British wilds he roam’d, 
 Striking by turns his native lyre, 
 By turns the Daunian lute. 
 
 And stepp’d almost in air, — 
 
8 9 
 
 r~* 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 Say, little book, what furtive hand 
 Thee from thy fellow-books convey’d. 
 
 What time, at the repeated suit 
 
 Of my most learned friend, 
 
 I sent thee forth, an honour’d traveller. 
 
 From our great city to the source of Thames, 
 
 Caerulian sire ! 
 
 Where rise the fountains, and the raptures ring, 
 
 Of the Aonian choir. 
 
 Durable as yonder spheres. 
 
 And through the endless lapse of years 
 Secure to be admir’d? 
 
 STROPHE 2. 
 
 Now what God, or Demigod, 
 
 For Britain’s antient Genius mov’d 
 (If our afflicted land 
 Have expiated at length the guilty sloth 
 Of her degen’rate sons) 
 
 Shall terminate our impious feuds. 
 
 And discipline, with hallow’d voice, recall? 
 
 M 
 
 t 
 
9 ° 
 
 Recall the Muses too, 
 
 Driv’n from their antient seats 
 In Albion, and well nigh from Albion’s shore, 
 
 And with keen Phoebean shafts 
 Piercing th 5 unseemly birds. 
 
 Whose talons menace us. 
 
 Shall drive the Harpy race from Helicon afar ? 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 But thou, my book, though thou hast stray’d, 
 Whether by treach’ry lost. 
 
 Or indolent neglect, thy bearer’s fault. 
 
 From all thy kindred books. 
 
 To some dark cell, or cave forlorn. 
 
 Where thou endur’st, perhaps. 
 
 The chafing of some hard untutor’d hand. 
 
 Be comforted — 
 
 For lo ! again the splendid hope appears 
 That thou may’st yet escape 
 The gulphs of Lethe, and on oary wings 
 Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove ! 
 
 STROPHE 3 . 
 
 Since Rouse desires thee, and complains 
 That, though by promise his, 
 
 
9 * 
 
 Thou yet appear’st not in thy place 
 Among the literary noble stores, 
 
 Giv’n to his care. 
 
 But, absent, leav’st his numbers incomplete. 
 He, therefore, guardian vigilant 
 
 Of that unperishing wealth. 
 Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge, 
 Where he intends a richer treasure far 
 Than Ion kept (Ion, Erectheus’ son 
 Illustrious, of the fair Creiisa born) 
 
 In the resplendent temple of his God, 
 Tripods of gold, and Delphic gifts divine. 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 Haste, then, to the pleasant groves, 
 
 The Muses’ fav’rite haunt ; 
 
 Resume thy station in Apollo’s dome, 
 
 Dearer to him 
 
 Than Delos, or the fork’d Parnassian hill ! 
 
 Exulting go. 
 
 Since now a splendid lot is also thine. 
 
 And thou art sought by my propitious friend ; 
 For there thou shalt be read 
 
9 2 
 
 With authors of exalted note. 
 
 The antient glorious lights of Greece and Rome. 
 
 E P O D E. 
 
 Ye, then, my works, no longer vain. 
 
 And worthless deem’d by me ! 
 Whate’er this steril genius has produc’d 
 Expect, at last, the rage of envy spent. 
 
 An umolested happy home. 
 
 Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend. 
 Where never flippant tongue profane 
 Shall entrance find, 
 
 And whence the coarse unletter’d multitude 
 Shall babble far remote. 
 
 Perhaps some future distant age, 
 
 Less ting’d with prejudice, and better taught. 
 Shall furnish minds of pow’r 
 To judge more equally. 
 
 Then, malice silenced in the tomb. 
 
 Cooler heads and sounder hearts. 
 
 Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise 
 I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim* 
 
 
93 
 
 A TRANSLATION OF THE 
 
 ITALIAN POEMS. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Fair Lady ! whose harmonious name the Rhine, 
 Through all his grassy vale, delights to hear. 
 Base were indeed the wretch, who could forbear 
 To love a spirit elegant as thine. 
 
 That manifests a sweetness all divine. 
 
 Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare. 
 And graces, which Love’s bow and arrows are, 
 Temp’ring thy virtues to a softer shine. 
 
 When gracefully thou speak’st, or singest gay. 
 
 Such strains, as might the senseless forest move. 
 Ah then — turn each his eyes, and ears, away. 
 
 Who feels himself unworthy of thy love ! 
 
 Grace can alone preserve him, ere the dart 
 Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart. 
 
94 
 
 S O N E T T O. 
 
 Donna leggiadra, il cui bel nome honora 
 
 L’herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco, 
 Ben e colui d’ogni valore scarco, 
 
 Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamorae 
 Che dolcemente mostra si di fuora 
 De sui atti soavi giamai parco, 
 
 E i don/ che son d’amor saette ed arco, 
 
 La onde 1* alta tua virtu s’infiora. 
 
 Ouando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti, 
 
 Che mover possa duro alpestre legno, 
 Guardi ciascun a gli occhi, ed a gli orecchi 
 L’cntrata, chi di te si truova indegno ; 
 
 Gratia sola di su gli vaglia, inanti 
 Che’l disio amoroso al cuor s’invecchi. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 As on a hill-top rude, when closing day 
 
 Imbrowns the scene, some past’ral maiden fair 
 Waters a lovely foreign plant with care, 
 
 Borne from its native genial airs away, 
 
95 
 
 That scarcely can its tender bud display. 
 
 So, on my tongue these accents, new, and rare,. 
 Are flow’rs exotic, which Love waters there. 
 While thus, O sweetly scornful ! I essay 
 
 Thy praise, in verse to British ears unknown, 
 And Thames exchange for Arno’s fair domain ; 
 So Love has will’d, and oftimes Love has shown 
 That what he wills, he never wills in vain. 
 
 Oh that this hard and steril breast might be. 
 
 To Him, who plants from Heav’n, a soil as free ! 
 
 S O N E T T O. 
 
 Qual in colie aspro, all imbrunir di sera, 
 L’ avezza giovinetta pastorella 
 Va bagnando l’herbetta strana e bella, 
 Che mal si spande a dissusata spera, 
 Fuor di sua natia alma primavera; 
 
 Cosi Amor meco insu la lingua snella 
 Desta il fior novo di- strania favella, 
 Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera, 
 Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso, 
 
 E’l bel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno. 
 
9 6 
 
 Amor lo volse, ed io' a Y altrui peso, 
 
 Seppi, ch’ Amor cosa mai volse indarno. 
 
 Deh ! foss’ il mio cuor lento, e’l duro seno, 
 A chi pianta dal ciel, si buon terreno ! 
 
 CANZONE. 
 
 They mock my toil — the nymphs and am’rous swains — 
 
 % 
 
 And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry. 
 
 Love songs in language, that thou little know’st ? 
 
 How dar’st thou risque to sing these foreign strains ? 
 
 Say truly. Find’st not oft thy purpose cross’d. 
 
 And that thy fairest flow’rs, here fade and die ? 
 
 Then with pretence of admiration high — 
 
 Thee other shores expect, and other tides, 
 
 Rivers, on whose grazzy sides 
 
 Her deathless laurel- leaf, with which to bind 
 
 Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides ; 
 
 Why then this burthen, better far declin’d ? 
 
 Speak Muse ! for me. — The fair one said, who guides 
 My willing heart, and all my fancy’s flights, 
 
 This is the language, in which Love delights.” 
 
97 
 
 CANZONE. 
 
 Ridonsi donne, e giovani amorosi 
 M* accostandosi attorno, e perche scrivi, 
 Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana 
 Verseggiando d’ amor, e come t’ osi ? 
 
 Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana, 
 
 E de pensieri lo miglior t’ arrivi ; 
 
 Cosi mi van burlando, altri rivi 
 Altri lidi t’aspettan, ed altre onde 
 Nelle cui verdi sponde 
 Spuntati ad hor, ad hor, a la tua chioma 
 L’ immortal guiderdon d’ eterne frondi : 
 Perche all spalle tue soverchia soma P 
 
 Canzon, dirotti, e tu per me rispondi ! 
 Dice mia Donna, e’l suo dir e il mio cuore : 
 
 “ Questa e lingua, di cui si vanta Amore.” 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 To CHARLES D I O D A T I. 
 
 Cr hales — and I say it wond’ring — thou must know 
 That I, who once assum’d a scornful air, 
 
 And scoff’d at love, am fallen in his snare, 
 
 (Full many an upright man has fallen so) 
 
 
 N 
 
Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow 
 Of golden locks, or damask cheek ; more rare 
 The heart-felt beauties of my foreign fair; 
 
 A mien majestic, with dark brows, that show 
 The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind; 
 
 Words exquisite, of idioms more than one, 
 
 And song, whose fascinating pow’r might bind, 
 
 Arid from her sphere draw down the lab 1 ing Moon, 
 With such fire-darting eyes, that should I fill 
 My ears with wax, she would inchant me still. 
 
 S O N E T T O. 
 
 Diodati, e teT diro con maraviglia, 
 
 Quel ritroso io, ch’amor spreggiar solea, 
 
 E de suoi lacci spesso mi ridea, 
 
 Gia caddi, ov’huom dabben talhor s’impiglia 
 Ne treccie d’ oro, ne guancia vermiglia 
 M* abbaglian si, ma sotto nova idea 
 Pellegrina bellezza, che’l cuor bea, 
 Portamenti alti honesti, e nelle ciglia 
 Quel sereno fulgor d’ amabil nero. 
 
 Parole adorne, di lingua piu d’una, 
 
 El cantar, che di mezzo fhemispero 
 
99 
 
 Traviar ben puo la faticosa Luna, 
 
 E degli occhi suoi auventa si gran fuoco, • 
 
 Che l’incerar gli orecchi mi fia poco. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Lady ! It cannot be, but that thine eyes 
 
 Must be my sun, such radiance they display. 
 And strike me ev’n as Phoebus him, whose way 
 Through horrid Lybia’s sandy desert lies. 
 
 Meantime, on that side steamy vapours rise 
 
 Where most I suffer. Of what kind are they, 
 New as to me they are, I cannot say, 
 
 But deem them, in the lover’s language — sighs. 
 Some, though with pain, my bosom close conceals. 
 Which, if in part escaping thence, they tend 
 To soften thine, thy coldness soon congeals. 
 
 While others to my tearful eyes ascend. 
 
 Whence my sad nights in show’rs are ever drown’d. 
 Till my Aurora comes, her brow with roses bound. 
 
 N 2 
 
too 
 
 S O N E T T O. 
 
 • 
 
 Per certo i bei vostr’occhi, Donna mia, 
 
 Esser non puo, che non sian lo mio sole. 
 Si mi percuoton forte, come ei suole 
 Per l’arene di Libia, chi s’invia: 
 
 Mentre un caldo vapor (ne sent! pria) 
 
 Da quel lato si spinge, ove mi duole, 
 
 Che forse amanti nelle lor parole 
 Chiaman sospir ; io non so che si sia : 
 
 Parte rinchiusa, e turbida si cela 
 
 Scosso mi il petto, e poi n’uscendo poco 
 Quivi d’ attorno o s’agghiaccia, o s’ingiela; 
 Ma quanto a gli occhi giunge a trovar loco 
 Tutte le notti a me suol far piovose 
 Finche mia Alba rivien, colma di rose. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 Enamour’d, artless, young, on foreign ground, 
 Uncertain whither from myself to fly. 
 
 To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh 
 Let me devote my heart, which I have found 
 
 v 
 
lOl 
 
 By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound. 
 Good, and addicted to conceptions high: 
 
 When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky, 
 It rests in adamant self-wrapt around. 
 
 As safe from envy, and from outrage rude. 
 
 From hopes and fears, that vulgar minds abuse, 
 As fond of genius, and fixt fortitude. 
 
 Of the resounding lyre, and every Muse. 
 
 Weak you will find it in one only part. 
 
 Now pierc’d by Love’s immedicable dart. 
 
 S O N E T T O. 
 
 Giovane piano, e semplicetto amante, 
 
 Poi che fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono. 
 Madonna, a voi del mio cuor l’humil dono 
 Faro divoto ; io certo a prove tante 
 L’hebbi fedele, intrepido, costante, 
 
 De pensieri leggiadri, accorto, e buono ; 
 
 Quando rugge il gran mondo, e scocca il tuono, 
 S’arma di se, e d’ intero diamante, 
 

 102 
 
 Tanto del forse, e d’ invidia sicuro, 
 
 Di timori, e speranze al popol use 
 Quanto d’ingegno, e d’alto valor vago, 
 E di cetra sonora, e delle Muse : 
 
 Sol troverete in tal parte men duro, 
 Ove Amor mise l’insanabil ago. 
 
JOANNIS MILTONI 
 
 L 0 XD I X E X S 1 S 
 
 F O E M A T A. 
 
 Quorum pleraque intra Annum JEtatis Vigesimum cons crip sit. 
 
i°5 
 
 DE AUTORE TESTIMONIA. 
 
 Haec, quae sequuntur, de Autore testimonia, tametsi ipse intelligebat 
 non tain de se quam supra se esse dicta, eo quod praeclaro ingenio viri, nec 
 non amici, ita fere solent laudare, ut omnia suis potius virtutibus, quam veri- 
 tati congruentia, nimis cupide affingant, noluit tamen horum egregiam in se 
 voluntatem non esse notam, cum alii praesertim, ut id faceret, magnopere sua- 
 derent. Dum enim nimiae laudis invidiam totis ab se viribus amolitur, sibique, 
 quod plus aequo est, non attributum esse mavult, judicium interim hominum 
 cordatorum atque illustrium, quin summo sibi honori ducat, negare non potest. 
 
 Joanna Baptist a Mansus , Marchio Villensis , Neapo lit anus, ad 
 Joannem Miltonum , Anglum, 
 
 Ut mens, forma, decor, facies, mos, si pietas sic. 
 
 Non Anglus, verum hercle Angelus ipse fores. 
 
 Ad Joannem Miltonem , Anglum , triplici poeseos laurea coronandum, 
 Grceca nimiritm , Latina , atque Hetrusca , Epigramma 
 Joannis Salsilli, Romani . 
 
 Cede, Meles ! Cedat depressa Mincius urna! 
 
 Sebetus Tassum desinat usque loqui ! 
 
 o 
 
io 6 
 
 At Thamesis, victor, cunctis ferat altior undas ! 
 Nam per te Milto par tribus unus erit. 
 
 Ad Joannem Miltonum. 
 
 Gracia Maeonidem, jactet sibi Roma Maronem! 
 
 Anglia Miltonum jactat, utrique parem. 
 
 Selvaggi. 
 
 Al Signior Gio . Miltoni Nobile Inglese. 
 ODE. 
 
 Ergimi all’ Etra, 6 Clio, 
 
 Perche di stelle intrecciero corona 
 
 Non piu del Biondo Dio 
 
 La Fronde eterna in Pindo, e in Elicona, 
 
 Diensi a merto maggior, maggiori i fregi, 
 
 A’ celeste virtu celesti pregi. 
 
 Non puo del tempo edace 
 Rimaner preda, eterno alto valore 
 Non puo T oblio rapace 
 Furar dalle memorie eccelso onore. 
 
107 
 
 Su 1’ arco di mia cetra un dardo forte 
 Virtu m’adatti, e feriro la morte. 
 
 Del Ocean profondo 
 
 Cinta dagli ampi gorghi Anglia resiede 
 
 Separata dal mondo, 
 
 Pero che il suo valor l’umana eccede : 
 Questa feconda sa produrre Eroi, 
 Ch’hanno a ragion del sovruman tra noi. 
 
 Alla virtu sbandita 
 
 Danno ne i petti lor fido ricetto, 
 
 Quella gli e sol gradita, 
 
 Perche in lei san trovar gioia, e diletto ; 
 Ridillo tu, Giovanni, e mostra in tanto 
 Con tua vera virtu, vero il mio Canto. 
 
 Lungi dal Patrio lido 
 
 Spinse Zeusi 1’ industre ardente brama ; 
 
 Ch’ udio d’ Helena il grido 
 
 Con aurea tromba rimbombar la fama, 
 
 E per poterla effigiare al paro 
 Dalle piu belle Idee trasse il piu raro. 
 
 O 2 
 
io8 
 
 Cosi F Ape Ingegnosa 
 
 Trae con industria il suo liquor pregiato 
 
 Dal giglio e dalla rosa, 
 
 E quanti vaghi fiori ornano il prato ; 
 Formano un dolce suon diverse Chorde, 
 Fan varie voci melodia concorde. 
 
 Di bella gloria amante 
 
 Milton dal Ciel natio per varie parti 
 
 Le peregrine pi ante 
 
 Volgesti a ricercar scienze, ed arti ; 
 
 Del Gallo regnator vedesti i Regni, 
 
 E dell 5 Italia ancor gP Eroi piu degni. 
 
 Fabro quasi divino 
 
 Sol virtu rintracciando il tuo pensiero 
 
 Vide in ogni confino 
 
 Chi di nobil valor calca il sentiero ; 
 
 L’ottimo dal miglior dopo scegliea 
 
 Per fabbricar d’ ogni virtu V Idea. 
 
 Quanti nacquero in Flora 
 
 O in lei del parlar Tosco appreser V arte. 
 
 La cui memoria onora 
 
 Il mondo fatta eterna in dotte carte, 
 
log 
 
 Volesti ricercar per tuo tesoro, 
 
 E parlasti con lor nell’ opre loro. 
 
 Nell’ altera Babelle 
 
 Per te il parlar confuse Giove in vano, 
 
 Che per varie favelle 
 
 Di se stessa trofeo cadde su’l piano : 
 
 Ch’ Ode oltr’ all Anglia il suo piu degno Idioma 
 Spagna, Francia, Toscana, e Grecia, e Roma. 
 
 I piu profondi arcani 
 
 Ch 5 occulta la natura e in cielo e in terra 
 
 Ch’ a Ingegni sovrumani 
 
 Troppo avaro tal’ hor gli chiude, e serra, 
 
 Chiaramente conosci, e giungi al fine 
 
 Della moral virtude al gran confine. 
 
 Non batta il Tempo Y ale, 
 
 Fermisi immoto, e in un fermin si gl’ anni, 
 
 Che di virtu immortale 
 
 Scorron di troppo ingiuriosi a i danni ; 
 
 Che s’opre degne di Poema o storia 
 Furon gia, Thai presenti alia memoria 
 
 Dammi tua dolce Cetra, 
 
 Se vuoi ch’io dica del tuo dolce canto. 
 
no 
 
 Ch' inalzandoti all’ Etra 
 
 Di farti huomo celeste ottiene il vanto, 
 
 II Tamigi il dira che gl’ e concesso 
 Per te, suo cigno, pareggiar Permesso. 
 
 Io che in riva del Arno 
 
 Tento spiegar tuo merto alto, e preclaro, 
 
 So che fatico indarno, 
 
 E ad ammirar, non a lodarlo imparo; 
 
 Freno dunque la lingua, e ascolto il core 
 Che ti prende a lodar con lo stupore. 
 
 Del sig . Antonio Francini gentilhuomo Fiorentino . 
 
Ill 
 
 JOANNI MILTON I, 
 
 L ONDINENSI, 
 
 J uve m, p atria, virtutibus, exwuo, 
 
 Viro, qui multa peregrinatione, studio, cuncta orbis terrarum 
 loca perspexit, ut novus Ulysses omnia ubique ab omnibus appre- 
 henderet, 
 
 Polyglotto, in cujus ore lingua, jam deperdit®, sic reviviscunt, 
 ut idiomata omnia sint in ejus laudibus infacunda (et jure ea per- 
 
 callet, ut admirationes et plausus populorum, ab propria sapientia 
 excitatos, intelligat) 
 
 nil, cujus animi dotes corporisque sensus ad admirationem 
 commovent, et per ipsam motum cuique auferunt, cujus opera 
 ad plausus hortantur, sed venustate vocem laudatoribus adimunt, 
 
 Cui in memoria totus orbis, in intellect sapientia, in volun- 
 tate ardor gloria;, in ore eloquentia, harmonicos ccelestium splire- 
 rarum somtus, Astronomia duce, audienti, characteres mirabilium 
 nature, per quos Dei magnitudo describitur, magistra philosophia, 
 legenti, antiquitatum latebras, vetustatis excidia, eruditionis amba- 
 geSj comite assidua. autorum Jectione, 
 
 Exquirenti, restauranti, percurrenti — 
 
 At cur nitor in arduum ? — • 
 
Ii2 
 
 Illi, in cujus virtutibus evulgandis ora Famae non sufficiant, nec 
 hominum stupor in laudandis satis est, reverentiae et amoris ergo 
 hoc, ejus meritis debitum, admirationis tributum offer t 
 
 CAROLUS DATUS , 
 
 PATRICIUS FLORENTINUS, 
 
 Tanto homini servus , tantce virtutis aviator . 
 
ELEGIARUM LIBER, 
 
 E L E G I A I. 
 
 Ad CAROLUM DEODATUM. 
 
 Tandem, chare, tuag mihi pervenere tabellse, 
 Pertulit et voces nuncia charta tuas ; 
 
 Pertulit, occidua Devae Cestrensis ab ora 
 Vergivium prono qua petit amne salum. 
 
 Multum (crede) juvat terras aluisse remotas 
 Pectus amans nostri, tamque fidele caput, 
 
 Quodque mihi lepidum tel] us longinqua sodalem 
 Debet, at unde brevi reddere jussa velit. 
 
 Me tenet urbs reflua quam Thamesis alluit unda, 
 Meque nec invitum patria dulcis habet. 
 
 Jam nec arundiferum mihi cura revisere Camum, 
 Nec dudum vetiti me laris angit amor. 
 
 p 
 
ii4 
 
 Nuda nec arva placent, umbrasque negantia molles, 
 Quam male Phcebicolis convenit ille locus ! 
 
 Nec duri libet usque minas perferre magistri, 
 Cseteraque ingenio non subeunda meo. 
 
 Si sit hoc exilium patrios adiisse penates, 
 
 Et vacuum curis otia grata sequi, 
 
 Non ego vel profugi nomen, sortemve recuso, 
 Lsetus et exilii conditione fruor. 
 
 O ! utinam vates nunquam graviora tulisset 
 Ille Tomitano flebilis exul agro ; 
 
 Non tunc Ionio quicquam cessisset Homero, 
 
 Neve foret victo laus tibi prima, Maro. 
 Tempora nam licet hie placidis dare libera Musis, 
 
 Et totum rapiunt me, mea vita, libri. 
 
 Excipit hinc fessum sinuosi pompatheatri, 
 
 Et vocat ad plausus garrula scena suos 
 Seu catus auditur senior, seu prodigus heres. 
 
 Sen procus, aut posita casside miles adest, 
 
 Sive decennali fcecundus lite patronus 
 Detonat inculto barbara verba foro ; 
 
 Ssepe vafer gnato succurrit servus amanti, 
 
 Et nasum rigidi fallit ubique patris ; 
 
 Ssepe novos illic virgo mirata calores 
 
 Quid sit amor nescit, dum quoque nescit amat. 
 Sive cruentatum furiosa Tragoedia sceptmm 
 Ouassat, et effusis cnnibus ora rotat, 
 
H5 
 
 Et dolet, et specto, juvat et spectasse dolendo, 
 Interdum et lacrymis dulcis amaror inest : 
 
 Seu puer infelix indelibata reliquit 
 
 Gaudia, et abrupto flendus amore cadit; 
 
 Seu ferus e tenebris iterat Styga criminis ultor, 
 Conscia funereo pectora torre movens : 
 
 Seu moeret Pelopeia domus, seu nobilis Ili, 
 
 Aut luit incestos aula Creontis avos. 
 
 Sed neque sub tecto semper, nec in urbe latemus, 
 Irrita nec nobis tempora veris eunt. 
 
 Nos quoque lucus habet vicina consitus ulmo, 
 Atque suburbani nobilis umbra loci. 
 
 Saepius hie, blandas spirantia sidera flammas, 
 Virgineos videas praeteriisse choros. 
 
 Ah quoties dignae stupui miracula formas. 
 
 Quae possit senium vel reparare Jovis ! 
 
 Ah quoties vidi superantia lumina gemmas, 
 
 Atque faces, quotquot volvit uterque polus ; 
 
 Collaque bis vivi Pelopis quae brachia vincant, 
 Quseque fluit puro nectare tincta via ; 
 
 Et decus eximium frontis, tremulosque capillos, 
 Aurea quae fallax retia tendit Amor ; 
 
 Pellacesque genas, ad quas hyacinthina sordet 
 Purpura, et ipse tui floris, Adoni, rubor ! 
 
 p 2 
 
Cedite laudatae todes Heroidcs olim, 
 
 Et quoecunque vagum cepit arnica Jovem. 
 
 Cedite Achaemenia turrita fronte puellae, 
 
 Et quot Susa colunt, Memnoniamque Ninon, 
 
 Vos etiam Danaae fasces subinittite Nymphae, 
 
 Et vos Iliacas, Romule^que nurus : 
 
 Nec Pompeianas Tarpeia Musa columnas 
 Jactet, et Ausoniis plena theatra stolis. 
 
 Gloria Virginibus debetur prima Britannis, 
 
 Extera, sat tibi sit, fcemina, posse sequi. 
 
 Tuque, urbs, Dardaniis, Londinum, structa colonis, 
 Turrigerum late conspicienda caput, 
 
 Tu nimium felix intra tua mcenia claudis 
 Quicquid formosi pendulus orbis habet. 
 
 Non tibi tot ccelo scintillant astra sereno 
 Endymionese turba liiinistra deas, 
 
 Quot tibi conspicuae formaque auroque, puell^ 
 
 Per medias radiant turba videnda vias. 
 
 Creditur hue geminis venisse invecta columbis 
 Alma pharetrigero milite cincta Venus, 
 
 Huic Cnidon, et riguas Simoentis flumine valles, 
 Huic Paphon, et roseam posthabitura Cypron. 
 Ast ego, dum pueri sinit indulgentia coeci, 
 
 Moenia quam subito linquere fausta paro ; 
 
ii 7 
 
 Et vitare procul malefidae infamia Circes 
 Atria, divini Molyos usus ope. 
 
 Stat quoque juncosas Cami remeare paludes, 
 Atque iterum raucae murmur adire Scholae. 
 Interea fidi parvum cape munus amici, 
 
 Paucaque in alternos verba coacta modos. 
 
n8 
 
 E L E G I A II. — Anno iEtatis IT. 
 
 I 
 
 IN OBITUM 
 
 PRJLCONIS ACADEMICI CANTAB RIG I E N S IS. 
 
 Te, qui conspicuus baculo fulgente solebas 
 Palladium toties ore ciere gregem. 
 
 Ultima praeconum, praeconem te quoque saeva 
 Mors rapit, officio nec favet ipsa suo. 
 
 Candidiora licet fuerint tibi tempora plumis 
 Sub quibus accipimus delituisse Jovem; 
 
 O dignus tamen Haemonio juvenescere succo, 
 
 Dignus in Ailsonios vivere posse dies, 
 
 Dignus quern Stygiis medica revocaret ab undis 
 Arte Coronides, saepe rogante dea. 
 
 Tu si jussus eras acies accire togatas, 
 
 Et celer a Phcebo nuntius ire tuo, 
 
 Talis in Uiaca stabat Cyllenius aula 
 
 Alipes, aetherea missus ab arce Patris. 
 
 Talis et Eurybates ante ora furentis Achillei 
 Retulit Atridae jussa severa ducis. 
 
 Magna sepulchrorum regina, satelles Averni, 
 
 Saeva nimis Musis, Palladi saeva nimis, 
 
Quin illos rapias, qui pondus inutile terras, 
 
 Turba quidem est telis ista petenda tuis. 
 Vestibus hunc igitur pullis. Academia, luge, 
 
 Et madeant lachrymis nigra feretra tuis. 
 Fundat et ipsa modos querebunda Elegeia tristes, 
 Personet et totis naenia moesta scholis. 
 
120 
 
 E L E G I A III. — Anno iEtatis 17. 
 
 IN OBITUM 
 
 PRJlSU LIS WINTONIENSIS. 
 
 Moestus eram, et tacitus, nullo comitante, sedebam, 
 Haerebantque animo tristia plura meo, 
 
 Protinus en subiit funestas cladis imago 
 Fecit in Angliaco quam Libitina solo; 
 
 Dum procerum ingressa est splendentes marmore turres 
 Dira sepulchrali mors metuenda face; 
 
 Pulsavitque, auro gravidos et jaspide, muros, 
 
 Nec metuit satrapum sternere falce greges. 
 
 Tunc memini clarique ducis, fratrisque verendi 
 Intempestivis ossa cremata rogis : 
 
 Et memini Heroum quos vidit ad aethera raptos, 
 
 Flevit et amissos Belgia tota duces : 
 
 At te praecipue luxi, dignissime Praesul, 
 
 Wintoniaeque olim gloria magna tuas ; 
 
 Delicui fletu, et tristi sic ore querebar, 
 
 Mors fera, Tartareo diva secunda Jovi, 
 
 Nonne satis, quod sylva tuas persentiat iras, 
 
 Et quod in herbosos jus tibi detur agros, 
 
 Quodque afflata tuo marcescant lilia tabo, 
 
 Et crocus, et pulchrae Cypridi sacra rosae, 
 
121 
 
 Nec sinis, ut semper, fluvio contermina, quercus 
 Miretur lapsus praetereuntis aquae ? 
 
 Et tibi succumbit, liquido quae, plurima, coelo 
 Evehitur pennis, quamlibet augur, avis, 
 
 Et quae mille nigris errant animalia sylvis, 
 
 Et quot alunt mutum Proteos antra pecus. 
 Invida, tanta tibi cum sit concessa potestas. 
 
 Quid juvat humana tingere caede manus, 
 Nobileque in pectus certas acuisse sagittas, 
 Semideamque animam sede fugasse sua ?** 
 Talia dum, lacrymans, alto sub pectore volvo, 
 Roscidus occiduis Hesperus exit aquis, 
 
 Et Tartessiaco submerserat aequore currum 
 Phoebus, ab Eoo littore mensus iter. 
 
 Nec mora. Membra cavo posui refovenda cubili ; 
 
 Condiderant oculos noxque soporque meos ; 
 Cum mihi visus eram lato spatiarier agro. 
 
 Heu ! Nequit ingenium visa referre meum. 
 Illic punicea radiabant omnia luce, 
 
 Ut matutino cum juga sole rubent, 
 
 Ac, veluti cum pandit opes Thaumantia proles, 
 Vestitu nituit multicolore solum. 
 
 Non dea tarn variis ornavit floribus hortos 
 Alcinoi, Zephyro, Chloris, amata levi. 
 
 Q 
 
122 
 
 Flumina vernantes lambunt argentea campos, 
 
 Ditior Hesperio flavet arena Tago. 
 
 Serpit odoriferas per opes levis aura Favoni, 
 
 Aura, sub innumeris, humida, nata rosis. 
 
 Talis in extremis terrae Gangetidis oris 
 Luciferi regis fingitur esse domus. 
 
 Ipse racemiferis dum densas vitibus umbras, 
 
 Et pellucentes miror ubique locos, 
 
 Ecce, mihi subito Praesul Wintonius astat ! 
 
 Sidereum nitido fulsit in ore jubar ; 
 
 Vestis ad auratos defluxit Candida talos ; 
 
 Infula divinum cinxerat alba caput ; 
 
 Dumque senex tali incendit venerandus amictu, 
 Intremuit laeto florea terra sono ; 
 
 Agmina gemmatis plaudunt coelestia pennis ; 
 
 Pura triumphali personat aethra tuba ; 
 
 Quisque novum amplexu comitem cantuque salutat ; 
 
 Hosque aliquis placido misit ab ore sonos. 
 
 “ Nate, veni, et patrii, felix, cape gaudia regni ! 
 
 Semper abhinc duro, nate, labore vaca !” 
 
 Dixit ; et aligerae tetigerunt nablia turmae. 
 
 At mihi cum tenebris aurea pulsa quies. 
 
 Flebam turbatos Cephaleia pellice somnos. 
 
 Talia contingant somnia saepe mihi ! 
 
123 
 
 EL EG I A IV.— Ann>iEtatis 18. 
 
 Ad T H 0 M A M J U N I U M, 
 
 PR.ECEPTOREM SUUM, 
 
 Apud mercatores Anglicos, Hamhurgse agent's , Pastoris munere fungentem. 
 
 Cur re per immensum subito, mea litera, pontum ! 
 
 I! Pete Teutonicos laeve per zequor agros! 
 
 Segnes rumpe moras, et nil (precor) obstet eunti, 
 
 Et festinantis nil remoretur iter ! 
 
 Ipse ego Sicanio fraenantem carcere ventos 
 ^Eolon, et virides sollicitabo Deos, 
 
 Caeruleamque suis comitatam Dorida Nymphis, 
 
 Ut tibi dent placidam per sua regna viam. 
 
 At tu, si poteris, celeres tibi sume jugales, 
 
 Vecta quibus Colchis fugit ab ore viri; 
 
 Aut queis Triptolemus Scythicas devenit in oras, 
 
 Gratus Eleusina missus ab urbe puer, 
 
 Atque ubi Germanas flavere videbis arenas, 
 
 Ditis ad Hamburgae mcenia flecte gradum, 
 
 Dicitur occiso quae ducere nomen ab Hama, 
 
 Cimbrica quern fertur clava dedisse neci! 
 
 Vivit ibi antiquae clarus pietaitis honore 
 
 Praesul, Christicolas pascere doctus oves. 
 
 Q 2 
 
124 
 
 Ille quidem est animae plusquam pars altera nostras. 
 
 Dimidio vitae vivere cogor ego. 
 
 Hei mihi ! Quot pelagi, quot montes interjecti 
 Me faciunt alia parte carere mei ! 
 
 Charior ille mihi, quam tu, doctissime Graium, 
 Cliniadi, pronepos qui Telamonis erat ; 
 Quamque Stagyrites generoso magnus alumno. 
 Quern peperit Lybico Chaonis alma Jovi. 
 
 Qualis Amyntorides, qualis Philyreius heros 
 Myrmidonum regi, talis et ille mihi. 
 
 Primus ego Aonios, illo praeeunte, recessus 
 Lustrabam, et bifidi sacra vireta jugi, 
 
 Pieriosque hausi latices, Clioque favente, 
 
 Castalio spars i laeta ter ora mero. 
 
 Flammeus at signum ter viderat arietis dEthon, 
 Induxitque auro lanea terga novo. 
 
 Bisque novo terrain sparsisti, Chlori, senile m 
 Gramine, bisque tuas abstulit Auster opes; 
 Necdutn ejus licuit mihi lumina pascere vultu, 
 
 Aut linguae dulces aure bibisse sonos. 
 
 Vade igitur, cursuque Eurum praeverte sonorum ! 
 
 Quam sit opus monitis, res docet, ipsa vides, 
 Invenies dulci cum conjuge forte sedentem, 
 Mulcentem gremio pignora chara suo, 
 
 Forsitan aut veterum praelarga volumina patrurn 
 Versantem, aut veri biblia sacra Dei, 
 
125 
 
 Coelestive animas saturantem rore tenellas, 
 
 Grande salutiferae religionis opus; 
 
 Utque solet, multam sit dicere cura salutem, 
 
 Dicere quam decuit, si modo adesset, herum! 
 
 Haec quoque, paulum oculos in humum defixa modestos, 
 Verba verecundo sis memor ore loqui ! 
 
 “ Haec tibi, si teneris vacat inter pr^lia Musis, 
 
 Mittit ab Angliaco littore fida manus. 
 
 Accipe sinceram, quamvis sit sera, salutem ; 
 
 Fiat et hoc ipso gratior ilia tibi ! 
 
 Sera quidem, sed vera fuit, quam casta recepit 
 Icaris a lento Penelopeia viro. 
 
 Ast ego quid volui manifestum tollere crimen. 
 
 Ipse quod ex omni parte levare nequit ? 
 
 Arguitur tardus merito, noxamque fatetur, 
 
 Et pudet officium deseruisse suum. 
 
 Tu modo da veniam fasso veniamque roganti ! 
 
 Crimina diminui, quae patuere, solent. 
 
 Non ferus in pavidos rictus diducit hiantes, 
 
 Vulnifico pronos nec rapit ungue leo. 
 
 Saepe sarissiferi crudelia pectora Thracis 
 Supplicis ad moestas delicuere preces ; 
 
 Extensasque manus avertunt fulminis ictus; 
 
 Placat et iratos hostia parva Deos ; 
 
 Jamque diu scripsisse tibi fuit impetus illi, 
 
 Neve moras ultra ducere passus Amor; 
 
126 
 
 Nam vaga Fama refert, heu, nuntia vera malorum ! 
 
 In, tibi finitimis, bella tumere locis, 
 
 Teque tuamque urbem truculento milite cingi, 
 
 Et jam Saxonicos arma parasse duces. 
 
 Te circum late campos populatur Enyo, 
 
 Et sata carne virum jam cruor arva rigat ; 
 Germanisque suum concessit Thracia Martem. 
 
 Illuc Odrysios Mars pater egit equos ; 
 Perpetuoque comans jam deflorescit oliva; 
 
 Fugit et aerisonam Diva perosa tubam ; 
 
 Fugit io terris, et jam non ultima virgo 
 
 Creditur ad superas justa volasse domos. 
 
 Te tamen interea belli circumsonat horror, 
 
 Vi vis et ignoto, solus inopsqne solo ; 
 
 Et, tibi quam patrii non exhibuere penates, 
 
 Sede peregrina quaeris, egenus, opem. 
 
 Patria, dura parens, et saxis saevior albis, 
 
 Spumea quae pulsat littoris unda tui, 
 
 Siccine te decet innocuos exponere foetus ? 
 
 Siccine in externam, ferrea, cogis humum, 
 
 Et sinis, ut terris quaerant alimenta remotis, 
 
 Quos tibi prospiciens miserat ipse Deus, 
 
 Et qui lasta ferunt de coelo nuntia, quique, 
 
 Quae via post cineres ducat ad astra, docent ? 
 Digna quidem, Stygiis quae vivas clausa tenebris, 
 -Eternaque animae digna perire fame ! 
 
127 
 
 Haud aliter vates terras Thesbitidis olim 
 Pressit inassueto devia tesqua pede, 
 Desertasque Arabum salebras, dum regis Achabi 
 Effugit atque tuas, Sidoni dira, manus : 
 
 Talis et, horrisono laceratus membra flagello,. 
 
 Paulus ab ALmathia pellitur urbe Cilix: 
 Piscosaeque ipsum Gergessae civis Iesum 
 Finibus ingratus jussit abire suis. 
 
 At tu sume animos, nec spes cadat anxia curis, 
 Nec tua concutiat decolor ossa metus! 
 
 Sis etenim quamvis fulgentibus obsitus armis, 
 Intententque tibi millia tela necem. 
 
 At nullis vel inerme latus violabitur armis. 
 
 Deque tuo cuspis nulla cruore bibet. 
 
 Namque eris ipse Dei radiante sub aegide tutus.. 
 
 Ille tibi custos, et pugil ille tibi ; 
 
 Ille, Sionaeae qui tot sub mcenibus arcis 
 Assyrios fudit nocte silente viros, 
 
 Inque fugam vertit, quos in Samaritidas oras 
 Misit ab antiquis prisca Damascus agris, 
 Terruit et densas pavido cum rege cohortes, 
 
 Aere dum vaccuo buccina clara sonat. 
 
 Cornea pulvereum dum verberat ungula campum>. 
 Currus arenosam dum quatit actus humum. 
 
128 
 
 Auditurque hinnitus equorum ad bella ruentum, 
 Et strepitus ferri, murmuraque alta virum: 
 Et tu (quod superest miseris) sperare memento, 
 Et tua magnanimo pectore vince mala ; 
 
 Nec dubites quandoque frui melioribus annis, 
 Atque iterum patrios posse videre lares !” 
 
 
129 
 
 E L E G I A V. — Anno AStatis 20. 
 
 IN A DV E NTU M V E R I S. 
 
 In se perpetuo, Tempus, revolubile gyro. 
 
 Jam revocat Zephyros vere tepente novos ; 
 
 Induitarque brevem Tellus reparata javentam, 
 Jamque solata gelu dulce virescit humus. 
 
 Fallor ? an et nobis redeunt in carmina vires, 
 Ingeniumque mihi munere veris adest ? 
 
 Munere veris adest, iterumque vigescit ab illo, 
 
 (Quis putet ?) atque aliquod jam sibi poscit opus. 
 
 Castalis ante oculos, bifidumque cacumen oberrat, 
 
 Et mihi Pyrenen somnia nocte ferunt ; 
 
 Concitaque arcano fervent mihi pectora motu, 
 
 Et furor, et sonitus me sacer intus agit. 
 
 Delius ipse venit. Video Peneide lauro 
 Implicitos crines. Delius ipse venit. 
 
 Jam mihi mens liquidi raptatur in ardua cceli, 
 
 Perque vagas nubes corpore liber eo ; 
 
 Perque umbras, perque antra feror penetralia vatum, 
 Et mihi fana patent interiora Deum ; 
 
 Intuiturque animus, toto quid agatur Olympo, 
 
 Nec fugiunt oculos Tartara caeca meos. 
 
 Quid tarn grande sonat distento spiritus ore ? 
 
 Quid parit haec rabies, quid sacer iste furor ? 
 
 R 
 
Ver mihi, quod dedit ingenium, cantabitur ilio ; 
 
 Profuerint isto reddita dona modo. 
 
 Jam, Philomela, tuos, foliis adoperta novellis, 
 Instituis modulos, dum silet omne nernus. 
 
 Urbe ego, tu sylva simul incipiamus utrique, 
 
 Et simul adventum veris uterque canat. 
 
 Veris, io! rediere vices. Celebremus honores 
 Veris, et hoc subeat Musa perennis opus ! 
 
 Jam sol, ^Ethiopas fugiens Tithoniaque arva, 
 
 Flectit ad Arctoas aurea lora plagas. 
 
 Est breve noctis iter. Brevis est mora noctis opacae. 
 
 Horrida cum tenebris exulat ilia suis: 
 
 Jamque Lycaonius plaustrum coeleste Bootes 
 Non longa sequitur fessus, ut ante, via. 
 
 Nunc etiam solitas circum Jovis atria toto 
 Excubias agitant sidera rara polo : 
 
 Nam dolus, et caedes, et vis cum nocte recessit. 
 Neve giganteum Di timuere scelus. 
 
 Forte aliquis, scopuli recubans in vertice, pastor, 
 Roscida cum primo sole rubescit humus, 
 "Hac,” ait, “hac certe caruisti nocte puella, 
 Phoebe, tua, celeres quae retineret equos. 
 
 Laeta suas repetit sylvas, pharetramque resurnit 
 Cynthia, luciferas ut videt alta rotas ; 
 
 Et, tenues ponens radios, gaudere videtur 
 Officium fieri tarn breve fratris ope . 55 
 
131 
 
 « Desere” (Phoebus ait) “thalamos, Aurora, seniles 
 Quid juvat effoeto procubuisse toro? 
 
 ,Te manet bolides viridi Venator in herba. 
 
 Surge! Tuos ignes altus Hymettus habet.” 
 Flava verecundo dea crimen in ore fatetur, 
 
 Et matutinos ocius urget equos. 
 
 Exuit invisam Tellus rediviva senectam, 
 
 Et cupit amplexus, Phoebe, subire tuos : 
 
 Et cupit, et digna est. Quid enim formosius ilia, 
 Pandit ut omniferos luxuriosa sinus, 
 
 Atque Arabum spirat messes, et ab ore venusto 
 Mitia cum Paphiis fundit amoma rosis ! 
 
 Ecce ! Coronatur sacro frons ardua luco, 
 
 Cingit ut Idaeam pinea turris Opim ; 
 
 Et vario madidos intexit flore capillos, 
 
 Floribus et visa est posse placere suis. 
 
 Floribus effusos ut erat redimita capillos, 
 
 Taenario placuit diva Sicana Deo. 
 
 Aspice, Phoebe! Tibi faciles hortantur amores, 
 Mellitosque movent flamina verna preces : 
 Cinnamea Zephyrus leve plaudit odorifer ala, , 
 Blanditiasque tibi ferre videntur aves. 
 
 Nec sine dote tuos temeraria quaerit amores 
 Terra, nec optatos poscit egena toros. 
 
 R 2 
 
132 
 
 Alma salutiferum medicos tibi gramen in usus 
 Praebet, et hinc titulos adjuvat ipsa tuos. 
 
 Quod si te pretium, si te fulgentia tangunt 
 Munera, (muneribus saepe coemptus amor) 
 
 Ilia tibi ostentat, quascunque sub aequore vasto 
 Et superinjectis montibus abdit, opes. 
 
 Ah, quoties, cum tu clivoso, fessus, Olympo 
 In vespertinas praecipitaris aquas, 
 
 “ Cur te,” inquit! “ cursu languentem, Phoebe, diurno, 
 Hesperiis recipit casrula mater aquis? 
 
 Quid tibi cum Tethy ? Quid cum Tartesside lympha? 
 
 Dia quid immundo perluis ora salo ? 
 
 Frigora, Phoebe, me a melius captabis in umbra. 
 
 Hue ades ! Ardentes imbue rore comas ! 
 
 Mollior e gelida veniet tibi somnus in herba. 
 
 Hue ades, et gremio lumina pone meo ! 
 
 Quaque jaces, circum mulcebit, lene susurrans, 
 
 Aura, per humentes, corpora, fusa rosas. 
 
 Nec me (crede mihi !) terrent Semele'ia fata, 
 
 Nec Phaetonteo fumidus axis equo. 
 
 Cum tu, Phoebe, tuo sapientius uteris igni. 
 
 Hue ades, et gremio lumina pone meo !” 
 
 Sic Tellus lasciva suos suspirat amores. 
 
 Matris in exemplum caetera turba ruunt; 
 
 Nunc etinim toto currit vagus orbe Cupido, 
 Languentesque fovet solis ab igne faces. 
 
1 33 
 
 Insonuere novis lethalia cornua nervis ; 
 
 Triste micant ferro tela corusca novo; 
 
 Jamque vel invictam tentat superasse Dianam, 
 
 Quaeque sedet sacro Vesta pudica foco. 
 
 Ipsa senescentum reparat Venus annua formam, 
 
 Atque iterum tepido creditur orta mari. 
 
 Marmoreas juvenes clamant " Hymenaee!” per urbes, 
 
 Littus “ io Hymen!” et cava saxa sonant. 
 
 Cultior ille venit, tunicaque decentior apt&, 
 
 (Puniceum redolet vestis odora crocum) 
 
 Egrediturque, frequens, ad amoeni gaudia veris 
 Virgineos auro cincta, puella, sinus. 
 
 Votum est cuique suum, votum est tamen omnibus unum, 
 Ut sjbi, quern cupiat, det Cytherea virum. 
 
 Nunc quoque septena modulatur arundine pastor, 
 
 Et sua quae jungat carmina Phyllis habet. 
 
 Navita nocturno placat sua sidera cantu, 
 
 Delphinasque leves ad vada summa vocat. 
 
 Jupiter ipse alto cum conjuge ludit Olympo, 
 
 Convocat et famulos ad sua festa Deos. 
 
 Nunc etiam Satyri, cum sera crepuscula surgunt, 
 Pervolitant celeri florea rura choro, 
 
 Sylvanusque, sua cyparissi fronde revinctus, 
 
 Semicaperque Deus, semideusque caper; 
 
 Quaeque sub arboribus Dryades latuere vetustis. 
 
 Per juga, per solos expatiantur agros. 
 
 % 
 
1 34 
 
 Per sata luxuriat fruticetaque Maenalius Pan, 
 
 Vix Cybele mater, vix sibi tuta Ceres ; 
 
 Atque aliquam cupidus praedatur Oreada Faunus, 
 Consulit in trepidos dum sibi nympha pedes ; 
 
 Jamque latet, latitansque, cupit, male tecta, videri, 
 Et fugit, et, fugiens, pervelit ipsa capi. 
 
 Bi quoque non dubitant ccelo praeponere sylvas, 
 
 Et sua quisque sibi numina lucus habet; 
 
 Et sua quisque diu sibi numina lucus habeto, 
 
 Nec vos arborea, di, (precor), ite domo! 
 
 Te referant miseris, te, Jupiter, aurea terris 
 Saecla ! Quid ab nimbos, aspera tela, redis ? 
 
 Tu saltern lente rapidos age, Phoebe, jugales, 
 
 Oua potes, et sensim tempora veris eant; 
 
 Brumaque productas tarde ferat hispida noctes, 
 Ingruat et nostro serior umbra polo ! 
 
135 
 
 EL EG I A VI. 
 
 Ad CAROLUM DEODATUM , 
 
 RURI COMMOR ANTEM, 
 
 Qui, cum Idibus Decemb. scripsisset, et sua cannina excusari postubasset, 
 si solito minus essent bona, quod inter lautitias, quibus erat ab arnicis 
 exceptus, haud satis felicem operam JVlusis dare se posse ajfirmabat, hoc 
 habuit responsum. 
 
 Mitto tibi sanam, non pleno ventre, salutem. 
 
 Qua tu, distento, forte carere potes. 
 
 At tua quid nostram prolectat Musa camcenam, 
 
 Nec sinit optatas posse sequi tenebras ? 
 
 Carmine scire velis, quam te redamemque colamque ? 
 
 Crede mihi ! Vix hoc carmine scire queas. 
 
 Nam neque noster amor modulis includitur arctis* 
 
 Nec venit ad claudos, integer ipse, pedes. 
 
 Quam bene solennes epulas, hilaremque Decembrem, 
 
 Festaque, ccelifugam quae coluere Deum, 
 
 Deliciasque refers, hiberni gaudia ruris, 
 
 Haustaque per lepidos, Gallica musta, focos ! 
 
 Quid quereris refugam vino dapibusque poesin ? 
 
 Carmen amat Bacchum, carmina Bacchus amat. 
 
 Nec puduit Phoebum virides gestasse corymbos, 
 
 Atque hederam Jauro praeposuisse suae. 
 
*3 6 
 
 Saepius Aoniis clamavit collibus " Euoe !’* 
 
 Mista Thyoneo, turba novena, choro. 
 
 Naso Coral Iaeis mala carmina misit ab agris. 
 
 Non illic epulae, non sata vitis erat. 
 
 Quid, nisi vina, rosasque, racemiferumque Lyasum, 
 Cantavit brevibus Teia Musa modis? 
 
 Pindaricosque inflat numeros Teumesius Euan, 
 
 Et redolet sumptum pagina quaeque merum ; 
 
 Dum gravis everso currus crepat axe supinus, 
 
 Et volat Eleo pulvere fuscus eques. 
 
 Quadrimoque madens lyricen Romanus Iaccho, 
 Dulce canit Glyceran, flavicomamque Chloen. 
 
 Jam quoque lauta tibi generoso mensa paratu 
 Mentis alit vires, ingeniumque fovet. 
 
 Massica foecundam despumant pocula venam, 
 
 Fundis et ex ipso condita metra cado. 
 
 Addimus his artes, fusumque per intima Phoebum 
 Corda. Favent uni Bacchus, Apollo, Ceres. 
 
 Scilicet haud mirum tarn dulcia carmina per te, 
 Numine composito, tres peperisse Deos. 
 
 Nunc quoque Thressa tibi caelato barbitos auro 
 Insonat, arguta molliter icta manu ; 
 
 Auditurque chelys suspensa tapetia circum, 
 Virgineos tremula quae regat arte pedes. 
 
 Ilia tuas saltern teneant spectacula Musas, 
 
 Et revocent, quantum crapula pellit iners ! 
 
*37 
 
 Crede mihi ! Dum psallit ebur, comitataque plectrum 
 Implet odoratos festa chorea tholos, 
 
 Percipies taciturn per pectora serpere Phoebum, 
 
 Quale repentinus permeat ossa calor ; 
 
 Perque puellares oculos, digitumque sonantem, 
 
 Irruet in totos lapsa Thalia sinus. 
 
 Namque Elegia levis multorum cura Deorum est 5 
 Et vocat ad numeros quemlibet ilia suos, 
 
 Liber adest elegis, Eratoque, Ceresque, Venusque, 
 
 Et cum purpurea matre tenellus Amor. 
 
 Talibus inde licent convivia larga poetis, 
 
 Ssepius et veteri commaduisse mero. 
 
 At, qui bella refert, et adulto sub Jove caelum, 
 Heroasque pios, semideosque duces, 
 
 Et nunc sancta canit superum consulta deorum, 
 
 Nunc latrata fero regna profunda cane, 
 
 Ule quidem parce, Samii pro more magistri, 
 
 Vivat, et innocuos praebeat herba cibos ! 
 
 Stet prope fagineo pellucida lympha catillo, 
 
 Sobriaque e puro pocula fonte bibat ! 
 
 Additur huic scelerisque vacans, et casta juventus, 
 
 Et rigidi mores, et sine labe manus, 
 
 Qualis, veste nitens sacra et lustralibus undis, 
 
 Surgis, ad infensos, augur, iture Deos. 
 
 s 
 
13B 
 
 Hoc ritu vixisse ferunt post rapta sagacem 
 Lumina Tiresian, Ogygiumque Linon, 
 
 Et lare devoto profugum Calchanta, senemque 
 Orpheon, edomitis sola per antra feris. 
 
 Sic dapis exiguus, sic rivi potor Homerus 
 Dulichium vexit per freta longa virum, 
 
 Et per monstrificam Perseiae Phoebados aulam, 
 
 Et vada foemineis insidiosa sonis, 
 
 Perque tuas, rex ime, domos, ubi sanguine nigro 
 Dicitur umbrarum detinuisse greges. 
 
 Dis etenim sacer est vates, divumque sacerdos, 
 
 Spirat et occultum pectus, et ora, Jovem. 
 
 At tu, siquid agam, scitabere si modo saltern 
 Esse putas tanti noscere, siquid agam. 
 
 Paciferum canimus coelesti semine regem, 
 
 Faustaque sacratis saecula pacta libris, 
 
 Vagitumque Dei, et stabulantem paupere tecto, 
 
 Qui suprema suo cum patre regna colit, 
 Stelliparumque polum, modulantesque aethere turmas, 
 Et subito elisos ad sua fana Deos. 
 
 Dona quidem dedimus Christi natalibus ilia, 
 
 Ilia sub auroram lux mihi prima tulit. 
 
 Te quoque pressa manent, patriis meditata cicutis, 
 Tu mihi, cui recitem, judicis instar ens. 
 
139 
 
 ELEGIA VII. 
 
 AJVJYO JE TATIS 19. 
 
 Nondum, blanda, tuas leges, Amathusia, noram 5 
 Et Paphio vacuum pectus ab igne fuit. 
 
 Saepe cupidineas, puerilia tela, sagittas, 
 
 Atque tuum sprevi, maxime, numen, Amor. 
 
 «* Tu, puer, iinbelles ” (dixi) “ transfige columbas ! 
 
 Conveniunt tenero mollia bella duci. 
 
 Aut de passeribus timidos age, parve, triumphos ! 
 
 Haec sunt militiae digna trophaea tuae, 
 
 In genus humanum quid inania dirigis arma ? 
 
 Non valet in fortes ista pharetra viros. ” 
 
 Non tulit hoc Cyprius, neque enim Deus ullus ad iras 
 Promptior, et, duplici, jam, ferus igne, calet. 
 
 Ver erat ; et, summae radians per culmina villae, 
 Attulerat primam lux tibi, Maie, diem. 
 
 At mihi adhuc refugam quaerebant lumina noctem, 
 Nec matutinum sustinuere jubar. 
 
 Astat Amor lecto, pictis Amor impiger alis. 
 
 Prodidit astantem mota pharetra Deum : 
 
 Prodidit et facies, et dulce minantis ocelli, 
 
 Et quicquid puero dignum et Amore fuit> 
 
 s 2 
 
140 
 
 Talis in aeterno juvenis Sigeius Olympo 
 Miscet amatori pocula plena Jovi ; 
 
 Aut, qui formosas pellexit ad oscula nymphas, 
 Thiodamantaeus Naiade raptus Hylas. 
 Addideratque iras, sed et has decuisse putares, 
 Addideratque truces, nec sine felle, minas, 
 Et “ Miser, exemplo sapuisses tutius” inquit. 
 
 tf Nunc, mea quid possit dextera, testis eris. 
 Inter et expertos vires numerabere nostras, 
 
 Et faciam vero per tua damna fidem. 
 
 Ipse ego, si nescis, strato Pythone superbum 
 Edomui Phoebum ; cessit et ille mihi, 
 
 Et, quoties meminit Peneidos, ipse fatetur 
 Certius et gravius tela nocere mea. 
 
 Me nequit adductum curvare peritius arcum, 
 
 Qui post terga solet vincere, Parthus eques : 
 Cydoniusque mihi cedit Venator, et ille, 
 
 Inscius uxori qui necis autor erat, 
 
 Est etiam nobis ingens quoque victus Orion, 
 Herculeaeque manus, Herculeusque comes. 
 Jupiter ipse licet sua fulmina torqueat in me, 
 Haerebunt lateri spicula nostra Jovis. 
 
 Caetera, quae dubitas, melius mea tela docebunt, 
 Et tua, non leviter, corda, petenda mihi. 
 Nec te, stulte, tuae poterunt defendere Musae, 
 Nec tibi Phoebceus porriget anguis opem.” 
 

 Dixit, et, aurato qaatiens mucrone sagittam, 
 
 Evolat in tepidos Cypridos ilJe sinus. 
 
 At mihi risuro tonuit ferus ore minaci, 
 
 Et mihi de puero non metus ullus erat : 
 
 Et modo, qua nostri spatiantur in urbe Quirites, 
 
 Et modo villarum proxima rura placent. 
 
 Turba frequens, facieque smillima turba dearum, 
 Splendida per medias itque reditque vias : 
 
 Auctaque luce dies gemino fulgore coruscat. 
 
 Fallor? An et radios bine quoque Phoebus habet? 
 Haec ego non fugi spectacula grata severus. 
 
 Impetus et quo me fert juvenilis, agor. 
 
 Lumina luminibus male providus obvia misi. 
 
 Neve oculos potui continuisse meos. 
 
 Ufiafn forte aliis supereminuisse notabam. 
 
 Principium nostri lux erat ilia mali. 
 
 Sic Venus optaret mortalibus ipsa videri. 
 
 Sic regina Deum conspicienda fuit. 
 
 Hanc memor objecit nobis malus ille Cupido, 
 
 Solus et hos nobis texuit ante dolos. 
 
 Nec procul ipse vafer latuit, multaeque sagittae, 
 
 Et facis a tergo grande pependit onus : 
 
 Nec mora, nunc ciliis haesit, nunc virginis ori, 
 
 Insilit hinc labiis, insidet inde; genis : 
 
 Et quascunque agilis partes jaculator oberrat, 
 
 Hei mihi ! mille locis pectus inerme ferit. 
 
142 
 
 Protinus insoliti subierunt corda furores, 
 
 Uror amans intus, flammaque totus eram. 
 
 Interea misero quae jam mihi sola placebat, 
 
 Ablata est oculis non reditura meis. 
 
 Ast ego progredior tacite querebundus, et excors, 
 
 Et dubius volui saepe referre pedem. 
 
 Findor, et haec remanet : sequitur pars altera votum, 
 Raptaque tam subito gaudia flere juvat. 
 
 Sic dolet amissum proles Junonia ccelum, 
 
 Inter Lemniacos praecipitata focos : 
 
 Talis et abreplum solem respexit, ad Orcum 
 Vectus ab attonitis Amphiaraus equis. 
 
 Quid faciam infelix, et luctu victus ? Amores 
 Nec licet inceptos ponere, neve sequi. 
 
 O utinam, spectare semel mihi detur amatos 
 Vultus, et coram tristia verba loqui ! 
 
 Forsitan et duro non est adamante creata, 
 
 Forte nec ad nostras surdeat ilia preces ! 
 
 Crede mihi ! Nullus sic infeliciter arsit. 
 
 Ponar in exemplo primus et unus ego. 
 
 Parce, (precor) teneri cum sis Deus ales amoris, 
 Pugnent officio nec tua facta tuo! 
 
 Jam, tuus Oh ! certe est mihi formidabilis arcus, 
 Nate dea, jaculis nec minus igne potens : 
 
 Et tua fumabunt nostris altaria donis, 
 
 Solus et in superis tu mihi summus eris. 
 
143 
 
 I 
 
 Deme meos tandem, verum nec deme, furores! 
 Nescio cur, miser est suaviter omnis amans. 
 
 Tu modo da facilis, posthaec mea siqua futura est, 
 Cuspis amaturos figat ut una duos! 
 
 HiEC ego, mente olim laeva, studioque supino, 
 Nequitiae posui vana trophasa meae. 
 
 Scilicet abreptum sic me malus impulit error, 
 Indocilisque aetas prava magistra fuit ; 
 
 Donee Socraticos umbrosa Academia rivos 
 Praebuit, admissum dedocuitque jugum. 
 
 Protinus, extinctis ex illo tempore flammis, 
 
 Cincta rigent multo pectora nostra gelu; 
 
 Unde suis frigus metuit puer ipse sagittis, 
 
 Et Diomedeam vim timet ipsa Venus . 
 
144 
 
 EPIGRAMMATUM LIBER. 
 
 In inventorem Bombardce. 
 
 Iapetionidem laudavit caeca vetustas, 
 
 Qui tulit aetheream solis ab axe facem. 
 
 At mihi major erit, qui lurida creditur arma 
 Et trifidum fulmen surripuisse Jovi. 
 
 Ad LEO NORAM, Roma* canentem. 
 
 Altera Torquatum cepit Leonora poetam, 
 
 Cujus ab insano cessit amore Furens. 
 
 Ah, miser ille tuo quanto felicius aevo 
 
 Perditus et propter te, Leonora, foret, 
 
 Et te Pieria sensisset voce canentem 
 Aurea maternae fila movere lyrae! 
 
 Quamvis Dircaeo torsisset lumina Pentheo 
 Saevior, aut totus desipuisset iners, 
 
Tu tamen, errantes caeca vertigine, sensus 
 Voce eadem poteras composuisse tua, 
 
 Et poteras, aegro spirans sub corde, quietem 
 Flexanimo cantu restituisse sibi. 
 
 Ad eandem . 
 
 Credula, quid liquidam Sirena, Neapoli, jactas, 
 Claraque Parthenopes fana Acheloiados, 
 Littoreamque tua defunctam Naiada ripa, 
 Corpora Chalcidico sacra dedisse rogo ? 
 
 Ilia quidem vivitque, et amoena Tibridis unda 
 Mutavit rauci murmura Pausilipi. 
 
 Illic, Romulidum studiis ornata secundis, 
 
 Atque homines cantu detinet, atque Deos. 
 
 Apologus de Rustico et Hero . 
 
 Rustic us ex malo sapidissima poma quotannis 
 Legit, et urbano lecta dedit domino : 
 
 Hinc, incredibili fructus dulcedine captus. 
 Malum ipsam in proprias transtulit areolas. 
 
146 
 
 Hactenus ilia ferax ; sed, longo debilis aevo, 
 
 Mota solo assueto, pro tin us aret iners : 
 
 Quod tandem ut patuit Domino, spe lusus inani, 
 Damnavit celeres in sua damna manus ; 
 
 Atque ait. “ Heu, quanto satius fuit ilia Coloni, 
 Parva licet, grato dona tulisse animo ! 
 
 Possem ego avaritiam fraenare, gulamque voracem : 
 Nunc periere mihi et foetus, et ipse parens.” 
 
 Ad Christinam , Suecorum Reginam, nomine Cromwelli. 
 
 Bellipotens virgo, septem regina trionum, 
 
 Christina, Arctoi lucida Stella poli, 
 
 Cernis, quas merui dura sub casside, rugas, 
 
 Utque senex, armis impiger, ora tero; 
 
 Invia fatorum dum per vestigia nitor, 
 
 Exequor et populi fortia jussa manu. 
 
 Ast tibi submittit frontem reverentior umbra ; 
 
 Nec sunt hi vultus regibus usque truces. 
 
147 
 
 SYLVARUM LIB 
 
 In obitum Procancellarii , medici. 
 
 Anno jEtatis 17 . 
 
 Pa re re fati discite legibus, 
 
 Manusque Parcae jam date supplices, 
 
 Qui pendulum telluris orbem 
 lapeti colitis nepotes! 
 
 Vos si, relicto, mors vaga, Taenaro, 
 
 Semel vocarit flebilis, heu ! morae 
 Tentantur incassum dolique. 
 
 Per tenebras Stygis ire certum est. 
 
 Si destinatam pellere dextera 
 Mortem valeret, non ferus Hercules, 
 
 Nessi venenatus cruore, 
 dEmathia jacuisset CEta ; 
 
 Nec fraude turpi Palladis invidse 
 Vidisset occisum Uion Hectora, aut 
 
 E R. 
 
 T 2 
 
148 
 
 Quem larva Pelidis peremit 
 Ense Locro, Jove lacrymante. 
 Si triste fatum verba Hecateia 
 Fugare possint, Telegoni parens 
 Vixisset infamis, potentique 
 vEgiali soror usa virga ; 
 Numenque trinum fallere si queant 
 Artes medentum, ignotaque gramina. 
 Non gnarus herbariim Machaon 
 
 /i i 
 
 \r 
 
 1 
 
 Eury py li cecidisset hasta y , ? / 
 
 Laesisset et nee te, Philyreie, 
 
 Sagitta, Echidnae perlita sanguine, 
 
 Nec tela te fulmenque avitum, ' r 
 
 Caese puer genitricis alvo. ; " 1 ' 
 
 Tuque, O alumno major Apolline 
 
 Gentis togatae cui regimen datum* •' ' : ' * 
 
 Frondosa quem nunc Cirrha lmget, 
 
 Et mediis Helicon in undis, 
 Jam praefuisses Palladio gregi 
 Laetus, superstes, nec sine gloria ; 
 Nec puppe lustrasses Charontis 
 Horribiles barathri recessus* 
 At fila rupit Persephone tua, 
 
 Irata, cum te viderit artibus, 
 Succoque pollenti, tot atris 
 Faucibus eripuisse mortis. 
 
 \ Jll h .' * * J l 
 
 /r.tbc . ■iiihitulira: 
 
 , . r ■ ■ . : 
 
 ■ 
 
Colende Praeses, membra (precor) tua 
 Molli quiescant cespite, et ex tuo 
 Crescant rosae, calthaeque busto, 
 Purpureoque hyacinthus ore ! 
 
 Sit mite de te judicium ^Eaci, 
 Subrideatque iEtnaea Proserpina ; 
 Interque felices perennis 
 Elysio spatiere campo ! 
 
150 
 
 In Obitum Prcesulis Eliensis . 
 
 Anno ^Etatis 17 . 
 
 Adhuc madentes rore squalebant genae, 
 
 Et sicca nondum lumina 
 Adhuc liquentis imbre turgebant salis. 
 
 Quern nuper effudi pius, 
 
 Dum moesta charo justa persolvi rogo 
 Wintoniensis Praesulis; 
 
 Cum centilinguis Fama, proh! semper mali 
 Cladisque vera nuntia, 
 
 Spargit per urbes divitis Britanniae, 
 
 Populosque Neptuno satos, 
 
 Cessisse morti et ferreis sororibus, 
 
 Te, generis humani decus, 
 
 Qui rex sacrorum ilia fuisti in insula. 
 
 Quae nomen Anguillae tenet. 
 
 Tunc inquietum pectus ira protinus 
 Ebulliebat fervida, 
 
 Tumulis potentem saepe devovens deam: 
 
 Nec vota Naso in Ibida 
 Concepit alto diriora pectore ; 
 
 Graiusque vates parcius 
 Turpem Lycambis execratus est dolum, 
 Sponsamque Neobolen suam. 
 
At ecce ! diras ipse dum fundo graves, 
 Et imprecor neci necem, 
 
 Audisse tales videor attonitus sonos 
 Leni, sub aura, flamine, 
 ct Caecos furores pone ! Pone vitream 
 Bilemque et irritas minas ! 
 
 Quid temere violas non nocenda numina, 
 Subitoque ad iras percita? 
 
 Non est, ut arbitraris, elusus miser. 
 
 Mors atra, Noctis filia, 
 
 Erebove patre creta, sive Erinnye, 
 Vastove nata sub Chao. 
 
 Ast ilia, coelo missa stellato, Dei 
 Messes ubique colligit, 
 
 Animasque, mole carnea reconditas, 
 
 In lucem et auras evocat, 
 
 Ut cum fugaces excitant Horse diem, 
 Themidos Jovisque filiae, 
 
 Et sempiterni ducit ad vultus patris. 
 
 At justa raptat impios 
 Sub regna furvi luctuosa Tartari 
 Sedesque subterraneas. 
 
 Hanc ut vocantem laetus audivi, cito 
 Fcedum reliqui carcerem, 
 
 Volatilesque faustus inter milites 
 Ad astra sublimis feror. 
 
* 5 2 
 
 Vates ut olim raptus ad caelum senex, 
 
 Auriga currus ignei. 
 
 Non me Bootis terruere lucidi 
 Sarraca tarda frigore, aut 
 Formidolosi Scorpionis brachia, 
 
 Non ensis, Orion, tuus. 
 
 Praetervolavi fulgidi solis globum, 
 
 Longeque sub pedibus deam 
 Vidi triformem, dum coercebat suos 
 Fraenis dracones aureis. 
 
 Erraticorum siderum per ordines, 
 
 Per lacteas vehor plagas, 
 
 Velocitatem saepe miratus novam ; 
 
 Donee nitentes ad fores 
 Ventum est Olympi, et regiam crystallinam, et 
 Stratum smaragdis atrium. 
 
 Sed hie tacebo. Nam quis effari queat, 
 Oriundus humano patre, 
 
 Amoenitates illius loci ? Mihi 
 Sat est in sternum frui.” 
 
> 
 
 1 53 
 
 Naturam non pati senium , 
 
 Heu, quam, perpetuis erroribus acta, fatiscit 
 Avia mens hominum, tenebrisque immersa profundis, 
 CEdipodioniam volvit sub pectore noctem, 
 
 Quae vesana suis metiri facta deorum 
 Audet, et incisas leges adamante perenni 
 Assimilare suis, nulloque solubile saeclo 
 Consilium fati perituris alligat horis! 
 
 Ergone marcescet, sulcantibus obsita rugis. 
 Naturae facies, et rerum publica mater, 
 
 Omniparum contracta uterum, sterilescet ab aevo, 
 
 Et, se fassa senem, male certis passibus ibit 
 Sidereum tremebunda caput? Nura tetra vetustas, 
 Annorumque aeterna fames, squalorque, situsque, 
 Sidera vexabunt? An et insatiabile Tempus 
 Esuriet Caelum, rapietque in viscera patrem ? 
 
 Heu ! potuitne suas imprudens Jupiter arces 
 Hoc contra munisse nefas, et Temporis isto 
 Exemisse malo, gyrosque dedisse perennes ? 
 
 Ergo erit, ut quandoque, sono dilapsa tremendo, 
 Convexi tabulata ruant, atque obvius ictu 
 Stridat uterque polus, superaque ut Olympius aula 
 Decidat, horribilisque, retecta Gorgone, Pallas; 
 
 u 
 
154 
 
 Qualis in ^.gearn proles Junonia Lemnon 
 Deturbata sacro cecidit de limine coeli ? 
 
 Tu quoque, Phoebe, tui casus imitabere nati; 
 Prascipiti curru, subitaque ferere ruina 
 Pronus, et extincta fumabit lampade Nereus, 
 
 Et dabit attonito feralia sibila ponto ? 
 
 Tunc etiam aerei divulsis sedibus Haemi 
 Dissullabit apex, imoque allisa barathro 
 Terrebunt Stygium dejecta Ceraunia Ditem, 
 
 In superos quibus usus erat, fraternaque bella. 
 
 At pater omnipotens, fundatis fortius astris, 
 Consuluit rerum summae, certoque peregit 
 Pondere fatorum lances, atque ordine summo 
 Singula perpetuum jussit servare tenorem. 
 Volvitur hinc lapsu mundi rota prima diurno ; 
 Raptat et ambitos socia vertigine coelos. 
 
 Tardior haud solito Saturnus, et, acer, ut olim, 
 Fulmineum rutilat cristata casside Mavors. 
 Floridus seternum Phoebus juvenile coruscat ; 
 Nec fovet effcetas loca per declivia terras, 
 Devexo tern one Deus; sed, semper arnica 
 Luce potens, eadem currit per signa rotarum. 
 Surgit, odoratis pariter formosus ab Indis, 
 yFthereum pecus albenti qui cogit Olympo, 
 
Mane vocans, et serus agens in pascua coeli; 
 
 Ternporis et gemino dispertit regna colore. 
 
 Fulget, obitque vices alterno Delia cornu, 
 
 Caeruleumque ignem paribus complectitur ulnis : 
 
 Nec variant elementa fidem, solitoque fragore 
 Lurida perculsas jaculantur fulmina rupes. 
 
 Nec per inane furit leviori murmure Corus, 
 
 Stringit et armiferos sequali horrore Gelonos 
 
 Trux Aquilo, spiratque hyemem, nimbosque volutat : 
 
 Utque solet, Siculi diverberat ima Pelori 
 
 Rex maris ; et rauca circumstrepit aequora concha 
 
 Oceani tubicen ; nec vasta mole minorem 
 
 ALgeona ferunt dorso Balearica cete. 
 
 Sed neque, Terra, tibi saecli vigor ille vetusti 
 Priscus abest, servatque suum Narcissus odorem, 
 
 Et puer ille suum tenet, et puer ille, decorem, 
 
 Phoebe, tuusque, et, Cypri, tuus ; nec ditior olim 
 Terra datum sceleri celavit montibus aurum 
 Conscia, vel sub aquis gemmas. Sic denique in aevum 
 Ibit cunctarum series justissima rerum ; 
 
 Donee flamma orbem populabitur ultima, late 
 Circumplexa polos et vasti culmina coeli ; 
 
 Ingentique rogo flagrabit machina mundi. 
 
De Idea Platonica, quemadmodum Aristoteles intellexit. 
 
 Dicite, sacrorum presides nemorum deas. 
 Tuque, O, noveni perbeata numinis, 
 Memoria, mater, quaeque in immenso procul 
 Antro recumbis, otiosa AUternitas, 
 Monumenta servans et ratas leges Jovis, 
 Coelique fastos, atque ephemeridas Deum ; 
 Quis ille primus, cujus ex imagine 
 Natura solers finxit humanum genus, 
 ALternus, incorruptus, aequaevus polo. 
 Unusque et universus, exemplar Dei ? 
 
 Haud ille, Palladis gemellus innubas, 
 
 Interna proles, insidet menti Jovis ; 
 
 Sed, quamlibet natura sit communior, 
 
 Tamen seorsus extat ad morem unius, 
 
 Et, mira, certo stringitur spatio loci : 
 
 Seu sempiternus ille siderum comes 
 Cceli pererrat ordines decemplicis, 
 
 Citimumve terris incolit lunae globum, 
 
 Sive, inter animas corpus adituras sedens, 
 Obliviosas torpet ad Lethes aquas ; 
 
 Sive in remota forte terrarum plaga 
 Incedit ingens, hominis archetypus, gigas, 
 
 Et, dis tremendus, erigit celsum caput, 
 Atlante major, portitore siderum. 
 
1 57 
 
 Non, cui profundurm caecitas lumen dedit, 
 Dircaeus augur, vidiit hunc alto sinu. 
 
 Non hunc silente noicte Pleiones nepos 
 Vatum sagaci praepes ostendit choro. 
 
 Non hunc sacerdos novit Assyrius, licet 
 Longos vetusti commemoret atavos Nini, 
 Priscumque Belon, iinclytumque Osiridem. 
 Non ille, trino gloriosus nomine. 
 
 Ter magnus Hermes, ut sit arcani sciens, 
 Talem reliquit Isidis cultoribus. 
 
 At tu, perenne ruris Academi decus, 
 
 Haec monstra si tu primus induxti scholis. 
 Jam jam poetas, urbis exules tuae, 
 Revocabis, ipse fabulator maximus, 
 
 Aut institutor ipse migrabis foras. 
 
158 
 
 Ad Patrem, 
 
 Nunc mea Pierios cupiam per pectora fontes 
 Irriguas torquere vias, totumque per ora 
 Volvere laxatum gemino de vertice rivuin ; 
 
 Ut, tenues oblita sonos, audacibus alis 
 Surgat in officium venerandi Musa parentis. 
 
 Hoc utcunque tibi gratum, pater optime, carmen, 
 Exiguum meditatur opus : nec novimus ipsi, 
 
 Aptius a nobis quae possint munera donis 
 Respondere tuis, quamvis nec maxima possint 
 Respondere tuis, nedum ut par gratia donis 
 Esse queat, vacuis quae redditur arida verbis. 
 
 Sed tamen haec nostros ostendit pagina census, 
 
 Et, quod habemus opum, charta numeravimus ista. 
 Quae mihi sunt nullae, nisi quas dedit aurea Clio, 
 
 Quas mihi semoto somni peperere sub antro, 
 
 Et nemoris laureta sacri, Parnassides umbrae. 
 
 Nec tu, vatis opus, divinum despice carmen. 
 
 Quo nihil aethereos ortus et semina coeli. 
 
 Nil magis humanam commendat origine mentem, 
 Sancta Prometheae retinens vestigia flammae ! 
 
 Carmen amant superi, tremebundaque Tartara carmen 
 Ima ciere valet, divosque ligare profundos, 
 
 Et triplici duro Manes adamante coercet. 
 
 Carmine sepositi retegunt arcana futuri 
 
1 59 
 
 Phoebades, et tremulse pallentes ora Sibyllas. 
 Carolina sacrificus solennes pangit ad aras, 
 
 Aurea seu sternit motantem cornua taurum 
 Seu cum fata sagax fumantibus abdita fibris 
 Consulit, et tepidis Parcam scrutatur in extis. 
 
 Nos etiam, patrium tunc cum repetemus Olympum, 
 ALternseque morse stabunt immobilis aevi, 
 
 Ibimus auratis per coeli templa coronis, 
 
 Dulcia suaviloquo sociantes carmina plectro, 
 
 Astra quibus geminique poli convexa sonabunt. 
 Spiritus et, rapidos qui circinat igneus orbes, 
 
 Nunc quoque sidereis intercinit ipse choreis 
 Immortale melos et inenarrabile carmen ; 
 
 Torrida dum rutilus compescit sibila serpens, 
 Demissoque ferox gladio mansuescit Orion ; 
 Stellarum nec sentit onus Maurusius Atlas. 
 
 Carmina regales epulas ornare solebant, 
 
 Cum nondum luxus, vastaeque immensa vorago 
 Nota guise, et modico spumabat coena Lyseo. 
 
 Turn, de more sedens festa ad convivia vates, 
 Alsculea intonsos redimitus ab arbore crines, 
 Heroumque actus, imitandaque gesta canebat, 
 
 Et chaos, et positi late fundamina mundi, 
 Reptantesque deos, et alentes numina glandes, 
 
 Et nondum ALtnaeo qusesitum fulmen ab antro. 
 Denique quid vocis modulamen inane juvabit. 
 
i6o 
 
 Verborum sensusque vacans numerique loquacis ? 
 Silvestres decet iste choros, non Orphea, cantus, 
 
 Qui tenuit fluvios et quercubus addidit aures 
 Carmine, non cithara, simulachraque functa canendo 
 Compulit in lacrymas; Habet has a carmine laudes. 
 
 Nec tu perge (precor) sacras contemnere Musas, 
 Nec vanas inopesque puta, quarum, ipse, peritus 
 Munere, mille sonos numeros componis ad aptos, 
 Millibus et vocem modulis variare canoram 
 Doctus, Arionii meritd sis nominis haeres ! 
 
 Nunc tibi quid mirum, si me genuisse poetam 
 Contigerit, charo si tarn prope sanguine juncti, 
 Cognatas artes, studiumque affine sequamur ? 
 
 Ipse volens Phoebus se dispertire duobus, 
 
 Altera dona mihi, dedit altera dona parenti; 
 Dividuumque Deum, genitorque puerque, tenemus. 
 
 Tu tamen ut simules teneras odisse Camoenas, 
 Non odisse reor ; neque enim, pater, ire jubebas, 
 Qua via lata patet, qua pronior area lucri, 
 
 Certaque condendi fulget spes aurea nummi, 
 
 Nec rapis ad leges, male custoditaque gentis 
 Jura, nec insulsis damnas clamoribus aures ; 
 
 Sed magis excultam cupiens ditescere mentem, 
 
 Me procul urbano strepitu, secessibus altis 
 
i6i 
 
 Abductum, Aoniae jucunda per otia ripae, 
 
 Phoebaeo lateri comitem sinis ire beatum, 
 
 Officium chari taceo commune parentis ; 
 
 Me poscunt majora: Tuo, pater optime, sumptu. 
 Cum mihi Romuleae patuit facundia linguae, 
 
 Et Latii veneres, et, quae Jovis ora decebant, 
 Grandia magniloquis elata vocabula Graiis, 
 
 Addere suasisti quos jactat Gallia flores, 
 
 Et quam degeneri novus Italus ore loquelam 
 Fundit, barbaricos testatus voce tumultus; 
 
 Quaeque Palaestinus loquitur mysteria vates. 
 Denique, quicquid habet coelum, subjectaque coelo 
 Terra parens, terraeque et coelo interfiiuus aer, 
 Quicquid et unda tegit, pontique agitabile marmor. 
 Per te nosse licet, per te, si jiosse libebit ; 
 Dimotaque venit spectanda scientia nube, 
 
 Nudaque conspicuos inclinat ad oscula vultus, 
 
 Ni fugisse velim, ni sit libasse molestum. 
 
 I nunc, confer opes, quisquis malesanus avitas 
 Austriaci gazas, Periianaque regna praeoptas ! 
 
 Quae potuit majora pater tribuisse, vel ipse 
 Jupiter, excepto, donasset ut omnia, ccelo? 
 
 Non potiora dedit, quamvis et tuta fuissent, 
 
 Publica qui juveni commisit lumina nato, 
 
 x 
 
162 
 
 Atque Hyperionios currus, et fraena diei, 
 
 Et circum undantem radiata luce tiaram. 
 
 Ergo ego, jam doctae pars quamlibet ima catervae, 
 Victrices hederas inter, laurosque sedebo ; 
 
 Jamque nec obscurus populo miscebor inerti, 
 Vitabuntque oculos vestigia nostra profanos. 
 
 Este procul, vigilcs curse, procul este, querelas, 
 Invidiaeque acies, transverso tortilis hirquo, 
 
 Saeva nec anguiferos extende, Calumnia, rictus ! 
 
 In me triste nihil, foedissima turba, potestis, 
 
 Nec vestri sum juris ego ; securaque tutus 
 Pectora, vipereo gradiar sublimis ab ictu. 
 
 At tibi, chare pater, postquam non aequa merenti 
 Posse referre datur, nec dona rependere factis. 
 
 Sit memorasse satis, repetitaque munera grato 
 Percensere animo, fidaeque reponere menti. 
 
 Et vos, O nostri, juvenilia carmina, lusus, 
 
 % 
 
 Si modo perpetuos sperare audebitis annos, 
 
 Et domini superesse rogo, lucemque tueri ; 
 
 Nec spisso rapient oblivia nigra sub Oreo. 
 
 Forsitan has laudes, decantatumque parentis 
 Nomen, ad exemplum, sero servabitis aevo. 
 
163 
 
 Ad Salsillum, Poetavi Romanum, cegrotantem. 
 
 SCAZONTES. 
 
 O Musa, gressum quae volens trahis claudum, 
 Vulcanioque tarda gaudes incessu, 
 
 Nec sends illud in loco minus gratum, 
 
 Quam cum decentes flava Deiope suras 
 Alternat aureum ante Junonis lectum ; 
 
 Adesdum, et haec, s’is, verba pauca Salsillo 
 Refer, Camoena nostra cui tantum est cordi, 
 
 Quamque ille magnis praetulit immerito divis. 
 
 Haec ergo, alumnus ille Londini, Milto, 
 
 Diebus hisce qui suum linquens nidum 
 Polique tractum, pessimus ubi ventorum* 
 
 Insanientis impotensque pulmonis, 
 
 Pernix anhela sub Jove exercet flabra, 
 
 Venit feraces Itali soli ad glebas. 
 
 Visum superba cognitas urbes fama, 
 
 Virosque, doctaeque indolem juventutis. 
 
 Tibi optat idem hie fausta multa, Salsille, 
 
 Habitumque fesso corpori penitus sanum ; 
 
 Cui nunc profunda bilis infestat renes, 
 
 Praecordiisque fixa, damnosum spirat ; 
 
 x 2 
 
164 
 
 Nec id pepercit impia, quod tu Romano 
 Tam cultus ore Lesbium condis melos. 
 
 O dulce divum munus, O Salus, Hebes 
 Germana! Tuque, Phoebe, morborum terror, 
 Pythone caeso, sive tu magis Paean 
 Libenter audis, hie tuus sacerdos est. 
 
 Querceta Fauni, vosque, rore vinoso 
 Colles benigni, mitis Evandri sedes, 
 
 Siquid salubre vallibus frondet vestris, 
 
 Levamen aegro ferte certatim vati. 
 
 Sic ille, charis redditus rursum Musis, 
 
 Vicina dulci prata mulcebit cantu. 
 
 Ipse inter atros emirabitur lucos 
 Numa, ubi beatum degit otium aeternum, 
 
 Suam reclinis semper ^Egeriam spectans ; 
 Tumidusque et ipse Tibris, hinc delinitus, 
 
 Spei favebit annuae colonorum, 
 
 Nec in sepulehris ibit obsessum reges, 
 
 Nimium sinistro laxus irruens loro ; 
 
 Sed fraena melius temperabit undarum 
 Adusque curvi salsa regna Portumni. , 
 
165 
 
 M A N S U S. 
 
 Joannes Bap tista Mansus, Marchio Villensis, vir ingenii laude, turn liter 
 rarum studio, necnon et bellica virtute apud Italos clarus in primis est; ad quern 
 Torquati Tassi Dialogus extat, de Amicitia scriptus (erat enim Tassi arnicis- 
 simus ;) ab quo etiam inter Campanioe principees celebratur in illo poemate, 
 cui titulus Gerusalemme conquistata, lib. 20. 
 
 Fra cavalier magnanimi, e cortesi, 
 
 Risplende il Man so. 
 
 Is authorero, Neapoli comroorantem, summa. benevolentia prosecutus est, 
 multaque ei detulit humanitatis officia. Ad hunc itaque hospes ille, antequam 
 ab ea urbe discederet, ut ne ingratum se ostenderef, hoc carmen misit. 
 
 H^c quoque, Manse, tuae meditantur carmina laudi 
 Pierides, tibi. Manse, choro notissime Phoebi ; 
 Quandoquidem ille alium baud aequo est dignatus honore, 
 Post Galli cineres, et Mecaenatis Hetrusci. 
 
 Tu quoque, si nostrae tantum valet aura Camoenae, 
 Victrices hederas inter laurosque sedebis. 
 
 Te pridem raagno felix concordia Tasso 
 Junxit, et aeterms incnpsit nomina chartis : 
 
 Mox tibi dulciloquum non inscia Musa Marinum 
 1 radidit ; Ille tuum dici se gaudet alumnum, 
 
 Dum canit Assynos divum prolixus amores 
 Mollis et Ausonias stupefecit carmine nymphas. 
 
i66 
 
 Ille itidem moriens tibi soli debita vates 
 Ossa, tibi soli, supremaque vota reliquit : 
 
 Nec manes pietas tua chara fePellit amici, 
 
 Vidimus arridentem operoso ex sere poetam. 
 
 Nec satis hoc visum est in utrumque, et nec pia cessant 
 Officia in tumulo. * Cupis integros rapere Oreo, 
 
 Qua potes, atque avidas Parcarum eludere leges. 
 Arnborum genus, et varia sub sorte peractam 
 Describis vitam, moresque, et dona Minervae, 
 
 ^Lmulus illius, Mycalen, qui, natus ad altam, 
 
 Rettulit y£olii vitam facimdus Homeri. 
 
 Ergo ego te Clius et magni nomine Phocbi, 
 
 Manse pater, jubeo longum salvere per sevum, 
 
 Missus Hyperboreo juvenis peregrinus ab axe. 
 
 Nec tu longinquam bonus aspernabere Musam, 
 
 Quse, nuper gelida vix enutrita sub Arcto, 
 
 Imprudens Italis ausa est volitare per urbes. 
 
 Nos etiam, in nostro modulantes flumine, cygnos 
 Credimus obscuras noctis sensisse per umbra, 
 
 Qua Thamesis late puris argenteus urnis 
 Oceani glaucos perfundit gurgite crines : 
 
 Quin et in has quondam pervenit Tityrus oras. 
 
 Sed neque nos genus incultum, nec inutile Phoebo, 
 Qua plaga septeno mundi sulcata Trione 
 
Brumalem patitur Tonga sub nocte Booten. 
 
 Nos etiam colimus Phcebum, Nos munera Phcebo,. 
 Flaventes spicas, et lutea mala canistris 
 Halentemque crocum, perhibet nisi vana vetustas* 
 Misimus, et lectas Druidum de gente choreas. 
 
 Gens, Druides, antiqua, sacris operata deorum, 
 
 Heroum laudes imitandaque gesta canebant, 
 xHinc, quoties festo cingunt altaria cantu 
 Delo in herbosa Graiae de more puellae, 
 
 Carminibus laetis memorant Corineida Loxo, 
 Fatidicamque Upin cum flavicoma Hacaerge, 
 
 Nuda Caledonio variatas pectora fuco. 
 
 Fortunate senex, ergo, quacunque per orbem 
 Torquati decus et nomen celebrabitur ingens, 
 
 Claraque perpetui succrescct fama Marini, 
 
 Tu quoque in ora frequens venies plausumque virorum, 
 Et parili carpes iter immortale volatu. 
 
 Dicetur turn sponte tuos habitasse penates 
 Cynthius, et famulas venisse ad limina Musas ; 
 
 At non sponte domum tamen idem et regis adivit 
 Rura Pheretiadae ccelo fugitivus Apollo ; 
 
 Ille licet magnum Alciden susceperat hospes, 
 
 Tantum, ubi clamosos placuit vitare bubulcos, 
 
 Nobile mansueti cessit Chironis in antrum 
 
i68 
 
 Irriguos inter saltus frondosaque tecta, 
 
 Peneium prope rivum; Ibi saepe sub ilice nigra 
 Ad citharae strepitum blanda prece victus amici, 
 Exilii duros lenibat voce labores. 
 
 Turn neque ripa suo, barathro nec fixa sub imo 
 Saxa stetere loco. Nutat Trachinia rupes, 
 
 Nec sentit solitas, immania pondera, silvas; 
 Emotasque suis properant de collibus orni, 
 Mulcenturque novo maculosi carmine lynces. 
 
 Dis dilecte senex, te Jupiter aequus oportet 
 Nascentem, et miti lustrarit lumine Phoebus, 
 Atlantisque nepos ; neque enim, nisi charus ab ortu 
 Dis superis, poterit magno favisse poetae. 
 
 Hinc longaeva tibi lento sub flore senectus 
 Vernat, et ^Esonios lucratur vivida fusos, 
 
 Nondum deciduos servans tibi frontis honores, 
 Ingeniumque vigens, et adultum mentis acumen. 
 Oh, mihi si mea sors talem concedat amicum, 
 Phoebaeos decorasse viros qui tarn bene norit. 
 
 Si quando indigenas revocabo in carmina reges, 
 Arturumque etiam sub terris bella moventem, 
 
 Aut dicam invictae sociali foedere mensae 
 Magnanimos heroas ; et oh, modo spiritus adsit, 
 Frangam Saxonicas Britonum sub Marte phalanges ! 
 
i6 9 
 
 Tandem ubi, non tacitae permensus tempora vitae, 
 Annorumque satur, cineri sua jura relinquam, 
 
 Ille mihi lecto madidis astaret ocellis ! 
 
 Astanti, sat erit, si dicam “ Sim tibi curae ! ” 
 
 Ille meos artus, liventi morte solutos, 
 
 Curaret parva componi molliter urn a, 
 
 Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus, 
 Nectens aut Paphia myrti aut Parnasside lauri 
 Fronde comas ! At ego secura pace quiescam. 
 
 Turn quoque, siqua fides, si praemia certa bonorum, 
 Ipse ego, caslicolum semotus in aethera divum, 
 
 Quo labor et mens pura vehunt, atque ignea virtus, 
 Secreti haec aliqua mundi de parte videbo. 
 
 Quantum fata sinunt, et, tota mente serenum 
 Ridens, purpureo suffundar lumine vultus, 
 
 Et simul aethereo plaudam mihi laetus Olympo. 
 
 Y 
 
/ 
 
 170 
 
 epitaphium damonis. 
 
 argumentum. 
 
 Thyrsis et Damon, ejusdem viciniae pastores, eadem studia secuti, a 
 pueritia amici erant, ut qui plurimum. Thyrsis, animi causa profectus peregre, 
 de obitu Damonis nuncium accepit. Demum postea reversus, et, rem ita 
 esse, compcrto, se suamque solitudinem hoc carmine deplorat. Damonis 
 autem sub persona hie intelligitur Carolus Deodatus, ex uibe Hetrurice, Luca, 
 paterno genere oriundus, coetera Anglus ; ingenio, doctrina, clarissimisque 
 cceteris virtutibus, dum viveret, juvenis egregius. 
 
 Hime rides nymphae, (nam vos et Daphnin, et Hylan 
 Et plorata diu meministis fata Bionis) 
 
 Dicite Sicelicum Thamesina per oppida carmen ; 
 
 Quas miser effudit voces, quae murmura Thyrsis, 
 
 Et quibus assiduis exercuit antra querelis, 
 Fluminaque, fontesque vagos, nemorumque recessus, 
 Dum sibi praereptum queritur Damona, neque altam 
 Luctibus exemit noctem, loca sola pererrans ! 
 
 Et jam bis viridi surgebat culmus arista, 
 
 Et totidem flavas numerabant horrea messes, 
 
 Ex quo summa dies tulerat Damona sub umbras, 
 
 Nec dum aderat Thyrsis : Pastorem scilicet ilium, 
 Dulcis amor Musae Thusca retinebat in urbe. 
 
1 7 1 
 
 Ast ubi mens expleta domum, pecorisque relict i 
 Cura vocat, simul assueta seditque sub ulmo. 
 
 Turn vero amissum, turn denique, sentit amicum, 
 
 Caepit et imrnensum sic exonerare dolorem. 
 
 “ Ite domum, impasti, (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Hei mihi ! quae terris, quae dicam numina caelo, 
 
 Postquam te immiti rapuerunt funere, Damon ! 
 
 Siccine nos linquis ? Tua sic sine nomine virtus 
 Ibit, et obscuris numero sociabitur umbris ? 
 
 At non ille, animas virga qui dividit aurea, 
 
 Ista velit, dignumque tui te ducat in agmen, 
 
 Ignavumque procul pecus arceat omne silentum. 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Quicquid erit, certe nisi me lupus ante videbit, 
 
 Indeplorato non comminuere sepulchro, 
 
 Constabitque tuus tibi honos, longumque vigebit 
 Inter pastores. Illi tibi vota secundo 
 Solvere post Daphnin post Daphnin, dicere laudes, 
 Gaudebunt, dum rura Pales, dum Faunus amabit, 
 
 Siquid id est, priscamque fidem coluisse, piumque, 
 Palladiasque artes, sociumque habuisse canorum. 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Haec tibi certa manent, tibi erunt haec praemia, Damon ! 
 
 Y 2 
 
172 
 
 At mihi quid tandem fiet modQ ! Quis mihi fidus 
 Haerebit lateri comes, ut tu saepe solebas 
 Frigoribus duris, et per loca foeta pruinis, 
 
 Aut rapido sub sole, siti morientibus herbis, 
 
 Sive opus in magnos fuit eminus ire leones, 
 
 Aut avidos terrere lupos praesepibus altis ? 
 
 Quis fando sopire diem, cantuque, solebit ? 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Pectora cui credam ? Quis me lenire docebit 
 Mordaces curas, quis longam fallere noctem 
 Dulcibus alloquiis, grato cum sibilat igni 
 Molle pyrum, et nucibus strepitat focus, et malus Auster 
 Miscet cuncta foris, et desuper intonat ulmo ? 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Aut aestate, dies medio dum vertitur axe, 
 
 Cum Pan aesculea somnum capit abditus umbra, 
 
 Et repetunt sub aquis sibi nota sedilia nymphae, 
 Pastoresque latent, stertit sub sepe colonus, 
 
 Quis mihi blanditiasque tuas, quis turn mihi risus, 
 Cecropiosque sales referet, cultosque lepores ? 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 At jam solus agros, jam pascua solus oberro, 
 
 Sicubi ramosae densantur vallibus umbrae, 
 
1 73 
 
 Hie serum expecto. Supra caput imber, et Eurus, 
 
 Triste sonant, fra&asque agitata crepuscula sylvae. 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Heu, quam culta mihi prius arva procacibus herbis 
 Involvuntur, et ipsa situ seges alta fatiscit ! 
 
 Innuba neglecto marcescit et uva racemo, 
 
 Nec myrteta juvant, ovium quoque taedet; at illse 
 Moerent, inque suum convertunt ora magistrum. 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni! 
 Tityrus ad corylos vocat, Alphesiboeus ad ornos, 
 
 Ad salices ^Egan, ad flumina pulcher Amyntas. 
 f< Hie gelidi fontes, hie illita gramina musco, 
 
 Hie Zephyri, hie placidas interstrepit arbutus undas,” 
 
 Ista canunt surdo, frutices ego nactus abibam. 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Mopsus ad haec (nam me redeuntem forte notarat, 
 
 Et callebat aviim linguas et sidera Mopsus) 
 
 “ Thyrsi, quid hoc?” — dixit. <e Quae te coquit improba bilis? 
 Aut te perdit amor, aut te male fascinat astrum, 
 
 Saturni grave saepe fuit pastoribus astrum, 
 
 Intimaque obliquo figit praecordia pi umbo.” 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni! 
 Mirantur nymphae, et “ Quid te. Thyrsi, futurum est? 
 
174 
 
 Quid tibi vis ?” aiunt. “ Non haec solet esse juventae 
 Nubila frons, oculique truces, vultusque severi ; 
 
 Ilia choros, lususque leves, et semper amorem 
 Jure petit. Bis ille miser, qui serus amavit. 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Venit Hyas, Dryopeque, et, filia Baucidis, ALgle, 
 
 Docta modos citharaeque sciens, sed perdita fastu, 
 
 Venit Idumanii Chloris vicina fluenti ; 
 
 Nil me blanditiae, nil me solantia verba. 
 
 Nil me, siquid adest, movet, aut spes ulla futuri. 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Hei mihi ! Quam similes ludunt per prata juvenci, 
 
 Omnes unanimi secum sibi lege sodales, 
 
 Nec magis hunc alio quisquam secernit amicum 
 De grege ! Sic densi veniunt ad pabula thoes, 
 
 Inque vicem hirsuti paribus junguntur onagri : 
 
 Lex eadem pelagi ; deserto in littore Proteus 
 Agmina Phocarum numerat ; vilisque volucrum 
 Passer habet semper, quicum sit, et omnia circum 
 Farra libens volitat, sero sua tecta revisens. 
 
 Quern si sors letho objecit, seu milvus adunco 
 Fata tulit rostro, seu stravit arundine fossor, 
 
 Protinus ille alium socio petit inde volatu. 
 
 Nos, durum genus, et diris exercita fatis 
 Gens, homines, aliena animis, et pectore discors ; 
 
1 75 
 
 Vix sibi quisque parem de millibus invenit unum ; 
 
 Aut si sors dederit tandem non aspera votis, 
 
 Ilium inopina dies, qua non speraveris, hora 
 Surripit, aeternum linquens in saecula damnum. 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Heu, quis me ignotas traxit vagus error in oras 
 Ire per aereas rupes, Alpemque nivosam ! 
 
 Ecquid erat tanti Romam vidisse sepultam, 
 
 Quamvis ilia foret, qualem dum viseret olim, 
 
 Tityrus ipse suas et oves et rura reliquit ; 
 
 Ut te tarn dulci possem caruisse sodale ! 
 
 Possem tot maria alta, tot interponere montes. 
 
 Tot sylvas, tot saxa tibi, fluviosque sonantes ! 
 
 Ah, certe extremum Jicuisset tangere dextram, 
 
 Et bene compositos placide morientis ocellos, 
 
 Et dixisse “ Vale ! Nostri memor, ibis ad astra. ” 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Quanquam etiam vestri nunquam meminisse pigebit, 
 Pastores Thusci, Musis operata juventus. 
 
 Hie Charis, atque Lepos ; et Thuscus tu quoque, Damon, 
 Antiqua genus unde petis Lucumonis ab urbe. 
 
 Oh, ego quantus eram, gelidi cum stratus ad Arni 
 Murmura populeumque nemus, qua mollior herba, 
 Carpere nunc violas, nunc summas carpere myrtos, 
 
 Et potui Lycidae certantem audire Menalcam ! 
 
176 
 
 Ipse etiam tentare ausus sum, nee, puto, multum, 
 Displicui ; nam sunt et apud me munera vestra 
 Fiscellas, calathique, et cerea vincla cicutae. 
 
 Quin et nostra suas docuerunt nomina fagos 
 Et Datis, et Francinus ; erant et vocibus ambo 
 Et studiis noti, Lydorum sanguinis ambo. 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 Haec mihi turn laeto dictabat roscida luna, 
 
 Dum solus teneros claudebam cratibus hoedos. 
 
 Ah quoties dixi, cum te cinis ater habebat, 
 
 “ Nunc canit, aut Icpori nunc tendit retia Damon, 
 
 Vimina nunc texit, varios sibi quod sit in usus 
 Et, quae turn facili sperabam mente futura, 
 
 Arripui vo to, levis, et praesentia finxi : 
 u Heus bone, numquid agis ? Nisi te quid forte retardat, 
 Imus, et arguta paulum recubamus in umbra, 
 
 Aut ad aquas Colni, aut ubi jugera Cassibelauni ? 
 
 Tu mihi percurres medicos, tua gramina, succos, 
 Helleborumque, humilesque crocos, foliumque hyacinthi, 
 Quasque habet ista palus herbas, artesque medentum. ” 
 Ah, pereant herbae, pereant artesque medentum, 
 
 Gramina, postquam ipsi nil profecere magistro ! 
 
 Ipse etiam (nam nescio quid mihi grande sonabat 
 Fistula, ab undecimajum lux est altera nocte. 
 
177 
 
 Et turn forte novis admoram labra cicutis, 
 
 Dissiluere tamen rupta compage, nec ultra 
 
 Ferre graves potuere sonos ; dubito quoque, ne sim 
 
 Turgidulus ; tamen et referam ; vos cedite, sylvce !) 
 
 , domum, impasti, (domino jam non vacat) agni ! 
 
 Ipse ego Dardanias Rutupina per aequora puppes 
 Dicam, et Pandrasidos regnum vetus Inogenise, 
 Brennumque Arviragumque, duces, priscumque Belinunr, 
 Et tandem Annoricos Britonum sub lege colonos ; 
 
 Turn gravidam Arturo, fatali fraude, Iogernen, 
 
 Mendaces vultus, assumptaque Gorlois arma, 
 
 Merlini dolus. Oh, mihi turn si vita supersit 
 Tu procul annosa pendebis, fistula, pinu, 
 
 Multum obhta mihi, aut, patrns mutata Camoenis 
 Brittonicum strides. Quid enim ? Omnia non licet uni, 
 Non sperasse uni licet omnia. Mi satis ampla 
 Merces, et mihi grande decus (sim ignotus in aevum 
 Turn licet, externo penitusque inglorius orbi) 
 
 Si me flava comas legat Usa, et potor Alauni, 
 Vorticibusque frequens Abra, et nemus omne Treantae, 
 
 Et Thamesis meus ante omnes, et fusca metallis 
 Tamara, et extremis me discant Orcades undis. 
 
 Ite domum, impasti (domino jam non vacat) agni ? 
 Hasc tibi servabam lenta sub cortice lauri. 
 
 z 
 
Haec, et plura simul ; turn quae mihi pocula Mansus, 
 
 Mansus, Chalcidicae non ultima gloria ripae, 
 
 Bina dedit, mirum artis opus, mirandus et ipse, 
 
 Et circum gemino caelaverat argumento. 
 
 In medio rubri maris unda, et odoriferum ver, 
 
 Littora longa Arabum, et sudantes balsama sylvae, 
 
 Has inter Phoenix divina avis, unica terris, 
 
 Caeruleum fulgens diversicoloribus alis, 
 
 Auroram vitreis surgentem respicit undis, 
 
 Parte alia polus omnipatens, et magnus Olympus. 
 
 Quis putet ? Hie quoque Amor, pictaeque in nube pharetrae, 
 Arma corusca faces, et spicula tincta pyropo ; 
 
 Nec tenues animas, pectusque ignobile vulgi 
 Hinc ferit, at, circum flammantia lumina torquens, 
 
 Semper in erectum spargit sua tela per orbes 
 Impiger, et pronos nunquam collimat ad ictus. 
 
 Hinc mentes ardere sacrae, formaeque deorum. 
 
 Tu quoque in his. (nec me fallit spes lubrica) Damon, 
 Tu quoque in his certe es. Nam quo tua dulcis abiret 
 Sanctaque simplicitas, nam quo tua Candida virtus ? 
 
 Nec te Lethaeo fas quaesivisse sub orco, 
 
 Nec tibi conveniunt lacrymae, nec flebimus ultra, 
 
 Ite procul, lacrymae, Purum colit aethera Damon, 
 
 ^Ethera purus habet, pluvium pede reppulit arcum, 
 
1 79 
 
 Heroumque animas inter, divosque perennes, 
 ^Ethereos haurit latices, et gaudia potat 
 Ore sacro. Quin tu, coeli post jura recepta, 
 Dexter ades, placidusque fave, quicunque vocaris, 
 Seu tu noster eris Damon, sive aequior audis 
 Diodotus, quo te divino nomine cuncti 
 Coelicolae norint, sylvisque vocabere Damon. 
 Quod tibi purpureus pudor, et sine labe juventus 
 Grata fuit, quod nulla tori libata voluptas, 
 
 En, etiam tibi virginei servantur honores! 
 
 Ipse caput nitidum cinctus rutilante corona, 
 Laetaque frondentis gestans umbracula palmae, 
 ^Eternum perages immortales hymenaeos ; 
 
 Cantus ubi, choreisque furit lyra mista beads, 
 
 Festa Sionaeo bacchantur et Orgia thyrso. 
 
 Z 2 
 
i8o 
 
 Ad JOANNEM ROUSIUM, Oxoniensis Academics 
 
 Bibliothecarium , 
 
 De libro Poematum amisso, quem ille sibi denuo mitti posulabat, ut cum 
 aliis nostris in Bibliotheca publica reponet, Ode. 
 
 STROPHE. 
 
 Gemelle, cultu simplici gaudens, liber, 
 Fronte licet gemina, 
 
 Munditieque nitens non operosa ; 
 
 Quam manus attulit 
 Juvenilis olim, 
 
 Sedula tamen, haud nimii poetae; 
 
 Dum, vagus, Ausonias nunc per umbras, 
 Nunc Britannica per vireta lusit, 
 
 Insons populi, barbitoque devius 
 Indulsit patrio, mox itidem pectine Daunio 
 Longinquum intonuit melos 
 Vicinis, et humum vix tetigit pede ; 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 Quis te, parve liber, quis te fratribus 
 Subduxit reliquis dolo ? 
 
i8i 
 
 Cum tu ; missus ab urbe, 
 
 Docto jugitur obsecrante amico, 
 
 Illustre tendebas iter 
 Thamesis ad incunabula, 
 
 Casrulei patris, 
 
 Fontes ubi limpidi 
 Aonidum, thyasnsque sacer, 
 
 Orbi notus per immensos 
 Temporum lapsus, redeunte coelo, 
 
 Celeberque futurus in sevum? 
 
 STROPHE 2. 
 
 Modo quis deus, aut editus deo, 
 
 Pristinam gentis miseratus indolem, 
 
 (Si satis noxas luimus priores, 
 
 Mollique luxu degener otium,) 
 
 Tollat nefandos civium tumultus, 
 
 Almaque revocet studia, sanctus, 
 
 Et relegatas sine sede Musas 
 Jam pene totis finibus Angligenum ; 
 Immundasque volucres, 
 
 Unguibus imminentes, 
 
 Figat Apollinea phare tra, 
 
 Phineamque abigat pestem procul amne Pegaseo ? 
 
182 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 Quin tu, libelle, nuntii licet mala 
 Fide, vel oscitantia, 
 
 Semel erraveris agmine fratrum, 
 
 Seu quis 1e teneat specus, 
 
 Seu qua te latebra, forsan unde vili 
 Callo tereris institoris insulsi, 
 
 Laetare felix ! En, iterum tibi 
 Spes nova fulget, posse profundam 
 Fugere Lethen, vehique superam 
 In Jovis aulam, remige penna ! 
 
 STROPHE 3. 
 
 Nam te Roiisius sui 
 Optat peculi, numeroque justo 
 Sibi pollicitum queritur abesse, 
 Rogatque venias ille, cujus inclyta 
 Sunt data virum monumenta curae, 
 Teque adytis etiam sacris 
 Voluit reponi, quibus et ipse praesidet, 
 ^Eternorum operum custos fidelis, 
 Quaestorque gazas nobilioris 
 Quam cui praefuit Ion, 
 
 Clarus Erechtheides, 
 
Opulenta dei per templa parentis 
 Fulvosque tripodas donaque Delphica, 
 
 Ion, Actaea genitus Creusa. 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 Ergo tu visere lucos 
 Musarum ibis amoenos, 
 
 Diamque Phoebi rursus ibis in domum, 
 Oxonia quam valle colit, 
 
 Delo posthabita 
 Bifidoque Parnassi jugo. 
 
 Ibis honestus, 
 
 Postquam egregiam tu quoque sortem 
 Naetus abis, dextri prece sollicitatus amici. 
 Illic legeris inter alta nomina 
 
 Autorum, Graiae simul et Latinas 
 
 * 
 
 Antiqua gentis lumina, et verum decus. 
 
 E P O D O S. 
 
 Vos tandem haud vacui mei labores, 
 
 Quicquid hoc sterile fudit ingenium. 
 
 Jam sero placidam sperare jubeo 
 Perfunctam invidia requiem, sedesque beatas, 
 Quas bonus Hermes, 
 
184 
 
 Et tutela dabit solers Roiisi ; 
 
 Quo neque lingua procax vulgi penetrabit, atque longe 
 Turba legentiim prava facesset ; 
 
 At ultimi nepotes 
 Et cordatior aetas 
 Judicia rebus aequiora forsitan 
 Adhibebit, integro sinu. 
 
 Turn, livore sepulto, 
 
 Siquid meremur, sana posteritas sciet, 
 
 Rouso favente. 
 
 Ode tribus constat Strophis , totidemque Jlntistvophis, una demum Epodo clau~ 
 sis, c/uas tametsi omnes ncc versuum nwncro , ncc ccrtis nbic/uc colis cxactc respon - 
 deant, ita tamen secuimus, commode legende potius, quam ad antiquos concinendi 
 modos rationem spectantes. JLlioquin hoc genus rectius fortasse dici m on ostroph 1 - 
 cum debuerat. Metra partim sunt navel <r%e<7iv, partim (irohsKv^vx. Phaleucia 
 quse sunt , Spondseum tertio loco bis admittunt, quod idem in secundo loco Catullus 
 ad libitum fecit. 
 
THE 
 
 FRAGMENT 
 
 OF AN INTENDED 
 
 COMMENTARY 
 
 O N 
 
 PARADISE LOST. 
 
187 
 
 
 ^ | ^ ^ Mr. Addison's remarks on this subject it may not be im- 
 proper to add, that though our syllables are not strictly re- 
 ducible to the rules either of Greek or Latin prosody, they are 
 nevertheless all long or short in the judgment of an accurate ear, 
 and that without close attention to syllabic quantity in the con- 
 struction of our verse, we can give it neither melody nor dignity. 
 Milton, as Mr. Addison observes and proves, deals much in the 
 Iambic and in the Trochee, and occasionally in several other kinds 
 that he specifies ; but perhaps the grand secret, to which his verse 
 is principally indebted for its stately movement, is his more fre- 
 quent use of the Spondee than of any other. The more long syl- 
 lables there are in a verse, the more the line of it is protracted, 
 and consequently the pace, with which it moves, is the more 
 majestic, 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 Line 1. Of Man's first disobedience. 
 
 Man in Paradise received two injunctions from his Maker, and 
 two only. To keep holy the seventh day, and to abstain from a 
 
 a a 2 
 
i88 
 
 particular Fruit, which iF he ate, he would incur Death as the ine- 
 vitable consequence. These were the sole tests oF his allegiance ; 
 for created as he was, holy, and in the express image of God, he 
 could have no need of a law written in Tables for his direction. 
 
 Line 5. And regain the blissful seat . 
 
 The seat may be poetically said to be regained if the state be 
 so, and that the state of Man on earth shall hereafter be Paradisai- 
 cal seems sufficiently clear from those Scriptures, which speak of 
 the restitution of all things. Neither is it improbable, that the seat 
 or place itself of Paradise may be eminently distinguished in the 
 oeconomy of that Kingdom of universal righteousness, which ac- 
 cording to an opinion always prevalent among Christians, and much 
 countenanced by the Word of God, shall succeed the present dis- 
 pensation. 
 
 Line 6. Secret top . 
 
 Secret probably in respect of the secresy of the interview be- 
 tween God and Moses, during which no creature was permitted, 
 on pain of instant death, even to touch the mountain. 
 
 Line 7. Of Oreb or of Sinai. 
 
 These are different names, either for the same mountain, or for 
 different parts of it. 
 
Line 8. That shepherd. 
 
 Moses is called a shepherd either literally, because he kept 
 the flock of Jethro hisfatker in law. Exod. 3. 1. or figuratively, 
 as in Psalm 77. 20. where it is said that God led his chosen through 
 the wilderness like a flock, by the hand of Moses and Aaron. 
 
 Line 2 6 . And justify the ways of God to men. 
 
 Justify them by evincing, that when Man by transgression in- 
 curred the forfeiture of his blessings, and the displeasure of God, 
 himself only was to blame. God created him for happiness, made 
 him completely happy, furnished him with sufficient means of se- 
 curity, and gave him explicit notice of his only danger. What 
 could he more, unless he had compelled his obedience, which 
 would have been at once to reduce him from the glorious condi- 
 tion of a free agent to that of an animal. 
 
 There is a solemnity of sentiment, as well as majesty of num- 
 bers, in the exordium of this noble Poem, which in the works of 
 the antients has no example. 
 
 The sublimest of all subjects was reserved for Milton, and 
 bringing to the contemplation of that subject not only a genius 
 equal to the best of theirs, but a heart also deeply impregnated 
 with the divine truths, which lay before him, it is no wonder, that 
 he has produced a composition on the whole superior to any, that 
 we have received from former ages. But he, who addresses him- 
 
igo 
 
 £elf to the perusal of this work with a mind entirely unaccustom’d 
 to serious and spiritual contemplation, unacquainted with the word 
 Of God, or prejudiced against it, is ill-qualified to appreciate the 
 Value of a poem built upon it, or to taste its beauties. Milton is 
 the Poet of Christians : an Infidel may have an ear for the har- 
 mony of his numbers, may be aware of the dignity of his expres- 
 sion, and in some degree of the sublimity of his conceptions, but 
 the unaffected, and masculine piety, which was his true inspirer, 
 and is the very soul of his poem, he will either not perceive, or it 
 will offend him. 
 
 We cannot read this exordium without perceiving, that the au- 
 thor possesses more fire than he shows — There is a suppressed 
 force in it, the effect of judgment. His judgment controuls his 
 genius, and his genius reminds us (to use his own beautiful simi- 
 litude) of 
 
 “ A proud steed rein’d, 
 
 Champing his iron curb.” 
 
 he addresses himself to the performance of great things, but 
 makes no great exertion in doing it; a sure symptom of uncommon 
 vigor. 
 
 Line 27. Say first, for Heav’n hides nothing from thy view. 
 
 This enquiry is not only poetically beautiful like Homer’s Iliad 
 2. 485, in which he addresses the Muses with a similar plea 
 
 T [xeig <yu$ Seen (<X7£, wuqega re, ige ve 'tcocvtcc 
 
* 9 * 
 
 or like that of Virgil, who pleads with them in the same manner* 
 iEn: 8. 645. 
 
 Et meministis, enim, Divse, et memorare potestis. 
 
 but it has the additional recommendation of the most consummate 
 propriety, and is in fact a prayer for information to the only In- 
 spirer able to grant it. Of the manner of Man’s creation, of his 
 happy condition while innocent, and of the occasion and circum- 
 stances of his fall, we could have known nothing but from the in- 
 telligence communicated by the Holy Spirit. 
 
 Line 3 9' To set himself in glory above his peers . 
 
 Dr. Pearce needed not perhaps to have gone so far as he did 
 in his note on this line for a key to the true meaning of it. A 
 single word in the next verse but one seems sufficiently to explain 
 it -the woid ambitious . It imports plainly an opposition not of 
 mere enmity, but of enmity that aspired to superiority over the 
 person opposed. Satan s aim, therefore, was in Milton’s view of 
 it, to supplant the Most High, and to usurp the supremacy of 
 Heaven; and by Peers are intended, not only those, who aided him 
 in his purpose, but all the Angels, as well the faithful as the re- 
 bellious.. 
 
 This line affording the first instance, that occurs in the poem of 
 a y cut from the end of a word that precedes a vowel, it affords 
 also the fittest opportunity to observe, that though elisions of this 
 
192 
 
 kind, and many others frequent in Milton’s practice, have fallen in- 
 to disuse, their discontinuance is no advantage. In the ear of a 
 person accustomed to meet them in the Greek and Latin Classics, 
 where they abound, they have often an agreeable and sometimes a 
 very fine effect. But it is admitted, that discretion and a good 
 taste are requisite to the proper use of them, and that too fiequent- 
 ly employed, or unskilfully, they may prove indeed deformities. 
 
 Line 50. Nine times the space, that measures day and night. 
 
 It is observable, that between all the members, of which this 
 long period consists, the same pause or nearly the same obtains, 
 till it terminates at line 74* Thus the voice, and the ear, are held 
 in a sort of terrible suspence, while the poet proceeds enumerating, 
 as he would never cease, the horrors of the scene, deepening them 
 still more and more as he goes, till at last he closes all with that 
 circumstance of most emphatic misery, the immeasurable distance, 
 to which these apostate spirits had fallen from God, and the light 
 of Heaven. There is a doleful music in the whole passage, that 
 fitly accompanies such a subject. 
 
 Line 75. Oh how unlike the place, from whence they fell. 
 
 Of all the articles, of which the dreadful scenery of Milton’s 
 Hell consists, Scripture furnished him only with the Lake of Fire 
 and Brimstone. Yet, thus slenderly assisted, what a world of woe 
 
has he constructed by the force of an imagination proved in this 
 single instance the most creative, that ever poet owned ! 
 
 L1NEI14 that were low indeed , 
 
 That were an ignominy , &c. 
 
 To invent speeches for these Infernals so well adapted to their 
 character, speeches burning with rage against God, and with dis- 
 dain and contempt of his power, and to avoid in them all the ex- 
 treme danger of revolting and shocking the reader past all suffer- 
 ance, was indeed, as Horace says — Ire per extentumfunem, and e- 
 vidences the most exquisite address in the author. 
 
 Line 143. But what if He, our conqu'ror - - - 
 
 There is a fine discrimination observable in the respective 
 speeches of Satan and Beelzebub. In those of the former we find 
 that unbroken hardiness of spirit, which suits well the character of 
 the Arch-fiend, and seducer of all the others ; while Beelzebub so 
 speaks as to seem somewhat less obdurate, less a devil than his 
 leader ; he is dejected, he desponds, he forecasts the worst, and 
 is in a degree impressed with a suitable sense of his condition. 
 
 Line 177. To bellow through the vast and boundless deep . 
 
 In this line we seem to hear a thunder suited both to the scene 
 and the occasion, incomparably more awful than any ever heard 
 
 b b 
 
194 
 
 on earth, and the thunder wing'd with light’ning is highly poetical. 
 It may be observed here that the thunder of Milton is not hurled 
 from the hand like Homer’s, but discharged like an arrow. Thus 
 in book 6 , line 712, the Father, ordering forth the Son for the 
 destruction of the rebel Angels, says 
 
 _ _ _ - - bring forth all my war 
 
 My bow , and thunder. 
 
 as if, jealous for the honour of the true God, the poet disdained 
 to arm him like the God of the Heathen. So in Psalm 7 . v. 12, 
 
 it is said If he turn not he will wet his sword ; he hath bent his 
 
 bow and made it ready — he ordaineth his arrows against the 
 persecutors. 
 
 The substance of this ingenious vindication of Milton against 
 the charge of Bentley is taken from a note of Richardson, though 
 by some inadvertance Dr. Newton, who borrows it, has omitted to 
 make the acknowledgment. 
 
 Line 193. With head uplift . 
 
 Milton frequently abridges the participle perfect of its last 
 syllable, by this, and a multitude of such artifices, giving his language 
 an air of novelty. 
 
 Line 202. Created hurgest , that swim the ocean stream. 
 
 The author, speaking of a vast creature, speaks in numbers 
 
*95 
 
 suited to the subject, and gives his line a singular and strange 
 movement, by inserting the word hugest where it may have the 
 clumsiest effect. He might easily have said in smoother verse 
 
 Created hugest of the ocean stream 
 
 but smoothness was not the thing to be consulted when the Levia- 
 than was in question. In like manner, speaking of the larger 
 
 fishes, book 7. 410. he says — 
 
 - - -- -- -- -- part, huge of bulk* 
 
 Wallowing unwieldy ! enormous in their gait. 
 
 Tempest the ocean. 
 
 What man of true taste would exchange such cumbersome 
 verse, on such an occasion, for the most musical, that ever was 
 written. 
 
 Line 203. Him haply slumbering on the Norway foam . 
 
 This simile is most happily introduced, and finely chosen by 
 the poet for the relief of his reader, who feels his imagination re- 
 freshed by such a sudden removal from scenes of fire to the shores 
 of the ocean. 
 
 Line 207. Under the lee . 
 
 Milton, as Dr. Newton here insinuates, has indeed been charged 
 with an affectation of technical terms ; but his use of the word 
 
 b b 2 
 
19 6 
 
 lee in this place seems no proof of it. What other word could he 
 have found in our language, by which to expres; the situation in- 
 tended, and was not such a word (of maritime uie indeed, but al- 
 most universally understood in our country) to be preferred to a 
 tedious circumlocution ? 
 
 Line 215. Heap on himself damnation. 
 
 Here Milton seems to have had in view Romans 2. v. 5. — 
 But after thy hardness and impenitent heart treasures! up unto thy- 
 self wrath against the day of wrath, and revelation of the righteous 
 judgment of God. 
 
 Line 241. Not by the sufferance of supernal powtr. 
 
 To which cause alone the poet himself ascribes it a little be- 
 fore. See lines 211. 12. 
 
 Line 257. All but less than he. 
 
 The construction perhaps is not very obvious, but seems to be 
 this. — What matter where I am, so I be still the same, and what I 
 should be in every respect, this one particular excepted, that I am 
 less than he, whom thunder hath made greater ? 
 
 Line 298. Smote on him sore besides . 
 
 The poet in other passages expresses the effect of violent heat 
 by the verb smite . Thus in book 4, 244. he says — 
 
197 
 
 Both where the nurning sun first warmly smote 
 The copen field. 
 
 And again iit occurs in his 5th Italian Sonnet. 
 
 Per certo i bei vostr’ occhi, Donna mia, 
 
 Esser non puo che non sian lo mio sole,, 
 
 Si mi percuotcn forte. 
 
 Line 300. Of that inflamed sea . 
 
 Milton sometimes cuts off the last syllable of the participle in ed, 
 and sometimes, as here, allows its complete pronunciation. It 
 were to be wished, that the practice of incorporating it with the 
 preceding syllable by the absorption of the intermediate e — as in 
 thrash'd , advanc'd, wrick'd, and other words of the like kind, had 
 not so universally oatained, as it has. For the consequence is 
 often a clutter of consonants with only a single vowel to assist 
 their utterance, which has a barbarous effect, both in the sound, 
 and in the appearance. 
 
 Line 315.. 
 
 Of all the harrangues, that either history, or poetry, has invented 
 for commanders rallying their routed armies, none was ever better 
 conceived than this. Satan seems himself astonished in the begin- 
 ing of it, but it is at their astonishment, which, though he sees it, 
 he can hardly believe. Next affecting ignorance of the real cause 
 
of their inactivity, he imputes it to sloth and indolence, as if to 
 Stimulate them by derision. In the third place, to provoke and 
 rouse them still more, he pretends to suppose it possible, that they 
 may be at that moment employed in worshipping and doing homage 
 to the conqueror. Lastly he uses solid argument, reminding them 
 of the danger, to which they expose themselves by such supineness, 
 and finishes his exhortation with a line detached from the rest, and 
 therefore so emphatical, that while he utters it, we seem to hear the 
 vaults of Hell re-echo. 
 
 Line 335. Nor did they not perceive . 
 
 A Gnecism, and taken from the ov¥ ctn:M<si — the neque non 
 paruit of Homer. 
 
 Line 37b. Who first, who last? 
 
 So Homer Iliad 5. 703. 
 
 r r'ivci 'Tjva: 5’ vgixlov ; 
 
 Line 379. Came singly where he stood on the bare strand . 
 
 Singly, in the true construction of this line is to be connected 
 with stood. They came where he stood singly. That is, as we 
 are told in lines 299. 300. 
 
 -------on the beach 
 
 Of that inflamed sea. 
 
199 
 
 Line 384. Their altars by His altar . 
 
 The expression alludes to Ezekiel 43. 8. In their setting of 
 their threshold by my thresholds, and their post by my posts — 
 they have even defiled my holy name, &c. 
 
 Line 418. Till good Josiah drove them thence to Hell. 
 
 This is an allusion to Chron. 2. ch. 34. v. 4. And they brake 
 down the altars of Baalim in his (Josiah’s) presence, and the 
 images, that were on high above them, he cut down, and the groves 
 and carved images, and the molten images he brake in pieces, and 
 made dust of them, and strowed it upon the graves of them, that 
 had sacrificed unto them. 
 
 Line 455. Ezekiel saw. 
 
 See Ezekiel ch. 8. v. 16. And he brought me into the inner 
 court of the Lord’s house, and behold, at the door of the temple 
 of the Lord between the porch and the altar, were about five and 
 twenty men with their backs toward the temple of the Lord, and 
 their faces toward the east, and they worshipp’d the sun toward 
 the east. 
 
 Line 4 99. Ascends above their loftiest tow'rs. 
 
 So Homer makes Eumaeus, speaking of the riotous deeds of 
 the suitors say— 
 
 Twv vfyi; T£, ve, ciSfyeov squvov msi. 
 
 Od. B. 15. L. 328. 
 
200 
 
 Line 516. Ruled the middle air . 
 
 A portion which the poet seems to allot to Jupiter on the au- 
 thority of Homer — Iliad 15. 192. 
 
 Z evs cuquvov sv^vv ev xibegi hxi ve<pe\y7t. 
 
 Line 537. Shone like a meteor . 
 
 Mr. Gray had doubtless this line in his eye, when in the second 
 stanza of his Ode entitled the Bard, he said 
 
 Loose his beard, and hoary hair 
 Stream’d, like a meteor, to the troubled air. 
 
 Line 542. A shout that tore , &c+ 
 
 Homer’s is a noble shout of which he says in the last line of 
 the Iliad 13. 
 
 *H IX£ T* Cllftsqx, AlOS ocvyx f 
 
 But this as far surpasses it, as the fallen Angels were more terrible 
 than the Greeks, and the Trojans, and the vault of Hell more con- 
 genial to such an uproar, than the plain of Troy. 
 
 Line 550. - v - - - - such as razsd 
 
 To highth of noblest temper , &c. 
 
 Milton never has occasion to mention music, but he discovers 
 plainly how much he delights in the subject. He always speaks 
 of it experimentally, and like a man, whom his own feelings have 
 
 41 
 
201 
 
 made acquainted with its effects, and in this charming passage the 
 lines themselves are as sweet as the melody, they describe. 
 
 Line 580. - and what resounds 
 
 In fable or romance . 
 
 Perhaps there are readers of Milton, not altogether destitute of 
 taste, who feel themselves, when they meet with a passage in him 
 like the present, disposed to be more merciful to it than some of 
 his severer judges. Allusions to antient story, whether false, or 
 true, and to customs and practices long since obsolete, affect a 
 contemplative mind agreeably, and to such persons, perhaps, the 
 very sound of names, like these, is not unpleasing. 
 
 Line 589. Their dread commander. 
 
 Milton’s divine subject afforded him opportunities Of surpassing 
 in sublime description all the poets his predecessors, and his ta- 
 lents were such as enabled him to use those opportunities to the 
 best advantage. Homer’s representation of Agamemnon in the se- 
 cond Iliad, where he says that in his eyes, and countenance, he re- 
 sembled Jove, the Thunderer, that he was like Mars in girth, and 
 had the port of Neptune, is indeed magnificent, but when he 
 finishes his picture by likening him to a bull, how far short does 
 he fall of Milton, who when he compares his lost Archangel to the 
 sun new risen in a misty morning, or eclipsed by the moon, not 
 
 c c 
 
202 
 
 only does not degrade his subject, but fills the mind of his reader 
 with astonishing conceptions of its grandeur. 
 
 Line 606. The fellows of his crime , the followers rather 
 
 Not so properly the fellows, because he had seduced them, as 
 the followers, for the same reason. 
 
 Line 616. - - - whereat their doubled ranks they bend 
 
 Thus forming themselves into a hemicycle or half- moon figure, 
 that all might hear him. 
 
 Line 640. - - - but still his strength conceal'd . 
 
 It was necessary, that Satan should excuse himself, as well as he 
 could, to the myriads of his ruined followers, and he could not do 
 it better (though even that was but a poor apology ) than by 
 pleading the impossibility, that he should be prepared effectually to 
 withstand a power, with the very existence of which, through 
 God’s concealment of it, till the hour in which they fell, he nad 
 been necessarily unacquainted. A vanquished chief, who pleads 
 surprize, excuses himself by his fault. 
 
 Line 650. - - - - whereof so rife . 
 
 Rife is a Saxon word, and signifies frequent or common. 
 
203 
 
 Line 659. - - - - * But these thoughts 
 
 Full counsel must mature . 
 
 AM vitol y.ev tvmtcx. ^elutyctjoiJ.ecr'$<z nai uvrig. 
 
 Iliad I, 140. 
 
 Line 66 3. He spake: and to confirm his words. 
 
 This is another instance (see the note on line 589) in which 
 appears the advantage, that Milton derives from the grandeur of his 
 subject What description could even he have given of a host of 
 human warriors insulting their conqueror, at all comparable to this? 
 First, their multitude is to be noticed. They are not thousands 
 but millions ; and they are millions not of puny mortals, but of 
 mighty Cherubim. Their swords flame not metaphorically, 
 but they are swords of fire; they flash not by , reflexion of the sun- 
 beams like the swords of Homer, but their own light, and that light 
 plays not idly in the broad day, but far round illumines Hell. 
 And lastly, they defy not a created being like themselves, but the 
 Almighty. 
 
 It was doubtless a happiness to have fallen on a subject that 
 furnished such scenery, and such characters to act in it, but a hap- 
 piness it would not have been to a genius inferior to Milton’s; such 
 a one on the contrary would have been depressed by it, and in 
 what Milton reaches with a graceful ease, would have fallen short, 
 after much, and fruitless labour. 
 
 c c 2 
 
204 
 
 Line 670. ----- whose grisly top. 
 
 Grisly seems to signify rough or hideous, but perhaps answers 
 more exactly in its import to the Latin word, hispidus . 
 
 Line 689. Open'd into the hill a spacious wound . 
 
 This is a beautiful expression, and may serve to shew how an 
 act or image, vulgar and ordinary in itself, may be dignified by 
 mere force of diction. 
 
 Line 713. - - - - - where pilasters round , &c. 
 
 Milton has been censured by Addison, as well as by Dr. Newton, 
 here, for his use of technical expression, and the point, enforced 
 as it has been by such great authority, seems to be given up. But 
 perhaps it may even now be permitted to an annotator to ask two sim- 
 ple questions on the present occasion.— Was it lawful to the poet 
 to give a minute description of this wonderful structure ? Surely 
 it was. Ovid has minutely described the palace of the Sun, and 
 Homer that of Alcinoiis.— If then, there was no fault in describ- 
 ing it minutely, it should seem that there could De none in par- 
 ticularizing the several members of it by such terms, as could alone 
 express them. Milton, in fact, had no other means of making his 
 account intelligible. 
 
 Line 772-3. - The ascending pile 
 
 Stood foxt her stately highth , 
 
205 
 
 The expression is elliptical and requires two words to supply 
 the deficiency, when it would stand thus — 
 
 ------ The ascending pile 
 
 Stood fixt through all her stately highth. 
 
 Line 777. Behold a wonder ! 
 
 This contrivance has been censured by some, and particularly 
 by Voltaire, who. having stated his objections to it, calls it 
 an idle tale, that may match the most extravagant. But ex- 
 travagant it cannot seem, if we allow ourselves to recollect who are 
 in question, and what the Scripture says concerning them. All 
 that we know of invisible agents, whether good or evil, we learn 
 from Scripture, which tells us that a single demoniac was possessed 
 by a legion. Scripture, therefore, ascribes to the devils this power 
 of self contraction, and if Scripture gives it them, it would be 
 difficult to assign a good reason, why Milton should not have 
 imagined them to employ it on this occasion. 
 
 It may be observed also that this poetical artifice, instead of 
 depriving us of the idea of their natural bulk and stature, much 
 enlarges it, representing them as not to be contained at their full 
 size within walls of any dimensions, and at the same time it gives 
 us a most magnificent impression of their numbers. 
 
206 
 
 BOOK IL 
 
 Line 5. - - - - - by merit reused. 
 
 By merit diabolical — by the merit of daring most against God ; 
 for desert is relative, and wickedness is merit with the wicked. 
 
 Line 10. by success untaught. 
 
 Success is here synonimous with event , and the expression im- 
 ports the same as untaught by experience . 
 
 Line 30. ----- where there is then no good. 
 
 There is admirable subtlety displayed' in this speech of Satan, 
 in which he palliates his own miserable condition, and that of his 
 followers, by representing it as friendly, at least, to that unanimity 
 which is essential to the success of great enterprizes, and the surest 
 pledge of their accomplishment. The truth was, that the absence 
 of all good was the very circumstance, that evinced them perfectly 
 and completly ruined, but the poet makes Satan deduce from it a 
 
207 
 
 conclusion directly contrary with so much art and plausibility, 
 that the fallacy is almost hidden from the reader. 
 
 Line 33. none -whose portion. 
 
 Here is certainly, as Dr. Newton has observed, a difficulty in 
 the Syntax, but the punctuation recommended in the preceding 
 note entirely divests the passage of Milton’s stile and manner, and 
 he'll for he -will , is intolerably coarse, and ordinary. It seems much 
 more probable, therefore, that irregular as the connexion is, Milton 
 actually dictated the lines as we find them. When the meaning is 
 obvious, he not seldom seems to disdain grammatical niceties. See 
 Dr. Pearce’s note on line 47. 
 
 Line 113. Dr opt Manna. - 
 
 Milton in these two words gives us all the sweetness of Homer’s 
 celebrated line, when commending Nestor’s eloquence, he says, 
 
 T« aai ctTO 'yAwxfl-vjs i^eKilog yXvyiLwv 
 
 Line 122. - - - - - to cast 
 
 Ominous conjecture. 
 
 New combinations in language, or in other words, the inven- 
 tion of new phrases, is an argument of great ability in a writer, 
 and few have furnished more instances of this than Milton. 
 
 Line 155. Will he, so wise 
 
208 
 
 Belial, in this passage, Devil as he is, seems to ascribe to God 
 his due praise for wisdom, while he even derides a supposition 
 that imputes weakness to him. But it is to be observed, that he 
 holds this language merely to serve a purpose ; to answer Moloch, 
 and to recommend his own timid counsel to their acceptance. 
 
 He is afterward still more explicit, and even pious and or- 
 thodox on the subjects of God’s universal knowledge and om- 
 nipotence. — See from line 188 to line 192. — But always with 
 the same intention; to strengthen his argument for peace and 
 non-resistance. 
 
 Line 186. Ages of hopeless end ? 
 
 In these words we have an instance of the kind alluded to in 
 the note on I. 33, in which the poet has not attended to strictness of 
 grammatical construction. Syntax required that he should have 
 said — ■ Ages hopeless of end — concerning which there could be no 
 hope that they should ever terminate. But trusting to the candour 
 and sagacity of his reader, he has deviated a little from rule, for 
 the sake of more grace and harmony than were compatible with the 
 observance of it. 
 
 Line 212. - - - - - - - satisfy’ d, 
 
 With what is punish’d, 
 
 The sense is evidently — satisfied with the punishment, zvhich he 
 has already inficted — -and the expression is here also irregular in its 
 
20 9 
 
 construction. But the brevity of it is clear and beautiful. Nor does 
 Milton ever transgress grammatical propriety, but for the sake of 
 an advantage more than equivalent. Let poets err on this condi- 
 tion only, and the precedent will do no mischief. 
 
 Line 220. - - - - - this darkness light. 
 
 There is no sort of occasion to suppose with Dr. Bentley that 
 light is here an adjective , and means easy ; or with Mr Thyer, that 
 it is an adjective, and means luminous. Nothingis necessary to jus- 
 tify it as a substantive , but to recollect, what all have experienced, 
 that a feeble light which at first seems darkness, by degrees be- 
 comes sufficient for the purposes of vision, the eye accommodating 
 itself to the inconvenience. It should be remembered too that the 
 darkness of Milton s Hell is not absolute, but a kind of sublustris 
 nox, or as he calls it himself, darkness visible . 
 
 The rhime, it must be acknowledged, is unfortunate, but 
 rhime is apt to come uncalled, and to writers of blank verse is often 
 extremely troublesome. 
 
 Line 247. * - - - - how wearisome 
 
 Eternity so spent ! 
 
 Admit that forced hallelujahs can possibly have place in Heaven, 
 and Mammon reasons well ; but the fact is inadmissible, and the 
 very supposition of it impious to a degree well suited to the cha- 
 
 D D 
 
210 
 
 racter of such a speaker. Wearisome as such service would be to 
 the worshipper, it would be infinitely more disgusting to God, and 
 could not fail to be silenced in a moment. 
 
 Line 255. preferring 
 
 Hard liberty. 
 
 A noble sentiment in a good cause, but in Mammon s use of it, 
 truly devilish ! 
 
 Line iyp. To peacej'ul counsels. 
 
 Satan indeed, as Dr. Newton remarks, proposes to them war, 
 and the fittest manner of conducting it, as the subjects then to be 
 debated ; but when Belial and Mammon recommend peace rather 
 than war, in whatsoever way conducted, they cannot properly be 
 said to wander from the point in question ; they only differ from 
 Satan in their opinion concerning the measure next to be adopted. 
 Suppose a question agitated in a council of war in what manner an 
 enemy’s fortress might be best attacked — would a member of that 
 council be chargeable with deviating, who should advise no attack 
 at all ? So far from it that, such being his sentiments, he could 
 not possibly find a juster occasion to deliver them. 
 
 Line 28^. _ — ~ ~ as when hollow rocks } 
 
 It is not improbable, as Dr. Newton here observes, that 
 Milton composed this beautiful simile with an eye to that, which 
 
211 
 
 he quotes from Claudian, but in the lines of our poet there is a 
 solemn and awful grandeur, that resembles much more the manner 
 of Homer, with the best of whose sea-piece similes this may well 
 endure a comparison. 
 
 Line 300. - with grave 
 
 Aspect he rose , - 
 
 We have here a description of an orator rising to address a great 
 assembly, such as no writer of antiquity ever equalled. Homer 
 and Ovid both exerted themselves on a similar subject, and evi- 
 dently bestowed much labour on their respective pieces. But com- 
 pare this picture of Beelzebub either with the Ajax of the latter, 
 
 Utq erat impatiens irae, &c. 
 
 or with the Ulysses of the former, 
 
 AM* Q 7 S Jvj toXu/xvjt/j xvufeiev OSi iwevg 
 
 and you will not hesitate a moment to give the praise of great su- 
 periority to the English poet. 
 
 Line 370. - “ - - - and with repenting hand 
 
 Abolish his own works . 
 
 It seems highly probable, that Satan was prompted to the se- 
 duction of our first parents by some such expectation. An expec- 
 tation which must have been gratified, but for the interposition of 
 
 d d 2 
 
212 
 
 the Son of God, of whose intended incarnation he was undoubt- 
 edly ignorant. No slighter consequence than the destruction of the 
 earth, by the hand that formed it, could otherwise have followed 
 the revolt of man, since to have continued, and multiplied, a species 
 called into existence only to be miserable for ever, would have 
 been a mode of punishment more dishonourable to God, than the 
 sin itself, for which it was inflicted. 
 
 Line 385. ----- But their spite still serves 
 
 His glory to augment . 
 
 This is a great and sacred truth. There would have been no 
 opportunity for the display of mercy, the attribute, of all, which 
 most endears the Creator to his creature, had not the fall sup- 
 plied one. 
 
 Line 400. ------ delicious air , 
 
 How beautiful is the epithet delicious , and how admirably ex- 
 pressive of that thirst after a purer atmosphere, which he must 
 necessarily feel, who has long inhaled the air of a dungeon ! 
 But the speaker’s estimation of its value is, if possible, still more 
 forcibly expressed in the following metaphor, and when he calls it 
 a balm to heal the scar of those corrosive fires , we almost feel the 
 scorch, and the pleasure of the remedy. 
 
 Line 406. - palpable obscure 
 
213 
 
 Like the darkness of Egypt, which, the Scripture tells us, was 
 darkness that might be felt. 
 
 Line 409. - the vast abrupt. 
 
 The chaos described afterward, the immense chasm, or gulph 
 interposed between earth and hell. 
 
 Line 465. 
 
 Dr. Newton might have observed, that there is a peremptoriness 
 in the manner of this conclusion, that gives it particular propriety 
 and beauty. It reminds us of Horner’s 
 
 f xqctTsqu; ayogev xe. 
 
 Line 488. As when from mountain tops . . . 
 
 The reader loses half the beauty of this charming simile, who 
 does not give particular attention to the numbers. There is a ma- 
 jesty in them not often equalled, and never surpassed even by this 
 great poet himself ; the movement is uncommonly slow ; an effect 
 produced by means already hinted at, the assemblage of a greater 
 proportion of long syllables than usual. The pauses are also ma- 
 naged with great skill and judgment ; while the clouds rise, and the 
 heavens gather blackness, they fall in those parts of the verse, where 
 they retard the reader most, and thus become expressive of the 
 solemnity of the subject; but in the latter part of the simile, w'here 
 the sun breaks out, and the scene brightens, they are so disposed 
 
214 
 
 as to allow the verse an easier, and less interrupted flow, more 
 suited to the cheerfulness of the occasion. 
 
 Line 496. 0 shame to men! 
 
 It has been observed by the critics, and by Aristotle, the chief 
 of them all, that in an Epic work the poet should be hidden as 
 much as possible, and ought but seldom, in the way of reflection, 
 or remark, to obtrude himself on the notice of the reader. The 
 observation was, no doubt, at first suggested by the practice of 
 Homer, who rarely shows himself, except when he invokes the 
 Muse, or would rehearse the terrors of a battle by seeming to shud- 
 der at his own description of it. Virgil is also very temperate in 
 this particular, and if Milton be less reserved than either, it should 
 be considered that there is more real worth and importance in a 
 single reflection of his, than in all those of his heathen predecessors 
 taken together ; and that in a poem, like that of Paradise Lost, 
 where the subject could not fail continually to suggest the most in- 
 teresting and valuable remarks, it was almost a duty not to sup- 
 press them. Milton, however, must in fact have suppressed a 
 multitude, and instead of being blamed for excess, deserves to be 
 admired for his moderation. 
 
 Line 506. The Stygian council thus dissolved. 
 
 The verb dissolve in the common use of it is either active, 
 or passive, and we should say, either that the council dissolved 
 
215 
 
 itself, or that it was dissolved ; but Milton here uses it as a 
 deponent. 
 
 Line 518. - - - - the hollow ’ abyss . 
 
 This is an instance of the fine effect of an elision used judici- 
 ously. His ear is not well formed for nice distinction of sounds, 
 who would think the line improved by a monosyllable epithet, 
 which would make it run more smoothly. 
 
 Line 533. As when to warn proud cities . 
 
 A captious reader might object to this simile as exhibiting a 
 comparison of the subject with a thing that never existed, for that 
 in fact no such aerial knights were ever seen in the clouds, except 
 by the dreaming vulgar. But let such readers confine themselves 
 to prose. Veise is not their element. It is always lawful for a 
 poet to avail himself of a prevalent, and popular opinion, and to 
 realize a creatuie of the fancy, merely for the sake of embellish- 
 ment, and illustration. 
 
 Line 542. As when Alcides 
 
 Dr. Newton approves of Mr. Thyer’s objection to this simile, 
 and with him condemns it, but perhaps for no sufficient reason. It 
 is by no means necessary, that a simile should be more magnificent 
 than the subject, it is enough, that it gives us a clearer, and more 
 distinct perception of it, than we could have without it. Were it 
 
the indispensible duty of a simile to elevate, as well as to illustrate, 
 what must be done with many of Homer’s? When he compares 
 the Grecian troops, pouring themselves forth from camp and fleet 
 into the plain of Troy, to bees issuing from a hollow rock, or the 
 body of Patroclus in dispute between the two armies, to an ox hide 
 larded, and stretched by the curriers, we must condemn him ut- 
 terly as guilty of degrading his subject, when he should exalt it* 
 But the exaltation of his subject was no part of Homer’s concern 
 on these occasions, he intended nothing more than the clearest 
 possible impression of it on the mind of his hearers. 
 
 It may be farther observed, that the frenzy of the fallen angels 
 caused by pain, and furious passions, being the principal, if not the 
 only point, in which Milton intended, that the simile should bear 
 upon the subject, he could not have chosen a happier, than this 
 of Hercules mad with anguish. 
 
 Line 547. Retreated in a silent valley, - - - - 
 
 The poet in the 6th book speaking of the hills which the an- 
 gels hurled at their apostate enemies, says 
 
 For earth had this variety from heav’n 
 Of pleasure situate in hill and dale. 
 
 How is it then that this variety obtains in Hell also ? Either 
 the inconsistency escap’d his notice, or he thought it not worth 
 regarding. 
 
 Line 552. Their song was partial . 
 
217 
 
 Partial to themselves. Was silent as to the corrupt motive 
 of their conduct, and dwelt only on the sad consequences of it. 
 
 Line 561. And found no end. 
 
 A good lesson, and no doubt, intended as such by the poet, 
 to controversialists on these difficult and mysterious subjects, on 
 which books without end have been written, that have served no 
 purpose but to load the shelves and to perplex the reader. The dis- 
 pute therefore is here very wisely turned over to those, whose 
 tempers could not be hurt by it, and to whom it was an affair of 
 small consequence to lose their labour. 
 
 Line 614. - - * - - - - - Thus roving on. 
 
 The word thus refers the reader to the four parties last men- 
 tioned, who set forth, each a different way, on the business of dis- 
 covery, See line 570. 
 
 Line 618. - - - Through many a dark and dreary vale. 
 
 The poet seems to have contemplated the horrid scene, till, a S 
 in a dream or vision, he saw it. His description of Hell is not 
 only a map, but a natural history of it, and the Hells of Homer 
 and Virgil are even comfortable compared with this. 
 
 A reader of taste cannot fail to observe how the colouring 
 deepens, and darkens, from the beginning to the finishing of this 
 
 e e 
 
2l8 
 
 dreadful picture, and that there is a frightful solemnity in the num- 
 bers of the whole period wonderfully adapted to the subject. 
 
 Line' 648. Before the gates there sat 
 
 To the remark and quotation made by Dr. Newton, it may be 
 added by way of comfort to all, who like Bishop Atterbury, have 
 a taste for the extraordinary beauties of this passage, that if alle- 
 gories are to be banished (as Mr. Addison, thinks they should be) 
 from the Epic, this of Milton will not be proscribed alone, but 
 Homer’s famous allegory, in which he personifies prayer and injury, 
 must go with it. See Iliad ix. line 49 ^* Perhaps also the group 
 of allegorical figures assembled by Virgil at the mouth of Tartarus, 
 must accompany them ; but this is left to the decision of those 
 who can persuade themselves to part with an exquisite beauty, for 
 the sake of a slight, indeed a fanciful, objection. See Virgil JEn. 
 vi. line 273. See also Dr. Newton’s note on line 965. 
 
 Line 666 The other shape, 
 
 Mr. Thyer seems to have attended but slightly to the appea- 
 rance of Death as drawn by Milton, when he supposed it a copy 
 of that, which he has produced from Spenser. The Death of the 
 latter is a decided shadow ; but there is something incomparably 
 more poetical in the ambiguous nature of the Death described by 
 the former. Milton’s is in fact an original figure, a Death of his 
 own invention, a kind of intermediate form between matter and 
 
2igr 
 
 spirit, partaking of both, and consisting of neither. The idea of 
 its substance is lost in its tenuity, and yet, contemplated awhile as 
 a shadow, it becomes again a substance. 
 
 It is not impossible, that the author might represent Death as a 
 being of such doubtful definition, with an eye to its different ef- 
 fects on the fate of the righteous, and the wicked. To these it is 
 a real evil, to those, only an imaginary one. 
 
 Line 672. - - - - what seem'd his head. 
 
 The indistinctness of this phantom-form is admirably well pre- 
 served. First the poet calls it a shape, then doubts if it could pro- 
 perly so be called ; then a substance *, then a shadow ; then doubts 
 if it was either ; and lastly, he will not venture to affirm, that what 
 seemed his head, was such in reality, but being covered with the 
 similitude of a crown, he is rather inclined to think it such. The 
 dimness of this vague and fleeting outline is infinitely more terrible 
 than exact description, because it leaves the imagination at full li- 
 berty to see for itself, and to suppose the worst. 
 
 Line 686. - - - - and learn by proof 9 
 
 Hell-born , not to contend zoith Spirits of He av'n. 
 
 Somewhat resembling in the turn and manner of it, what Achilles 
 says to Asteropaeus, Iliad xxi. 1 . 184. 
 
 rov toi spicrdcvsog Kpovuovoj; 
 
 Tlouaiv £pL%e(j.evoa, Tlola^oio ftsp tuyeyctwri.. 
 
 E e 2 
 
220 
 
 Line 688. To whom the goblin full of wrath reply’d. 
 
 The poet contrives to be as much at a loss to denominate, as to 
 describe his Death, and seems to exhaust both invention and lan- 
 guage for suitable appellations. He calls him, the shape, the 
 monster, the goblin, the grisly terror, the hellish pest, the phan- 
 tasm, and afterward in the tenth book, the grim feature. 
 
 Line 713. No second stroke intend. 
 
 The expression reminds us of Abishai’s speech to David, Samuel 
 1. c. 26. v. 8. when he entreats his permission to slay Saul. 
 
 Let me smite him , I pray thee , with the spear , even to the earth 
 at once , and I will not smile him the second time . 
 
 Line 747. Hast thou forgot me then ? and do I seem 
 Now in thine eye so foul ? 
 
 This is a very just and instructive part of the allegory, as most 
 can testify from their own experience. Sin, pleasant in contempla- 
 tion and enjoyment, is foul in retrospect, and man, while he suf- 
 fers the remorse, that attends it, stands amazed at himself, that he 
 .could be seduced by it. 
 
 Line 804. - who sets them on, 
 
 This is also just. It is the dread of Death, which aggravates 
 and gives emphasis to the accusations of conscience. 
 
221 
 
 The whole allegory indeed is most judiciously conducted, in 
 perfect harmony with Scripture, and human experience, and is, as 
 Mr. Richardson has observed, a kind of paraphrase on those words 
 of St. James 1. 15. 
 
 ff Then, when Lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth Sin, and 
 Sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth Death.” 
 
 Line 847. His famine should he filed. 
 
 Famine is here used for hunger, the cause for the effect. 
 
 Line 876. - Then in the key-hole turns 
 
 The poet evidently had in view that passage of the 21st book 
 of the Odyssey, in which Penelope opens the door of the chamber, 
 where hung the fatal bow of Ulysses. See line 46. 
 
 Aurm aq vj<y’ ifjMvrcc Qoag ctneXvae y.o%wvv\g 
 Ev Se vXv t iV vj vs, Qvgwv ^idvsvox rev o%v\a.g 
 A vret titvjko^hvi. rod? uv£fyot%£v } vjurf ruvqog 
 Borno^evog Xeifiwvi. to < r* eflyuxs veeXoe erqx 
 HXviyevra nXydi, m r.£Ttf<rQvj<r«v oi wv.ee. 
 
 of which lines the Editor begs permission to give his own 
 translation. 
 
 She loos’d the ring and brace, then introduc’d 
 The key, and, aiming at them from without. 
 
 Struck back the bolts. The portals, at that stroke. 
 
 Sent forth a tone deep as the pastur’d bull’s. 
 
 And flew wide open. 
 
222 
 
 But Milton's doors are opened in a stile as much more su- 
 blime than Homer’s, as the scene and the occasion are more 
 tremendous. 
 
 Line 883. - She open'd, but to shut 
 
 Excelled her pow'r. 
 
 A beautiful observation. Sin opens the infernal doors, but - 
 Mercy alone can shut them. 
 
 Line 885. That zoith extended wings, &c. 
 
 Dimensions like these, vast as they are, are still within the 
 bounds of credibility, when ascribed to such a subject; but the 
 same, perhaps, cannot be said of Homer’s helmet worn by Pallas, 
 which he tells us was large enough to have covered the infantry of 
 an hundred cities. Iliad v. 1 . 744. 
 
 E Karov %oXeuv TpvXeea'a’ upapvioiv. 
 
 Line 91 6 . His dark materials to create more worlds . 
 
 This is a poetical account indeed, but rather a mechanical one 
 of the creation, and such as while it supposes the Deity to have 
 needed means, with which to work, falls far below the scriptural 
 idea, that he created all things out of nothing. The first verse in 
 the Bible tells us with a most magnificent simplicity that <f In the 
 beginning God created the heaven and the earth” and is perfectly 
 silent as to any materials with which he formed them. To suppose 
 
25 3 
 
 indeed the existence of matter antecedent to the creation, is to 
 suppose it eternal, and is, for that reason, as unphilosophical as it 
 is unscriptural, and the very word creation implies existence given 
 to something, which never before existed. 
 
 Line 934* ------- and to this hour 
 
 Down had been falling ------ 
 
 This expression is like a fathoming-line put into our hands by 
 the poet for the purpose of sounding an abyss without a bottom. 
 Nor is this the only passage in which Milton sublimely and with 
 great effect, by the help of a mere supposition, assists our appre- 
 hension of the subject. In the 6th book we find one similar to 
 this, where describing the battle of the angels and the dreadful 
 din, that it occasioned, he says — 
 
 _ all heav’n 
 
 Resounded, and had earth been then all earth 
 Had to her centre shook. 
 
 L1NE977. or tf some other place, 
 
 Meaning the earth, his purposed goal, and the great object of 
 his enterprize. 
 
 Line 988 the Anarch old . 
 
 Milton, as has been already observed, in the instance of Death, 
 is extremely ingenious in the invention of names and titles suited 
 
224 
 
 to hzs ideal characters. An ordinary poet would have been con- 
 ^nted to have called his Chaos a monarch, despairing of a better 
 appellative; but how much more emphatical is the title here given 
 him, which while it sets before our eyes the figure of this king of 
 all confusion, keeps awake our attention also to the uncontroulable 
 wildness of his subjects ! 
 
 Line 990. - - 1 know thee, stranger , who thou art. 
 
 The poet very judiciously represents Chaos as already informed 
 of what otherwise he must have learned by narrative from Satan, 
 whose journey must of course have been retarded, and whose re- 
 ply, though necessary for the instruction of the enquirer, would 
 have afforded no new lights to the reader. 
 
 Line 1023. But he , once past, &c. 
 
 Dr. Newton might have recollected, that the slaughter of the 
 suitors, the event on which the whole Odyssey turns, and which 
 takes place in the 2 2d book, is anticipated in the 20th, where 
 Homer represents them as smitten with frenzy by Pallas, while 
 their meat dripped blood as they ate it, and they laughed and wept 
 involuntarily. Circumstances from which, as well as from se- 
 veral other terrible prognostics there mentioned, the prophet 
 Theoclymenus foretells the slaughter of them all without one ex- 
 ception. The reader thus apprized of it, cannot but foresee the 
 catastrophe sooner by two books than it happens. 
 
225 
 
 The death of Hector, who is slain in the 22nd Iliad, 
 is likewise anticipated, being foretold by Jupiter himself in 
 the 1 7 th. 
 
 And the death of Turnus, the event with which the J£neid 
 closes, is so broadly hinted in the 1 oth book, that the reader must 
 be slow of apprehension indeed, who does not thenceforth expect 
 it. See line 503. 
 
 In all these instances the surprize is not only diminished but 
 absolutely superseded ; whereas in the present instance, the simple 
 and bare mention of such a wonderful work as the bridge in ques- 
 tion, rather excites curiosity than abates it, and does not in the 
 least degree prevent our surprize, and astonishment, when we read 
 afterward in the 10th book the poet’s circumstantial account of 
 the manner, in which it was constructed. 
 
 It is in reality a common thing with poets to touch 
 slightly beforehand, a subject, which they mean to dilate in the 
 sequel. 
 
 Line 1 046. Weighs his spread wings , 
 
 The Editor begs leave to dissent from Mr. Thyer, in the pre- 
 ference that he gives to the line cited from Tasso. The word 
 
 f f 
 
226 
 
 6 
 
 adequate is indeed a beautiful one, and the word spread does not 
 compensate it; but if we correct with Milton’s hemistich the 
 words immediately ensuing, at leisure to behold , we find this act 
 of balancing the wings prolonged to a degree that impresses it 
 more forcibly on the reader’s fancy, and which is therefore more 
 poetical. 
 
227 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 Hail holy light , &c. 
 
 Certainly, as Dr. Newton intimates, there can be no need to 
 apologize for lines like these, nor is there any room to question 
 their propriety. If Epic poetry can possibly disclaim so rich and 
 noble an ornament, we may then fairly say, that Milton has given 
 us something better than an Epic poem. But while we admire, 
 and are charmed with the diction, and the melody of the numbers, 
 we cannot but feel, that there is something in this passage still 
 more captivating than even these, something, which not only pleases 
 the ear, and the fancy, but that wins the heart also, and endears 
 the writer. It is that vein of unaffected piety, which winds 
 through it, and occasionly discovers itself, as he proceeds. When 
 in the opening of this fine exordium he addresses himself to the 
 Light, considering it as in some sort an attribute of God, he evi- 
 dently speaks under an impression of such awe and reverence, as 
 could only be felt by a mind habituated to divine contemplation. 
 
 f f 2 
 
When afterward, alluding to his constant and regular study of the 
 divine writers, he says so musically — 
 
 ---------- - but chief 
 
 Thee, Sion, and the flow’ry brooks beneath. 
 
 That wash thy hallow’d feet, and warbling flow. 
 
 Nightly I visit - - - - - - - - - 
 
 knowing that this was not a gratis dictum for embellishment-sake 
 merely, much less the language of ostentation, and that Milton 
 was in truth, as he professed himself to be, frequently occupied in 
 the study of Scripture, we respect and honour him for the just and 
 manly avowal of it, and taking this acknowledged fact with us, 
 are convinced that when, in the close of all, he prays for spiritual 
 illumination, he asks it, not because it suited his poetical occasions 
 to finish with a prayer, but because he really wished it, and hoped 
 also to obtain it. 
 
 It ought likewise to be observed for the honour of the Bible, 
 that to his firm belief of it, and his familiar acquaintance with it, 
 this divine poet, and truly such, was in a great measure indebted 
 as well for the beauty of the stile and sentiments, as for the matter 
 of his poem. 
 
 JjiN e yo, — •— and Satan there 
 
 The reader will recollect, that he left him at the close of the 
 second book, weighing his spread wings at leisure to behold, &c. 
 
22 9 
 
 Line 84. Wide interrupt 
 
 \ 
 
 Interrupt is a substantive of Milton’s creation, who when the 
 current language failed him, coined for his own use, and always 
 well and wisely. 
 
 Line 91, If him by force he can destroy , or worse, 
 
 By some false guile pervert . 
 
 The poet considers man’s apostacy as worse than his destruc- 
 tion would have been, because he became by it involved in the 
 guilt of his enemy, and a partaker of his rebellion. 
 
 Line 96. - whose fault? 
 
 Whose but his own ? 
 
 See Isaiah chap. 5. v. 3. “And now, O inhabitant of Jerusalem 
 and men of Judah, judge, I pray you, betwixt me and my 
 vineyard. 
 
 What could have been done more to my vineyard, that I have 
 not done in it ? ” 
 
 Line 129, The first sort by their own suggestion fell . 
 
 By the first he means the angelic sort, and gives the most 
 probable reason, why man was considered as an object t)f mercy, 
 while it was denied to the apostate angels. 
 
230 
 
 Line 134. But mercy first and last. 
 
 The words first and last may either refer to the promise of a 
 Saviour given in the garden, and to the consummation of ail 
 things, or they may respect the original purpose of God to show 
 mercy, and the subsequent application of it. 
 
 We have in this speech, not the divinity of the schools, but 
 that of the Scripture. Here are no subleties to puzzle the reader, 
 no webs of sophistry to entangle him. The fore-knowledge of 
 God in Milton’s opinion of it, fetters not the will of man. Man 
 is not represented here as the blind and impotent slave of an iiesis- 
 tible destiny, but as endowed with that high and rational privilege 
 of option, which alone renders him an accountable creature, and 
 which is therefore the very basis of Gods right to judge him. 
 
 With respect to the composition of this speech, it is as unexcep- 
 tionable as the matter of it! The expressions are nervous, and 
 notwithstanding the abstruseness of the subject, beautifully clear. 
 The lines are also harmonious, nor is the great poet less apparent 
 in such a passage as this, than in the most flowery description. 
 Let it be tried by Horace’s rule ; divest it of measure, cast the 
 words into their natural order, do what you please with it, you 
 can never make it prose. 
 
 It is impossible to close this short comment upon it, without 
 adverting for a moment to a line of Mr. Pope’s, which for the 
 flippancy of it, considering whom it censures, it might be wished 
 
231 
 
 that he had never written ; that line in which he charges Milton 
 with making — 
 
 - - - - - God the Father turn a school divine. 
 
 The doctrines here agitated, and in the other speeches which 
 Milton ascribes to the two first persons in the Trinity (as Mr. Ad- 
 dison well observes) naturally grow up in a poem on the fall of 
 man, and Mr. Pope must have been very little acquainted with 
 the schoolmen, to have asserted that in Milton’s manner of hand- 
 ling those doctrines, there is any thing that , resembles theirs. 
 
 Line 142. Love without end , and without vie asure grace. 
 
 The former half of the verse has a near affinity to that expres- 
 sion in Jeremiah — I have loved thee with an everlasting love , and 
 the latter half of it to that of the apostle Paul — Where sin has 
 abounded , grace has much more abounded. We are pretty well 
 acquainted with the abundance of sin, and therefore can easily 
 conceive that if grace has abounded still more, it must be without 
 measure. 
 
 Line 166 , 
 
 The reader may observe ho tv judiciously this speech is accom- 
 modated to the character of the Son of God, as the advocate and 
 intercessor of our fallen race. From beginning to end, it reasons, 
 pleads, and argues on the side of man, and has in it much of the 
 
232 
 
 spirit and manner of the intercession used by Moses to avert the 
 wrath of God from the people, when they murmured at the report 
 of the spies. See Numbers chap. 14. v. 13. 
 
 Line 174. Yet not of will in him. 
 
 So then, it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, 
 but of God that sheweth mercy. Romans c, 9. v. 16. 
 
 Line 183. Some I have chosen of peculiar grace, &c. 
 
 It is not very easy to see how this opinion (the Editor is speak- 
 ing of Dr. Newton’s note) becomes entitled to the honourable ap- 
 pellation of moderate Calvinism . It supposes as much partiality to 
 be shown in the distribution of grace, as is usually charged on Cal- 
 vinism of any other description ; some to be saved infallibly, and 
 others to be left to a perad venture. But the Scripture, when it 
 speaks of those, who shall be saved, and of the means, by which 
 their salvation shall be accomplished, holds out the same hope to 
 every man, and asserts the same communications of light and 
 strength t;o be necessary in all cases equally. 
 
 N. ' 
 
 Line 196. Light after light. 
 
 The path of the just is as the shining light that shineth more 
 and more unto the perfect day. Proverbs. 4. 18. 
 
 Line 200. But hard be harden'd. 
 
233 
 
 "Yet they would not hear— But the word of the Lord was unto 
 them, precept upon precept, line upon line, line upon line, here a 
 little, and there a little ; that they might go, and fall backward, 
 and be broken, and snared, and taken.” Isaiah, 28. 32,13. 
 
 Line 210. Die he , or justice must . 
 
 That such a propitiation was indispensably necessary to make 
 the salvation of man consist with the honour of God’s justice, is 
 evident from Romans 3. — 25, 6. 
 
 “ Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation:— that he might 
 be just, and the justifier of him, which believeth in Jesus.” 
 
 The reader however, since all are not conversant enough with 
 Scripture to know it, is to be admonished, that the ensuing refer- 
 ence of this arduous enterprize to the angels, is a mere poetical 
 fiction. Christ is always mentioned there, as the only possible sub- 
 stitute , because he alone was worthy . 
 
 Line 232. ------ - he her aid 
 
 Can never seek. 
 
 « I was found of them, that sought me not, I was made manifest 
 unto them, that asked not after me.” Rom. 10. 20. 
 
 It is certain that, till assisted by grace, there is nothing, about 
 
 which the heart of man concerns itself so little, as how he shall 
 obtain it. 
 
 G S 
 
2 34 
 
 The very prayer for grace, if it be sincere and fervent, im- 
 plies the previous communication of it. 
 
 Line 245. - - - - and am his due. 
 
 Due by voluntary stipulation to stand in the offender s place, 
 not otherwise. 
 
 Line 260. Then with the multitude of my redeem'd. 
 
 « Behold I and the children, whom the Lord hath given me. ” 
 Isaiah 8. 18. 
 
 Which words the apostle Paul in his epistle to the Hebrews 
 expressly gives to the Redeemer. See Hebrews 11. 13* 
 
 Line 27 6 . My sole complacence ! 
 
 In whom alone I am well pleased. Whose obedience unto 
 death is the sole efficient cause of my reconcilement to guilty man. 
 
 Line 278. Though last created ; that for him I spare* 
 
 The word that must here be understood in the sense of because . 
 Thou knowest how dear he is to me, because to save him I spare 
 thee from my bosom. 
 
 Line 290. 
 
 thy merit 
 
 Imputed 
 
 Faith in the righteousness of the Son of man, as the instrument 
 
and means of our justification in the sight of God, is itself consi- 
 dered as righteousness, and for the sake of that faith it is, that 
 creatures, unrighteous in themselves, are yet accepted. See 
 Corinthians 1. 30. 
 
 <f But of him are ye in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto 
 us wisdom and righteousness, sanctification, and redemption.” 
 
 Line 305. Because thou hast , &c 
 
 Through this whole period ending at line 322, the poet builds 
 on that passage of Psalms 45. 6. 7. 
 
 “A sceptre of righteousness is the sceptre of thy kingdom : 
 
 Thou hast loved righteousness, and hated iniquity, therefore 
 God, even thy God, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness 
 above thy fellows.” 
 
 Line 341. God shall he all in all. 
 
 It may not be amiss at the close of these admirable speeches, 
 as admirable for their sound divinity, as for the perspicuity with 
 which it is expressed, to allow ourselves a moment’s pause for the 
 purpose of taking a short retrospect of the doctrines contained in 
 them. 
 
 Man, in the beginning, is placed in a probationary state, and 
 
2 3 6 
 
 made the arbiter of his own destiny. By his own fault he forfeits 
 happiness both for himself and for his descendents. But mercy 
 interposes for his restoration. That mercy is represented as per- 
 fectly free, as vouchsafed to the most unworthy ; to creatures so 
 entirely dead in sin, as to be destitute even of a sense of their 
 need of it, and consequently too stupid ever to ask it. They are 
 also as poor as they are unfeeling, and were it possible that they 
 could affect themselves with a just sense and apprehension of their 
 laps’d condition, have no compensation to offer to their offended 
 Maker, nothing, with which they can satisfy the demands of his 
 justice, in short, no atonement. In this ruinous state of their affairs, 
 and when all hope of reconciliation seems lost for ever, the Son of 
 God voluntarily undertakes for them ; undertakes to become the 
 Son of Man also, and to suffer in Man’s stead the penalty annex- 
 ed for his transgression. In consequence of this self-substitution 
 Christ becomes the federal head of his church, and the sole author 
 of salvation to his people. As Adam’s sin was imputed to his 
 posterity, so the faultless obedience of the second Adam is imputed 
 to all, who, in the great concern of justification, shall renounce 
 their own obedience as imperfect, and therefore incompetent. 
 
 The sentence is thus reversed as to all believers, “ Death is 
 swallowed up in Victory” — the Saviour presents the redeemed be- 
 fore the throne of the eternal father, in whose countenance no 
 longer any symptom of displeasure appears against them, but their 
 joy and peace are thenceforth perfect. The general resurrection 
 
2 37 
 
 takes place, the saints are made assessors with Christ in the judg- 
 ment both of men and angels, the new heaven and earth, the des- 
 tined habitation of the just, succeed ; the Son of God, his whole 
 undertaking accomplished, surrenders the kingdom to his Father, 
 and God becomes All in All. 
 
 It is easy to see, that among these doctrines there are some, 
 which in modern times have been charged with novelty; but, how 
 new they are, Milton is a witness. 
 
NOTES 
 
 FROM 
 
 VARIOUS AUTHORS. 
 
 Those without any Signature are by the Translator of the Poems ; 
 those signed H by the Editor — the rest are distinguished by the Names of 
 their respective Writers. x 
 
241 
 
 Page 8. Carlo Dati. 
 
 A remark of Cowper’s at the close of the Complimentay Pieces has 
 sufficiently answered the morose severity of Dr. Johnson against the foreign 
 eulogists of Milton. I will only add in favor of the last. Carlo Dati, that he 
 must have been very young, when he addressed so fervid a compliment to our 
 admirable countryman, and that he seems to have spoken from his heart. He 
 raised himself, in a later period, to considerable literary distinction; and was 
 one of the learned Italians, who received a pension from the munificence of 
 Louis the 14th. It is said, that both this monarch, and Christina of Sweden, 
 invited Dati to their respective courts ; but they could not induce him to re- 
 linquish his native and favourite city of Florence, where he lived much re- 
 spected for his learning, and his politeness. In 1667 he published, in a thin 
 quarto, his lives of the four Grecian painters, Zeuxis, Parrhasius, Apelles, and 
 Protogenes, a work in which the author displays much learning, and delicacy 
 of taste. It appears to be part of a more extensive projected work. He was 
 Greek professor at Florence, and librarian to the Cardinal Carlo de Medici. 
 Tiraboschi praises him as one of the refiners of the Tuscan language, and adds, 
 that he would have bequeathed to the world more voluminous proofs of his 
 erudition, had not death rapidly terminated his life and labours in 1675, at 
 the age of fifty-six. His death happened one year after the decease of Milton, 
 
 H h 
 
24 » 
 
 who died in his sixty-sixth year, and was born eleven years before his Italian 
 panegyrist. Tho’ he is styled Juvenis in the Latin compliment of his younger 
 friend ; the expression is remarkable, as our great poet was thirty years old 
 when he visited Italy. 
 
 I find in Dati’s life of Zeuxis, an Italian sonnet, which he composed 
 on the extraordinary death of that celebrated painter. Partiality to a writer, 
 who honoured our poet on his travels with such generous enthusiasm, has in- 
 duced me to transcribe his Sonnet on the Grecian painter, and to give it an 
 English dress. Zeuxis is said to have died in a fit of laughter, on surveying a 
 portrait, that he had painted, of an old woman. 
 
 S O N E T T 0. 
 
 s 
 
 Nacque piangendo, al fin ridendo muore, 
 
 Chi dar vita a colori ebbe ardimento; 
 
 Dunque e grave cordoglio il nascimento, 
 
 E conforto la morte, e non dolore. 
 
 Ma se’l riso e mortale, e qual terrore 
 
 Portera seco il pianto ? e qual contento, 
 
 Se gli arreca il gioir fiero tormento, 
 
 Potra sperare in questa vita un core ? 
 
 Misero chiamerem dunque, chi ride, 
 
 Fortunato, chi gli occhi aperse al pianto, 
 
 Se da l’essere il pianto, e’l riso uccide. 
 
 Anzi folle direm, chi si da vanto 
 
 Di non pianger vivendo ore omicide; 
 
 Folle, chi ride, ed ha la morte accanto. 
 
*43 
 
 S 0 JYJY E T. 
 
 Weeping was Zeuxis born, and laughing died. 
 
 Who life to colours gloried to impart; 
 
 Birth then appears like anguish of the heart. 
 
 And Death to comfort, not to pain allied. 
 
 But if a laugh can kill, who may abide 
 The misery of weeping ? if a start 
 Of Joy itself can end in deadly smart. 
 
 How may Content in human breast reside ? 
 
 The Laugher we should call a man of woe. 
 
 An happy him, whose eyes have many a tear. 
 
 If Life from weeping. Death from laughing flow. 
 
 Rather the Boaster must a fool appear. 
 
 Who scorns in grievous scenes due grief to show ; 
 
 Folly alone can laugh, when Death is near. 
 
 The Sonnet of Dati is a specimen of that indescribable passion for 
 over-refined conceits, which had infected the Italian poetry of his time, and 
 of which some traces may be seen even in the Italian verses of the chaste, and 
 sublime, English poet. Among the Latin letters of Milton, there is one of 
 considerable length to Carlo Dati, written almost ten years after they had 
 taken leave of each other, on the poet’s return to his native country. 
 
 From this letter it appears, that Dati was regarded by Milton as onfc 
 of the first, if not the very first, of his Italian friends; their correspondence 
 had been interrupted by the troubles of the times, and Milton expresses great 
 
 H h 2 
 
244 
 
 concern for the loss of several letters from his correspondent of Florence. He 
 speaks highly of Dati’s judgment in literature, and says, he should not have 
 omitted to send him his numerous publications, had they not been confined 
 to the English language. He promises to send him speedily a copy of his 
 Latin poems, and declares, he should have sent them, before Dati expressed 
 a wish to receive them, had he not been apprehensive of hurting the feelings 
 of his Catholic friend by an asperity, of which he was conscious, against the 
 Roman Pontiff ; a topic, on which he entreats his friend to allow him such 
 liberty of speech in his writings, as he had formerly granted him in conver- 
 sation, and such, as he allowed to those illustrious free speakers of Italy, 
 Dante, and Petrarch. Milton mentions his reading with pleasure a publica- 
 tion of Dati’s on the funeral of Lewis the 13th, a publication unnoticed in 
 all the accounts of Dati’s compositions, that I have seen. The Florentine 
 author had jested on this production of his own pen, as seeming to indicate a 
 venal spirit, an idea, that Milon rejects with the most liberal politeness. 
 
 ff Sermone patrio haud pauca in lucem dedimus ; quae nisi essent 
 Anglice scripta, libens ad vos mitterem, quorum judiciis plurimum tribuo. 
 Poematum quidemquae pars Latina est, quoniam expetis, brevi mitttam; atque 
 id sponte jamdudum fecissem, nisi quod, propter ea quae in Pontificem Ro- 
 manum aliquot paginis asperius dicta sunt, suspicabar vestris auribus fore mi- 
 nus grata. Nunc abs te peto, ut quam veniara, non dico Aligerio et 
 Petrachae vestro eadem in causa, sed meae. ut scis, olim apud vos loquendi 
 libertati, singulari cum humanitate, dare consuevistis, candetn impetres (nam 
 de te mihi persuasum est) ab cceteris amicis quoties de vestris ritibus nostro 
 more loquendum erit. Exequias Lodovici Regis a te descriptas libenter lego. 
 
245 
 
 in quibus Mercurium tuum non compitalem ilium, et mercimoniis addictum, 
 quem te nuper colere jocatis, sed facundum ilium, Musis acceptum, et Mer- 
 curialium virorum prassidem, agnosco.’* Epist. famil. Epistola decima. 
 
 The letter closes with a desire of establishing a plan for the safety 
 and regularity of their future correspondence, and with remembrances to se- 
 veral countrymen and associates of Dati. 
 
 II. 
 
 Page 9. Elegy I. 
 
 Mr. Warton stands first among the scholars of our country, who 
 have laboured, with a laudable diligence and zeal, to illustrate the minor 
 poems o£ Milton: tie has justly and ably vindicated the Latin verse of our 
 great poet against the censorious malevolence of Dr. Johnson, which led that 
 powerful and prejudiced critic into a very awkward attempt to degrade it. 
 Cowper, who wrote Latin verse himself with singular facility and elegance, 
 esteemed these Elegies of Milton as not inferior to the best elegiac produc- 
 tions of the Augustan age. Such also was the opinion of that learned eulo- 
 gist of antiquity Lord Monboddo. Dr. Symmons, a recent and respectable 
 biographer of Milton, says of these compositions, “ To England they are pe- 
 culiarly interesting, as they were the first pieces, which extended her fame 
 for Latin poetry to the Continent, and as th'ey evince the various powers of 
 her illustrious bard by shewing, that he, who afterwards approved himself to 
 be her iEschylus and her Homer, could once flow in the soft numbers, and 
 breathe the tender sentiments of Ovid and Tibullus.” Let me add that in pu- 
 rity of thought, and in energy of expression, he appears to have surpassed 
 both his models. 
 
246 
 
 Charles Diodati, the young friend, to whom this Elegy is inscribed, 
 was a school-fellow of Milton at St. Paul’s. He also excelled in Latin poetry 
 according to the testimony of Milton, who has celebrated his talents and vir- 
 tues in various compositions addressed to him in prose and verse. Milton 
 imparted to Diodati the early warmth of his own literary ambition in an ex- 
 quisite Latin letter, dated from London, Sept. 23, 1637, and commemorated 
 his premature death in a poem, that may be reckoned among the most beau- 
 tiful of this collection. The father of Diodati was a native of Lucca, who 
 settling in England married an English lady. He and his son Charles were 
 both physicians, the latter practised in Cheshire, and the present poem was 
 sent as a reply to a letter from that country. 
 
 Perhaps few incidents improve the human character so much as the 
 circumstance of having loved, and lost, a juvenile friend, whose extraordi- 
 nary endowments appear to have marked him for an early flight to Heaven. 
 Such a loss seems to have had an influence in promoting a peculiar pensive 
 tenderness and moral dignity in three favourite poets of England — Milton lost 
 his Diodati, Gray his Favonius, and Cowper his Sir William Russel. 
 
 li. 
 
 Page 9, Deva’s western side. 
 
 The river Dee In Cheshire. 
 
 Page 9. Vergivian Tide. 
 
 St. George’s channel. 
 
 Page 13. Immortal Moly - 
 
 Moly was the root given by Mercury to Ulysses, by the virtue of 
 which he was enabled to withstand the enchantments of Circe. 
 
247 
 
 Page 13. 
 
 Mr. Warton imagines, that Milton wrote this Elegy in his twentieth 
 year, while he resided with his father in Bread-street. It is certainly a most 
 pleasing specimen of his powers as a poet. In the passages where Warton re- 
 presents him as having caught images from Ovid, he is more energetic than 
 his supposed model. His whole poem displays a heart highly formed both 
 for friendship and for love; his animated praise of British damsels, as surpas- 
 sing tne fair ones of all other countries, is admirably eloquent in the original, 
 and very happily rendered by Cowper, who had a perfect sympathy with 
 Milton in a sentiment expressive of the most fervent predilection for his 
 native country. 
 
 II 
 
 Page 14. On the Death of the University Beadle at Cambridge. 
 Richard Ridding a Master of Arts, and of St. John’s college 
 
 W IRTOKU 
 
 Page 14. Apollo’s son. 
 
 iEsculapius the son of Coronis by Apollo. 
 
 Page 14. In Priam’s hall. 
 
 Here seems to be a slip of memory, since the messenger of Jove to 
 Priam was not Mercury but Iris. See Iliad xxiv. 
 
 Page 14. Dread queen of sepulchres. Libitina. 
 
 Mr. Warton, who sometimes speaks of Milton with an accidental 
 
248 
 
 asperity, unlike his own native character of indulgent good nature, has be- 
 stowed very liberal praise on the juvenile productions, which the poet com- 
 posed as college exercises in the first year of his residence at Cambridge. He 
 justly observes that this and the following Elegy, with the two Odes on the 
 death of Professor Goslyn, and Bishop Felton, “ discover a great fund and 
 command of antient literaure.” 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 16. On the death of the Bishop of Winchester. 
 
 Launcelot Andrews, Bishop of Winchester, had been master of Pem- 
 broke hall in Cambridge, but long before Milton’s time. He died at Winche- 
 ster house in Southwark, Sept. 21, 1626. 
 
 TV zrton. 
 
 Page 16. Of England’s sufferings by that scourge, the pest. 
 
 A very severe Plague now raged in London and the neighbourhood; 
 of which 35417 are said to have died. See Whitelock’s Mem. p. 2, and 
 Rushworth’s Col. vol. 1. p. 175. 201. 
 
 TVzrton. 
 
 The same Commentator observes, that Milton alludes to this Plague 
 in a passage of his Ode on the death of a fair infant, his niece, and probably 
 the first child of his sister Philips, according to Mr. Warton’s conjecture. I 
 transcribe the passage of the English Ode for the pleasure of adding a remark 
 upon it in honour of Milton. 
 
249 
 
 X. 
 
 But Oh ! why didst thou not stay here below, 
 
 To bless us with thy Heaven lov’d innocence. 
 
 To slake his wrath, whom Sin hath made our foe ; 
 
 To turn swift-rushing black Perdition hence, 
 
 Or drive away the slaughtering Pestilence ; 
 
 To stand *twixt us, and our deserved smart ; 
 
 But thou canst best perform that office, where thou art. 
 
 XL 
 
 Then thou ! the Mother of so sweet a child ! 
 
 Her false-imagin’d loss cease to lament, - 
 And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild ! 
 
 Think what a present thou to God has sent. 
 
 And render him with patience, what he lent ! 
 
 This if thou do, he will an offspring give. 
 
 That till the world’s last end, shall make thy name to live. 
 
 It is pleasing to contemplate a youth of 17 thus administering comfort 
 to his afflicted sister in a singular strain of pious, poetical enthusiasm: it is 
 also pleasing to observe that his consolatory prophecy in the two last verses 
 
 1 i 
 
250 
 
 was literally fulfilled. One of his sister’s subsequent children was the Edward 
 Philips, who, in becoming the scholar, and afterwards the first biographer of 
 Milton, may be truly said to have verified the tender monitory prediction of 
 the young, devout, and affectionate poet. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page i 6. I next deplor’d the fam’d fraternal pair, 
 
 I am kindly informed by Sir David Dalrymple, the two generals 
 here mentioned, who died in 1626, were the two champions of the Queen 
 of Bohemia, the Duke of Brunswick and Count Mansfelt : Frater means a 
 
 sworn brother in arms. The Queen’s, or the Palatine cause was supported 
 by the German princes, who were heroes of romance, and the last of that 
 race in that country. The Protestant religion, and chivalry, must have inte- 
 rested Milton in this cause. The next couplet respects the death of Henry 
 Earl of Oxford, Shakespear’s patron, who died at the siege of Breda in 1625. 
 See Dugdale Bar. ii. p. 200, and Howell’s Letters, vol. 1, let. 15. 
 
 TVarton. 
 
 It does not appear probable, Mr. Warton can be right in his con- 
 jecture, that Milton alluded to the death of Henry Earl of Oxford, whom the 
 critic calls the patron of Shakespear. It is certain indeed that both this Earl 
 of Oxford, and his particular friend the Earl of Southampton, more celebrated 
 for patronage of Shakespear, died in the Low Countries of sickness, which they 
 contracted at the siege of Breda, but if Milton had meant to allude to either 
 of these literary noblemen, he could hardly have omitted to describe the 
 
 / 
 
251 
 
 subject of his regret, as a warrior of his own country, and a friend to 
 the Muses. 
 
 " The Earl of Oxford (says Wilson) having the leading of the van, 
 being a man corpulent and heavy, got such a swelting heat in the service, that 
 though he came off without hurt from the enemy, yet he brought death 
 along with him, for he fell sick presently after, went to the Hague, and there 
 died in the middle of summer, 1625. The Earl of Southampton, and his 
 eldest son, died in the preceding winter, the former at Bergen-op-Zoom, 
 the latter at Rosendale.” Brydge’s memoirs of Peers. &c. page 503. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 19 . 
 
 Warton concludes his notes on this Elegy with a supposition that 
 Milton “ must have looked back with disgust and remorse on the panegyrick 
 of this performance, as on one of the sins of his youth, inexperience, and 
 orthdoxy, for he had here celebrated not only a bishop, but a bishop who 
 supported the dignity and constitution of the Church of England.*’ Cowper 
 with more liberality of sentiment indignantly rejects the idea, that Milton 
 ever repented of his compliment to the memory of Bishop Andrews. In a 
 letter to his friend the Revd. Walter Bagot, Oct. 25, 1791, he says, “ I neither 
 do, nor can, nor will believe it. Milton’s mind could not be narrowed by 
 any thing; and though he quarrelled with episcopacy in the Church of England 
 idea of it, I am persuaded that a good bishop, as well as any other good man, 
 of whatever rank or order, had always a share of his veneration.” Cowper 
 
 1 i 2 
 
252 
 
 esteemed the purity of Milton’s heart as equal to the powers of his mind. 
 Few things could excite indignation in his gentle spirit so much, as a malevo- 
 lent remark on our divine poet. Of this I find a very striking proof in a copy 
 of Johnson’s Life of Milton, in which Cowper had hastily, with a pencil, ex- 
 pressed his feelings, as he perused that eloquent acrimonious biographer. 
 Under this execrable invective of Johnson, Such is his (Milton’s) malig- 
 nity, that Hell grows darker at his frown Cowper wrote with his pencil, 
 " and at thine ” In the last leaf of Murphy’s Essay on the Life and Genius of 
 Johnson, he wrote the following more deliberate censure. 
 
 “ Let all that is said against Milton in the conclusion of this book 
 pass undisputed, and Johnson’s is still a most malignant life of Milton.” 
 
 The bitter injustice of Johnson against our divine bard has been re- 
 cently, and copiously displayed, and condemned with great energy of senti- 
 ment and expression, by a respectable veteran of literature. Mr. Percival 
 Stockdale in his Lectures on the truly eminent English Poets has vindicated 
 the honor of Milton, and as a contrast to a savage remark of the hostile bio- 
 grapher on his blindness, has happily expressed that tenderness of veneration, 
 so justly due to his genius, his virtues, and his calamity, by a graceful applica- 
 tion of a passage in his Samson Agonistes to the person of its author. 
 
 “ Who that now hears me (says Mr. Stockdale) would not have 
 been proud to have given his attention : I may venture to add his attendance 
 to this venerable old man, sitting in his little apartment ! Who of us would 
 not have adopted for his own language, and have applied to Him the beauti- 
 ful lines, in which his Manoah expresses his affection for his Samson. 
 
25 3 
 
 u It shall be my delight to tend his eyes 
 And view him sitting in the house, ennobled 
 With all those high exploits by him achieved/* 
 
 Samson Agonistes v. 1490. 
 
 Lectures on the truly eminent English poets by Percival Stockdale, 8vo, 
 
 1807. vol. 1. p. 224. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 20. Elegy IV. To his Tutor Thomas Young. 
 
 This worthy man had such purity, and elevation of mind, and so 
 much merit in forming the mental character of Milton, that he is entitled to 
 notice and regard from all the admirers of the poet. I shall extract the parti- 
 culars of his personal history from the Note of Mr. Warton, and add to them 
 such passages from the familiar letters of Milton, as forcibly express the 
 excellence of the preceptor, and the grateful affection of his disciple. 
 
 " Thomas Young, now pastor of the church of English merchants 
 at Hamburgh (says Mr. Warton) was Milton’s private preceptor before he 
 was sent to St. Paul’s school. 
 
 The first and fourth of Milton’s familiar Epistles, both very re- 
 spectful and affectionate, are to this Thomas Young. In the first dated at 
 London inter urbana diverticula March 26, 1725, he says, he had resolved to 
 send Young an epistle in verse, but thought proper at the same time to send 
 one in prose. The Elegy now before us is the epistle in verse.” 
 
 The prose and verse were not sent at the same time, but in diffe- 
 
254 
 
 rent years. In closing the first, Milton promises to his preceptor a more elabo- 
 borate epistle on his first return to the seat of the Muses. “ Hasc scripsi 
 Londini inter urbana diverticula ; non libris, ut soleo, circumseptus: si quid 
 igitur in hac Epistola minus arriserit, tuamque frustrabitur expectationem, pen- 
 sabitur alia magis elaborata, ubi primum ad Musarum spatia rediero.” Hence 
 I imagine, that he wrote this Elegy in the following year 1626, during his 
 next residence in Cambridge, and this supposition agrees with the intimation 
 in the title of the poem, that it was composed, when the author was in his 
 eighteenth year. 
 
 It is very remarkable, that Milton has not a single allusion to the 
 scenery around him, when he wrote the Elegy; which might arise from a 
 double motive, first, a little resentment towards Cambridge for the affront he 
 received in his college, to which he alludes in the following lines of his first 
 Elegy: 
 
 " Tis time, that I a pedant’s threats disdain. 
 
 And fly from wrongs, my soul will ne’er sustain.” 
 
 and secondly, a dislike to the face of the country expressed in another couplet 
 of the same poem : 
 
 “ Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I, 
 
 That to the musing bard all shade deny.” 
 
 But to return to the history of his domestic tutor . — “ This Thomas 
 Young (says Mr. Warton) who appears to have returned to England in or 
 before the year 1628, was Doctor Thomas Young, a member of the assembly 
 of Divines, where he was a constant attendant, and one of the authors of the 
 
2 55 
 
 book called Smectymnus defended by Milton; and who, from a London 
 Preachership in Duke’s place, was preferred by the Parliament to the Mas- 
 tership of Jesus college in Cambridge. Clarke a Calvinistic biographer attests, 
 that he was a man of great learning, of much prudence, and piety, and of 
 great ability and fidelity in the work of the ministry.” Lives folio, p. 194. 
 
 Mr. Warton proceeds to say, that he possessed a Fast Sermon by 
 Young, preached before the House of Commons, and printed by order of the 
 House, 4to, 1644. He mentions also a Latin work of Young, entitled. Dies 
 Dominica, on the observation of Sunday — in the Bodleian library, with a 
 Latin note by Bishop Barlow mentioning the name of the author. 
 
 Mr. Warton closes his account of this memorable man by saying, 
 “ I learn the following particulars from a manuscript history of Jesus college. 
 He was a native of Scotland : he was admitted Master of the college by the 
 Earl of Manchester in person, April 12, 1644. He was ejected from the Mas- 
 tership for refusing the Engagement. He died, and was buried at Stow- 
 market in Suffolk, where he had been Vicar thirty years.” 
 
 It was probably from this learned and conscientious man (as I have 
 observed in a life of Milton) that he caught not only his passion for litera- 
 ture, but that steadiness and unconquerable integrity of character, by which 
 he was distinguished through all the vicissitudes of a tempestuous life. His re- 
 verential gratitude and affection towards this preceptor are recorded with 
 equal energy in the Latin Epistle, and the Latin Elegy addressed to him : they 
 suggest a most favorable idea of the poet’s native disposition, and furnish an 
 effectual antidote to the poison of that most injurious assertion, « that he 
 
25 6 
 
 hotted all, whom he was required to obey.” Could untractable pride be the 
 characteristic of a mind, which has expressed its regard for a disciplinarian 
 
 sufficiently rigid with a tenderness so conspicuous in the fourth Elegy ? 
 
 Both the poetical and the affectionate spirit of this interesting poem are admi- 
 rably preserved in the version of Cowper. 
 
 The first of Milton’s familiar epistles to Young declares his sense of 
 obligation to this beloved instructor to be so great, that he thought all the 
 powers of rhetorick hardly equal to an adequate description of the tutor s 
 merit, and the disciple’s gratitude. 
 
 « Incredibilis enim ilia, et singulars animi mei gratitudo, quam 
 tua ex debito vendicant in me merita, non constricto illo et certis pedibus 
 ac syllabis angustato dicendi genere exprimenda fuit, sed oratione libera, imr- 
 mo potius, si fieri posset, Asiatica verborum exuberantia. Quamvis quidem 
 satis exprimere quantum tibi debeam, opus sit meis viribus longe majus, 
 etiansi omnes quoscunque Aristoteles, quoscunque Parisiensis ille dialecticus 
 congessit argumentorum tottss exinanirem, etiamsi omnes elocutionis fonti- 
 culos exhaurirem.” 
 
 The second familiar epistle to Young has a passage, that exhibits his 
 character in another very pleasing point of view : it struck Dr. Symmons so 
 forcibly, that he has introduced it into his Life of Milton, and I will close this 
 Note by transcribing the Doctor’s elegant version of the Latin words to which 
 I alluded. 
 
 “ Availing myself (Milton writes to his late tutor) of your invita- 
 
2 57 
 
 tion to your country house, I will with pleasure come to you, as soon as the 
 spring is further advanced, that I may at once enjoy the delightfulness of the 
 season, and that of your conversation. I will then retire for a short time, 
 as I would to the celebrated porch of Zeno, or to the Tusculan villa of 
 Cicero, from the tumult of the town to your Suffolk Stoa; where, you, like 
 another Serranus, or Curius, in moderate circumstances, but with a princely 
 soul, reign tranquilly in the midst of your little farm.” Symmons’ Life of 
 
 Milton, page 15. I believe this letter to ha\e been written two years after 
 the elegy, but I am aware that there may have been much inaccuracy in the 
 printed dates of the letters. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 20. Ascend Medea’s chariot. 
 
 In which, with her son Medus, she flew from Athens, the abode of 
 her hu§band digeus, into Media, so named from Medus. 
 
 Page 20. Or that, whence young Triptolemus of yore. 
 
 When he was sent by Ceres from Eleusis to instruct barbarous na- 
 tions in the arts of agriculture. 
 
 Page 20. From Hama, whom a club-arm’d Cimbrian slew. 
 
 Krantzius, a Gothic geographer says, that the city of Hamburgh in 
 Saxony, took its name from Hama, a puissant Saxon champion, who was 
 killed on the spot, where that city stands, by Starchater a Danish giant. 
 Saxonia lib. 1. c. xi. p. 12. Edit. Wechel. 1575, folio. The Cimbrica Clava 
 
 k k 
 
258 
 
 is the club of the Dane. In describing Hamburgh this romantic tale could 
 not escape Milton. 
 
 JVzrtox. 
 
 Page 21 . Dear as the sage renown’d for moral truth, 
 To the prime spirit of the Attic youth. 
 
 Dear as Socrates to Alcibiades. — —The allusion to all the most re- 
 nowned, and most beloved preceptors of antiquity, in these and the follow- 
 ing lines, is conceived, and expressed, with great poetical felicity. The por- 
 trait of the man of God in exile, and the young poet’s subsequent censure 
 of his country for persecuting the ministers of the Gospel, are equally hono- 
 rable to his genius and his heart. 
 
 H 
 
 Page 23. Thy city against fierce besiegers barr’d, 
 
 And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepar’d. 
 
 About the year 1626 , when this Elegy was written, the Imperialists 
 under General Tilly were often encountered by Christian, Duke of Brunswick, 
 and the Dukes of Saxony, particularly Duke William of Saxon Wiemar, and 
 the Duke of Saxon Lawenburgh in Lower Saxony, of which Hamburgh, 
 where Young resided, is the capital. 
 
 Warton. 
 
 Page 23. Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand. 
 
 The aid denied thee in thy native land. 
 
 Before and after 1630 many English ministers puritanically affected 
 
259 
 
 Jpft their cures, and settled in Holland, where they became pastors of sepa- 
 rate congregations. 
 
 JVzlrton* 
 
 Mr. Warton supposes Young to have been “ driven back to England 
 by the war in the Netherlands, not long after this elegy was written ; and by 
 the second familiar Latin epistle, which Milton addrest to him, he appears 
 to have been comfortably re-settled in Suffolk in the year 1628.” 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 24. So once the venerable Tishbite stray’d. 
 
 An exil’d fugitive from shade to shade. 
 
 When flying Ahab, and his fury wife. 
 
 Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, was the daughter of Ethbaal King of the 
 Sidonians. Some of these scriptural allusions are highly poetical, and much 
 in Milton’s manner. His friend, who bears a sacred character forced abroad 
 for his piety, and religious constancy, by the persecutions of a tyrannick 
 tribunal, and distressed by war, and want, in a foreign country, is compared 
 to Elijah the Tishbite, wandering alone over the Arabian deserts, to avoid the 
 menaces of Ahab, and the violence of Jezebel. See 1 Kings xix. 3. He then 
 selects a most striking miracle, under which the power of the Deity is dis- 
 played in Scripture as a protection in battle, with reference to his friend's 
 situation from the surrounding dangers of war. See 2 Kings vii. 5. “ And 
 
 they rose up in the twilight, to go unto the camp of the Syrians, and when 
 they were come to the uttermost part of the camp of Syria, behold there 
 was no man there. For the Lord had made the host of the Syrians to hear a 
 noise of chariots, and a noise of horses, even the noise of a great host, &c.* r 
 
 K k 2 
 
26 o 
 
 In the sequel of the narrative of this wonderful consternation and 
 flight of the Syrians, the solitude of their vast deserted camp affords a most 
 affecting image even without any poetical enlargement. ff We came to the 
 camp of the Syrians, and behold there was no man there, neither voice of 
 man ; but horses tied, and asses tied, and the tents as they were.” 2 Kings 
 vii. 10. This is like a scene of enchantment in romance. 
 
 TVzlrton. 
 
 This Elegy is remarkable for shewing how early, and with what spi- 
 rit and judgment, Milton used his Bible as a source of sublime, poetical 
 imagery. 
 
 //. 
 
 Page 24. So from Phillippi wander’d forth forlorn, 
 
 Cilician Paul with sounding scourges torn. 
 
 Cowper in translating this couplet has softened the expression 
 
 Pellitur, and rendered the passage more consonant to Scripture “ And 
 
 the keeper of the prison told this saying to Paul : the magistrates have sent to 
 let you go, now therefore depart and go in peace. 
 
 “ But Paul said unto them, they have beaten us openly, uncon- 
 demned, being Romans, and have cast us into prison, and now do they thrust 
 us out privily. Nay! verily, but let them come themselves and fetch us out ! 
 
 " And the sergeants told these words unto the magistrates, and 
 they feared, when they heard that they were Romans. 
 
 " And they came, and besought them, and brought them out, and 
 desired them to depart out of the city.” Acts xvi. 36. 
 
 H 
 
26l 
 
 “ With sounding scourges torn/’ 
 
 Whipping and imprisonment were among the punishments of the 
 arbitrary Star-Chamber, the threat Regis Achabi which Young fled to avoid. 
 
 TV 21 RT ON. 
 
 Page 24. And Christ himself so left, and trod no more. 
 
 The thankless Gergesenes forbidden shore. 
 
 “ Then the whole multitude of the country of the Gadarenes round 
 about besought him to depart from them 1 for they were taken with great 
 fear: and he went up into the ship, and returned back again/’ Luke viii. 37. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 25. Thou, therefore, as the most afflicted may, 
 
 Still hope, and triumph, o’er thy evil day ! 
 
 Look forth, expecting happier times to come. 
 
 And to enjoy once more thy native home ! 
 
 It is highly pleasing to observe a youth of eighteen thus breathing 
 the spirit of religious fortitude, and chearful hope, into the wounded mind of 
 that exiled preceptor, to whom he was indebted for an early introduction to 
 those poetical studies, which he applied to the noblest and most delightful 
 purposes. Readers who relish all the beauties of this Elegy, must feel a plea- 
 sure in reflecting, that the young poet enjoyed the high gratification of seeing 
 his cordial presage in the close of it accomplished. — How lively must his joy 
 have been in beholding this worthy object of his grateful affection, not only 
 
262 
 
 restored to his native country, but raised to a station of honor and affluence. 
 That joy must have been equalled, or exceeded, by the cordial exultation of 
 Young himself, if the good man lived, as he probably did, long enough to 
 peruse the Cornus of his affectionate pupil, that enchanting harbinger of his 
 more extensive productions, a poem which one of his warmest admirers has 
 not scrupled to call the most beauiful and perfect poem of that sublime 
 genius. ” 
 
 In how captivating a light does poetry appear, when we find it 
 happily employed, as it generally was, even in the juvenile compositions of 
 Milton, to confirm afflicted mortals in their duty, and to promote and inspi- 
 rit the purest pleasures, and affections of the heart ! Of this purpose and effect 
 his Ode to his sister on the death of her Infant, and this Elegy to his precep- 
 tor are very signal examples* 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 26. On the Approach of Spring. 
 
 In point of poetry, sentiment, selection of imagery, facility of 
 versification, and latinity, this Elegy, written by a boy, is far superior to one 
 of Buchanan’s on the same subject intitled Maiae Calendm. 
 
 TV ZRTON. 
 
 That a curious reader may have an immediate opportunity of com- 
 paring the two poets, I will add to Mr. Warton s remark the opening and 
 the close of Buchanan’s Elegy. 
 
263 
 
 MALE CALENDAR 
 
 Festa vocant, hetisque comes Lascivia festis 
 
 Et chorus, et choreas blandus amicus, amor. 
 
 Eudit et admissis ievis indulgentia frenis, 
 
 Et levat assueto Jibera colla jugo. 
 
 Interea vigiles paulum secedite curse, 
 
 Et genitor curse, dure facesse labor ! 
 
 Este procul lites ! et amarse jurgia linguae, 
 
 Mixtaque flebilibus mcesta querela sonis ; 
 
 Dum removat Majus sennium revolubilis asvi, 
 
 Et tenerum verno pingit honore solum. 
 
 Ihe two poems may be compared, as to their versification and la- 
 tinity, but in other points, they are not suited to comparison by an exact 
 identity of subject; for Milton represents the spring as exciting the mind to 
 poetical composition, and Buchanan directly the reverse, as inviting it to keep 
 holiday. — There will be time enough for the Muses, he says, at another 
 season, and they will produce more abundantly hereafter from being idle at 
 present. 
 
 Post sua Pieriis succedent otia musis, 
 
 Largaque Castalius fsenora reddet ager. 
 
 Interea juvenes molles celebrate choreas, 
 
 Et genium festis exhilarate jocis ! 
 
 The Poem closes with the Epicurean advice to devote to pleasure 
 the vernal hours of life. 
 
264 
 
 Dum choreas setas, dum blandi gratia veris, 
 
 Libera dum festus gaudia Majus habet, 
 
 Carpe rosas, et, ni carpas, peritura ligustra ; 
 
 Et vitce credas hasc simulacra tuse. 
 
 These lines are followed by a disgusting portrait of old age. The 
 poem then concludes with the four following verses, which have an air of good- 
 nature., when we consider them as the production of a school-master, eager 
 perhaps to enjoy some leisure himself, and to dismiss his boys to the delights 
 of their vacation. 
 
 Mellea deficiet facundas gratia linguae, 
 
 Imminet en vitae frigida bruma tuae. 
 
 Dum nos ergo sinunt fata invidiosa, senecta, 
 
 Temporis utatur vere, juventa suo. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 29. Nor let thy burning wheels approach too nigh. 
 
 For thou can’st govern them. 
 
 In allusion to the story of Phaeton, who could not. 
 
 Page. 30. He new attir’d, and by the season drest. 
 
 Proceeds, all fragrant, in his saffron vest ” 
 
 Because the Crocus, or Saffron Flower, is of that season. 
 
 The learned Editor of a Mi/ton Fariorum» has introduced the fol- 
 lowing amusing Note on the celebrated Saffron robes of Hymen. — See Ben 
 Johnson’s King's Entertainment at Welbeck> edit. 1640. p. 275. — “Here Stub 
 
2 65 
 
 the bridegroome presented himself, being apparell’d in a yellow canvas dou- 
 blet, &c. a Monmouth cap with a yellow feather, yellow stockings and shoes, 
 &c. ” — Yet in the reign of James the first, we are thus informed. — “ That 
 there is a national as well as a personal respect cannot be deny’d, and some 
 colours rather than other are vulgarly appropriated to special uses, as symbo~ 
 lical to them, so far forth as a kinde of superstition is growne uppon the 
 avoyding*. for you shall seldome see a bridegroom wed in yellow, or a for- 
 saken lover walke in blew. 1 * Bolton’s Elements of Armonies 1610. p. 131. 
 Beaumont and Fletcher have even yellow-tressed Hymen. Bonduca A. i. s. i. 
 The text 
 
 " Redolet vestis odora Crocum,’* 
 
 induces me to cite from a very learned and entertaining work, the following 
 passage. “ Sir John Chardin, in his manuscript tells us, that in the Indies 
 they are wont to moisten their clothes with Saffron at marriages and other so- 
 lemnities. This could only be done, I apprehend, on account of the fra- 
 grance of this plant. See. The term moisten shews it is not on account of the 
 colour , they use the Saffron; for dry yellow clothes would answer that pur- 
 pose; but for its perfume.*’ Harmer’s Comment on Solomon’s Song, 1768, 
 Additions n. 11. The text may also have a reference to Catullus’s Cupid, 
 Carm. lxix. 
 
 “ Fulgebat crocina candidus in tumica.” 
 
 Todd. 
 
 Page 31. Command rough winter back, nor yield the pole. 
 Too soon to night’s encroaching, long controul. 
 l 1 
 
266 
 
 This Elegy has certainly passages of great poetical beauty, but the 
 close of it appears unequal to its commencement, and the poem altogether 
 is very far from exciting the lively interest, that we feel in reading his 
 other elegies, in which the fervency of friendship or of love is gracefully 
 blended with the enthusiasm of poetry. 
 
 II 
 
 Page 32. To Charles Diodati. 
 
 Of this early and favourite friend of Milton some particulars are 
 mentioned in a note to the first Elegy. Here I will add a few more collected 
 from various notes of Mr. Warton: In Comus (says that critic) I suppose the 
 simple shepherd lad skilled in plants to be the same Charles Diodati, to whom 
 this Elegy is addressed, verse 619. 
 
 “He loved me well, and oft would beg me sing; 
 
 Which when I did, he on the tender grass 
 
 Would sit and hearken even to ecstacy.” 
 
 Diodati has a copy of Alcaicks extant in an Oxford collection on the 
 death ofCambden, called Camdeni Insignia Oxon : 1624. He had been entered 
 of Trinty College at the age of thirteen, 1621; and left it in 1628, having 
 taken the degree of Master of Arts. Toland says, that he had in his posses- 
 sion, two Greek letters very well written, from Diodati to Milton. Two of 
 Milton’s familiar Latin letters, in the utmost freedom of friendship, are to 
 Diodati, both dated from London, 1637. Of these, and the other composi- 
 tions addressed to him, I shall have occasion to speak again in a concluding 
 note to the Epitaphium Damonis, in which Milton lamented the early death 
 of this admirable friend. 
 
 H. 
 
2 6j 
 
 Page 32. French spirits kindling with Caerulean fires, 
 
 Haustaque per lepidos Gallica musta focos. 
 
 The preposition per, and the epithet lepidos convince me, that 
 Milton does not mean in this place to speak of wine drunk at the side of 
 chearful fires; but that focus, which in its proper sense signifies a hearth, is 
 here used by a metonymy for fire itself, and Gallica musta for brandy, in short 
 that he means to describe the well-known Christmas amusement called snap- 
 dragon. 
 
 Mustum properly signifies wine so new, as not yet to have ferment- 
 ed, and may therefore with equal propriety be used to expres a distilled 
 spirit, which is never fermented at all. — The Latin language failing us, where 
 modern inventions are in question, in such cases, a poet composing in Latin 
 is obliged to resort to a periphrasis. 
 
 Page 34. Simply let these like him of Samos live. 
 
 Pythagoras. 
 
 Page 35. Tiresias wiser for his loss of sight. 
 
 He was struck blind by Juno; and Jupiter, to compensate his loss 
 of sight, bestowed on him the gift of prophecy. 
 
 Page 35. The promised King of Peace employs my pen. 
 
 Alluding, as Mr. Warton observes, to his Ode on the Nativity. 
 
 L 1 2 
 
268 
 
 Page 36. Verse that reserv’d in secret, shall attend. 
 
 Thy candid voice, my critic and my friend. 
 
 The transitions and connections of this Elegy are conducted with 
 the skill and address of a master, and form a train of allusions and digressions, 
 productive of fine sentiment and poetry. From a trifling and unimportant 
 circumstance, the reader is gradually led to great and lofty imagery. 
 
 JVaiiTON. 
 
 It may also be observed, that the friendship, the politeness, and 
 the moral dignity of Milton, are all very gracefully displayed in this charm- 
 ing poem. He praises the festive gaiety of his favorite correspondent with 
 great elegance, and warmth, yet vindicates, with becoming spirit, his own 
 strict attachment to that singular temperance, which was one of his own hap- 
 py characteristics, for it enabled him to struggle thro’ an extensive life of 
 difficulties and of dangers, and to exert, under all his misfortunes, the un- 
 clouded powers of an exalted and unconquerable mind. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 37. That Amathusia, smiling queen, inspires. 
 
 Venus called Amathusia from Amathus a city of Cyprus. 
 
 Page 39. Nor Phoebus’ serpent yield thy wound a cure. 
 
 No medicine will avail you, not even the serpent, which Phoebus 
 sent to Rome, to cure the city of pestilence. — See Ovid Metam: xv. 742. 
 
269 
 
 " Hue se de Latia pinu Phoebeius anguis 
 Contulit, et finem, specie cceleste resumpta 
 Luctibus imposuit; venitque salutifer urbi.” 
 
 TVzrton. 
 
 “ ’Twas here the salutary Serpent came. 
 
 Nor sooner had he left the Latian pine. 
 
 But he assumes again his form divine. 
 
 And now no more the drooping city mourns, 
 
 Joy is again restored, and health returns. ” 
 
 Garth’s Ovid. 
 
 Page 39. And passing and repassing nymphs, that mov’d 
 With grace divine, beheld where’er I rov’d. 
 
 In Milton’s youth, the fashionable places of walking in London, 
 were Hyde Park and Gray’s Inn walks. This appears from Sir A. Cokain, 
 Milton’s contemporary poems, London 1662. Written much earlier. A 
 young lady, he says, p. 35. 
 
 "Frequents the Theatres, Hide Park, or else talks 
 Away her precious time in Gray’s Inn Walks. ” 
 
 See also p. 38, 39, and 48. 
 
 JV^RTOVf. 
 
 Hide Park was rendered attractive also by races. See Gayton’s notes 
 on Don Quixote, 1654, p. 44. 
 
 “ - - - Light Horses all, but not for fights, 
 
 But Hide Park Races, and such free delights. ” 
 
2JO 
 
 See also p. 51, “Hide Park will not be so full, as heretofore (of 
 love-knots engraven on the trees) therefore happy those ladies, whose names 
 are to be seen. As they would wish themselves in the bark green, before it 
 was inclosed, for it was impaled before, and a price set of six-pence a man, 
 twelve-pence a coach, ” &c. 
 
 Todd. 
 
 Page 40. But she the while, whom only I adore. 
 
 Was gone, and vanish’d to appear no more. 
 
 Non red it ura. 
 
 He saw the unknown lady, who had thus won his heart, but once. 
 The fervor of his love is inimitably expressed in the following lines. 
 
 Todd. 
 
 Page 40. And so Oeclides sinking into night, 
 
 From the deep gulph look’d up to distant light. 
 
 Amphiaraus, son of Oecleus who was swallowed at Thebes by an 
 earthquake. 
 
 Mr. Warton justly observes, that « this application is beautiful from 
 a young mind teeming with classical history and imagery ’’—The lines al- 
 luded to form the close to the seventh book of Statius’ Thebaid and are well 
 
 translated by Lewis. 
 
 Ilium ingens haurit specus, et transire parnates 
 Mergit equos, non arma manu non froena remisit 
 
271 
 
 Sicut erat, rectos defert in Tartara currus, 
 
 Respexitque cadens ccelum, campumque coire 
 Ingemuit, donee levior distantia rursus 
 Miscuit arva tremor, lucemque exclusit averno. 
 
 The Prophet and his coursers, while they strive 
 To pass, the yawning cleft ingulphs alive: 
 
 Nor did he quit the reins, and arms in hand. 
 
 But with them plung’d to the Tartarean strand ; 
 
 And as he fell, gaz’d backward at the light. 
 
 And griev’d to see the field would soon unite. 
 
 Till now a lighter tremor clos’d again 
 
 The ground, and darkened Pluto’s wide domain, 
 
 Lewis’s Statius. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 41. Remove! no ! grant me still this raging woe ; 
 
 Sweet is the wretchedness, that lovers know. 
 
 Deme meos tandem, verum nec deme furores ; 
 
 Nescio cur miser est suaviter omnis amans. 
 
 There never was a more beautiful description of the irresolution of 
 love. He wishes to have his woe removed, but recalls his wish; preferring 
 the sweet misery of those, who love. Thus Eloisa wavers in Pope’s fine poem. 
 
 Unequal task ! a passion to resign. 
 
 For hearts so touch’d, so pierc’d, so lost as mine. 
 
 Todv. 
 
272 
 
 Page 41. Such were the trophies that in earlier days, 
 
 By vanity seduc’d, I toil’d to raise. 
 
 The elegiack poets were among the favorite classical authors of Mil- 
 ton’s youth. Apol. Smectymn: “ others were the smooth elegiack poets., where- 
 of the schools are not scarce: whom, both for the pleasing sound of their nu- 
 merous writing, which in imitation I found most easy, and most agreeable to 
 nature’s, part in me ; and for their matter, which what it is, there be few who 
 know not, I was so allured to read, that no recreation came to me better wel- 
 come.” Prose work, quarto, vol. i. p. 100. 
 
 These lines are an epilogistic palinode to the last elegy. The So- 
 cratic dotrines of the Shady Academe soon broke the bonds of beauty. In 
 other words, his return to the university. They were probably written when 
 the Latin poems were prepared for the press in 1645. Milton here, at an early 
 period of life, renounces the levities of love and gallantry. 
 
 W2LRTQTS . 
 
 Page 42. To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove. 
 
 This thought was afterward transferred to the Paradise Lost, where 
 the fallen Angels are exulting in their new invention of fire arms, b. vi. 490. 
 
 <c They shall fear we have disarm’d 
 
 The Thunderer of his only dreaded bolt.” 
 
 JV^SLRTON. 
 
 Compare with this epigram Drummond’s madrigals, 1616. “ The 
 
 Cannon.’ 
 
273 
 
 t( When first the Cannon from her gaping throat, 
 
 Against the Heaven her roaring sulphure shote, 
 
 Jove, waken’d with the noise, did ask, with wonder. 
 
 What mortal wight had stolen from him his Thunder.*’ 
 
 Todd. 
 
 Page 42. To Leonora singing at Rome. 
 
 Adriana of Mantua, for her beauty surnamed the Fair, and her daugh- 
 ter Leonora Baroni, the lady whom Milton celebrates in these epigrams, were 
 esteemed by their contemporaries the finest singers in the world. Giovanni 
 Battista Doni, in his book de Prxtantia Musical Veteris , published in 1617, 
 speaking of the merit of some modern vocal performers, declares that Adriana 
 or her daughter Leonora, would suffer injury in being compared to the anti- 
 ent Sappho. Book ii. p. 56 . There is a volume of Greek, Latin, Italian, 
 French, and Spanish poems, in praise of Leonora, printed at Rome, entitled 
 « Applausi poetici alle glorie della Signora Leonora Baroni.*’ Nicias Erythreus, 
 in his Pinacotheca , calls this collection the Theatrum of that exquisite song- 
 stress, Eleonora Daroni, " in quo omnes hie Romas, quotquot ingenio et 
 poeticae facultatis laude prasstant, carminibus, cum Etrusce, turn Latine scrip- 
 ts, singulari, ac prope divino mulieris illius canendi artificio, tanquam faustos 
 quosdam clamores et plausus edunt, &c.” Pinac. ii. p. 427. Lips. 1712, 12moi 
 In the Poesie Liriche of Fulvio Testi, there is an encomiastic Sonnet to Leonora 
 giving equal praise to her singing, and to her beauty : 
 
 “ Si lodano il canto, e la Bellezza 
 Della Signora Leonora Baroni. 
 
 m m 
 
274 
 
 Se F Angioletta mia tremolo, e chiaro, 
 
 A le stelle, onde scese, il canto invia, 
 
 Ebbra del suono, in cui se stessa oblia. 
 
 Col Ciel pensa la Terra irne del paro, 
 
 Ma se di sua Virtu non punto ignaro 
 
 *L "occhio accorda gli sguardi a 1’armonia, 
 
 Tra il concento, e il fulgor dubbio e, se sia 
 L’ udir piu dolce, o il rimirar pill caro. 
 
 A1 divin lume, a le celesti note J 
 
 De le potenze sue perde il vigore 
 L* alma, e dal cupo sen svelta si scote. 
 
 De fammi cieco, o fammi sordo, amore, 
 
 Che distratto in piu sensi (oime !) non pote 
 Capir tante dolcezze un picciol core/’ 
 
 Poesie del conte Fulvio Testi, 
 
 Milano 1658. p. 422. 
 
 M. Maugars, Priour of S. Peter de Mac at Paris, king’s interpreter 
 of the English language, and in his time a capital practitioner on the viol, has 
 left this eulogy on Leonora and her mother, at the end of his judicious 
 Discours sur la Musique d’ Italie, printed with the life of Malherbe, and 
 other treatises, at Paris, 1672, 12mo. “ Leonora has fine parts, and a happy 
 judgement in distinguishing good from bad musick : she understands it per- 
 fectly well, and even composes, which makes her absolutely mistress of what 
 she sings, and gives her the most exact pronunciation and expression of the 
 
2 75 
 
 ✓ 
 
 sense of the words. She does not pretend to beauty, yet she is far from being 
 disagreeable ; nor is she a coquet. She sings with an air of confident and li- 
 beral modesty, and with a pleasing gravity. Her voice reaches a large compass 
 of notes, is just, clear, and melodious ; and she softens or raises it without 
 constraint or grimace. Her raptures and sighs are not too tender. Her looks 
 have nothing impudent; nor do her gestures betray any thing beyond the re- 
 serve of a modest girl. In passing from one song to another, she shews 
 sometimes the divisions of the enharmonick and chromatick species, with so 
 much air, and sweetness, that every heart is ravished with that delicate and diffi- 
 cult mode of singing. She has no need of any person to assist with a theorbo 
 or viol, one of which is required to make her singing complete; for she plays 
 perfectly well herself on both those instruments. In short I have been so for- 
 tunate as to hear her sing several times above thirty different airs, with second 
 and third stanzas of her own composition. But I must not forget, that one 
 day she did me the particular favor to sing with her mother and her sister : her 
 mother played upon the lute, her sister upon the harp, and herself upon the 
 theorbo. This concert composed of three fine voices, and of three different 
 instruments, so powerfully captivated my senses, and threw me into 
 such raptures, that I forgot my mortality. Et crus etre deja parmi les anges, 
 jouissant des contentenens des bienheureux.” See Bayle Diet. Baroni — Haw- 
 kins’s Hist. Mus. iv. 196 . To the excellence of the mother Adriana on the lute 
 Milton alludes in these lines: 
 
 “ Et te Pieria sensisset voce canentem 
 Aurea maternas fila movere Lyra.” 
 
 Mm2 
 
276 
 
 Since, could he hear that heavenly voice of thine 
 With Adriana’s lute of sound divine, &c. 
 
 When Milton was at Rome, he was introduced to the concerts of 
 Cardinal Francesco Barberini, one of the nephews of Pope Urban the eighth, 
 where he heard Leonora sing, and her mother play. It was the fashion for 
 all the ingenious strangers who visited Rome to leave some verses on Leonora. 
 Pietro della Valle, who wrote about 1640, a very judicious discourse on the 
 music of his own times, speaks of the fanciful and masterly style, in which 
 Leonora touched the arch-lute to her own accompaniments. At the same 
 time he celebrates her sister Catherine, and their mother Adriana. See the 
 
 works of Battista Doni. vol ii. Florence 1763. 
 
 Wharton, corrected by Todd. 
 
 The latter critic has noticed a slip of recollection in his predecessor, 
 who had been misled by Sir John Hawkins, to mistake Cardinal Francesco 
 Barberini for his uncle Pope Urban the eighth, whose Christian name was 
 Maphceus, a mistake that Mr. Warton would have avoided, had he recollected 
 a book, with which he was probably well acquainted ; I mean a volume of 
 Latin and Greek poems, by Maphaeus Barberini, printed before he became 
 Pope, and reprinted in Oxford at the Clarendon press. — Milton in writing 
 from Florence to his friend Holstenius the librarian of the Vatican, after 
 thanking him for his great kindness in shewing him the interesting treasures 
 of that collection, and for a present of some books, that he had printed, makes 
 very grateful mention of Cardinal Francesco Barberini, and of the honor he 
 received in being introduced personally by the Cardinal himself to the very 
 concert, where he had the delight of hearing those songs of Leonora, which 
 
he has celebrated in more than one composition. The voice of this lady was 
 so very enchanting, that the poets, her admirers, thought they could never 
 praise her sufficiently. Milton besides his three Latin poems written expressly 
 to honour her, most probably intended to compliment both her voice and her 
 beauty in that Itatlian sonnet, in which he describes his heart as unexpectedly 
 subdued by foreign charms. 
 
 “ Pellegrina bellezza che il cuor bea . 51 
 
 And Count Fulvio Testi besides the sonnet, which he addrest to her, inserted 
 abo\e, appears to have made serious love to her in a poem of twenty-six 
 stanzas, in which he cautions her against the disgraceful error of the lovely 
 Angelica, who after disdaining the love of knights, and the hand of princes, 
 bestowed her beauties unworthily on the page Medoro. 
 
 //. 
 
 Page 42 . Another Leonora once inspir'd, 
 
 Tasso, with fatal love to phrenzy fired. 
 
 In a circumstantial account of the life of Tasso, written by his friend 
 and patron G. Battista Manso, mention is made of three different ladies of the 
 name of Leonora, of whom Tasso is there said to have been successively en- 
 namoured. Gier. lib. edit. Haym, London, 4to, 1724, p. 23. Th e first was 
 Leonora of Este, sister of Alphonso, Duke of Ferrara, at whose court Tasso re- 
 sided. This lady who was highly accomplished, lived unmarried with her 
 elder sister D. Lucretia, who had been married, but was separated from her 
 husband the Duke ofUbino. The Countess San Vitale was the second Leonora, 
 to whom Tasso was said to be much attached, p. 26. Manso relates, that the 
 
I 
 
 278 
 
 third Leonora was a young lady in the service of the Princess of Este, who 
 was very beautiful, and to whom Tasso paid great attention, p. 27. He ad- 
 dressed many very elegant love-verses to each of these different ladies ; but as 
 the pieces addressed to Leonora, Princess of Este, have more Passion than 
 Gallantry, it may justly be inferred, notwithstanding the pains he took to 
 
 conceal his affection, that she was the real favourite of his heart. 
 
 Dr. Joseph TPzrton. 
 
 This allusion to Tasso’s Leonora, and the turn, which it takes, are 
 inimitably beautiful. JPzlrton. 
 
 An elegant author who has illustrated the literature of his native 
 Ireland, and also that of Italy, expresses in very forcible language his own 
 feelings, on a survey of the dungeon in which Tasso was confined, in conse- 
 quence, as it has been supposed, of his presumptuous passion for the princess 
 Leonora, to whom Milton alludes. 
 
 “ With what mingled emotions of pain and horror did I explore 
 this dungeon in the year 1792, damp, dimly lighted, and too low in many parts 
 to allow me to stand erect ! ”• — Walker’s historical memoir on Italian tragedy 
 p. 128. The author adds in a note. 
 
 <f Tasso was, I believe, enamoured of the Princess Leonora, and 
 there is good reason for supposing that the princess was not insensible to the 
 talents, accomplishments and personal charms of the author of theGerusalemme 
 liberata. Anxious to vindicate Leonora from any criminal passion for Tasso, 
 Serassi asserts she was a temple of honor and chastity “ tempio di onore, e di 
 castitate vita del Tasso,” p. 150. “ That this fair temple did not yield to the 
 
 amorous assaults of Tasso, I am willing to believe, but it is probable, that 
 
2 79 
 
 Alphonso thought it necessary to oblige the poet to raise the siege. 
 This however is no apology for his conduct ; he might have forbidden Tasso 
 his court, or banished him from his dominions; but he ought not to have de- 
 prived him of his liberty, and endangered his mental health.” 
 
 To these remarks let me add for the honor of Tasso, that however 
 severely treated he might have been by Alphonso, he expressed in a letter 
 written a few months before his death, such an attachment to his early patron, 
 that to translate the words of his intelligent biographer Serassi on this sub- 
 ject the great poet displayed “ a constancy in gratitude perhaps without 
 example.” 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 43. Fiercer than Pentheus though his eye might roll. 
 
 Milton alludes to the rage of Pentheus in Ovid's Metam. iii. 557. 
 
 “ Aspicit hunc oculis Pentheus quos ira tremcndos 
 Fecerat.” 
 
 TP 21 RT ON. 
 
 “ Him Pentheus viewed with fury in his look.” 
 
 Garth’s Ovid. 
 
 Page 43. That when Parthenope deceased, she gave 
 Her sacred dust to a Chalcidic grave. 
 
 Parthenope’s tomb was at Naples. She was one of the Syrens. See 
 Comus v. 878. 
 
 By the songs of Syrens sweet 
 By dead Parthenope’s dear tomb. 
 
 She is called Parthenope Acheloias in Silius Italicus. xii. 35. 
 
 TP'zrton. 
 
The verses which the critic has alluded to in Silius, are so descriptive 
 of the Syren Parthenope, that I will add them to his remark. The poet in 
 speaking of Naples, says 
 
 Nunc molles urbi ritus, atque hospita musis, 
 
 Otia, et exemptum curis gravioribus asvum. 
 
 Sirenum dedit una suum et memorabile nomen 
 Parthenope muris Acheloias : agquore cujus 
 Regnavere diu cantus, cum dulce per undas 
 Exitium miseris caneret non prospera nautis. 
 
 The city, now absorb’d in soft delights. 
 
 Paid to the Muses all their peaceful rites, 
 
 One of the Syrens, of insidious fame. 
 
 Gave to these walls her memorable name, 
 
 Parthenope, whose songs reign’d oer the wave, 
 
 And lur’d the seaman to a watery grave. 
 
 Emigrants from Chalcis are said to have founded Naples. 
 
 Page 43. For still she lives, but has exchanged the hoarse 
 Pausilipo for Tiber’s placid course. 
 
 The grotto of Pausilipo Milton no doubt had visited with delight ; 
 of which Sandys had written, that it “ passes undder the mountaine for the 
 space of six hundred spaces, some say a mile ; affording a delightful passage 
 to such as passe betweene Naples and Putzol, or that part of Italy, receiving so 
 much light from the ends and tunnel in the middle, which letteth in day from 
 the top of the high mountaine, as is sufficient for direction. Throughout 
 
28l 
 
 hewne out of the living rocke : paved under foote, and being so broad, that 
 three carts with ease may passe by each other. 1 * Travels edit. 1615, 
 
 p. 263. 
 
 Todd. 
 
 Page 44. To Christina Queen of Sweden. 
 
 The learned commentators Warton and Todd have bestowed on this 
 epigram, and the fantastic queen, to whom it was sent, two very copious, and 
 entertaining notes. Here it may be sufficient to select from each the most 
 amusing particulars. 
 
 “ These lines are simple, and sinewy. They present Cromwell in a 
 new and pleasing light, and throw an air of amiable dignity on his rough, and 
 obstinate character. They are too great a compliment to Christina, who was 
 contemptible, both as a queen, and a woman. The uncrowned Cromwell had 
 no reason to approach a princess with so much reverence, who had renounced 
 her crown. The frolicks of other whimsical modern queens, have been often 
 only romantick. The pranks of Christina had neither elegance, nor even de- 
 cency, to deserve so candid an appellation. An ample and lively picture of her 
 court, politics, religion, intrigues, rambles, and masquerades, is to be gathered 
 fram Thurloe’s state papers.— -Of her travels through several cities in a fantan- 
 stick masculine dress, I select the following anecdotes, from various letters of 
 that collection, about the years 1654, 1655. This lucid star of the northern 
 pole soon deserted her bright station, and became a desultory meteor. 
 
 “The queen, when she came into the inn, (at Elsineur) had boots on, 
 
 n n 
 
282 
 
 and a carbhie about her neck” vol ii. 44. “We hear (at Bologne) 
 strange stories of the Swedish queen, and her Amazonian behaviour : — In her 
 discourse she talks loud, and sweareth notably.” Ibid : 556. “ The queen 
 
 came this week to Antwerp in man’s apparel, disguised as a page to one of her 
 own servants : not so much as a maid besides in her company.” Ibid. p. 449. 
 “ She arrived at Brussels last week, more manlike than woman. Her train here 
 yet consists of two earls, two men servants, and a woman. ’* Ibid : p. 536. 
 
 She had all the failings of her own sex, without any of the virtues 
 of the sex, she affected to imitate. She abdicated her kingdom in 1654 : So that 
 this epigram could not have been written after that time. It was sent to the 
 queen with Cromwell’s picture, on whieh it was inscribed. It is supposed to 
 be spoken by the portrait. 
 
 W2.RTON, 
 
 “ This Christina Queene of Sweden, as being the daughter of the 
 greate Gustavus Adolphus, and bred up a Protestant in the Lutheran way, quit- 
 ted her crowne, and her religion too, turning Papist; and was received at 
 4nspruck in Tiroll by the Arch-duke and Prince, with extraordinary greate 
 pomp and magnificence ; that being the appointed place at the confines of 
 Italy and Germany, for her to renounce her former religion of a Lutheran 
 Protestant, and to be received into the bousome of the church of Rome, which 
 was done with great solemnity: At which I was present, staying there a 
 
 month for that purpose. Allmost all the Emperor’s court, and other nobili- 
 ty were there. The Pope, Alexander vii, sending thither as his Internuntio 
 Monsigr. Lucas Holstenius to receive her renunciation, and admit her into the 
 Roman faith. That Internuntio was a Hign German, of Hamburgh, and had 
 
283 
 
 binn bredd up a Lutheran, but turned as shee did ; and being a greate schol- 
 ia he was the keeper of the Vatican Library, and Canon of St. Peters at 
 Rome, and my former courteous acquaintance, which, with all kindness, he 
 renewed at oure meeting here; he giving me three sheets of paper printed 
 in Latine, of the solemnity, of which shee reade halfe an one very readily in 
 a loud manly voice undauntedly. But her carryage in the church was very 
 scandalous, laughing and gigling, and curling and trimming her locks: and 
 the motion of her hands and body was so odd, that I heard some Italians that 
 were neare me say <e e nidttd per Dio. ff By God she is mad . and truly I 
 thought so too, there being in her no signe of devotion, but all was to her, 
 as if she had been at a play, whilst she received the Sacrament in the Roman 
 mode, and all the time of the short sermon. But she had short sermons all 
 the weeke after ; every day in a several language, all which she understood 
 well, as I was told there by Monsignior Holstenius, the Pope’s Internuntio, 
 with whome I was often : That night she was entertayned with a most excel- 
 lent opera, all in musick and Italian, the afctors of that play being all of that 
 nation, it lasted about six or seven hours in the most straingely excellent scenes 
 and ravishing musick, of all which by the Arch-duke’s order the Sig. Conte 
 Collalto presented me with a book in Italian, which I have now in my study, 
 with all the scenes in excellent brass cutts. The title is L’Argia, Dramma Mus- 
 icale rappresentato a Insprvgg. Alla Maesta della Seremissima Christina Re 
 gina di Suezzia, &c.” 
 
 The preceding account of Christina is taken from the effigies, nom- 
 ina, et cognomina, papas et cardinalium nunc viventium.edit. a Io, Iacobo de 
 
 N n 2 
 
284 
 
 Rubeis, Romae, 1658, folio numbered, g. iii. 33 in the library of Canter- 
 bury Cathedral ; to which it was one of the many curious and valuable pre- 
 sents made by Dr. Bargrave, prebendary of the church, who had been a great 
 traveller, and lived chiefly in Italy during Cromwell’s usurpation. On the 
 margins and backs of the engravings in the aforenamed volume, he has writ- 
 ten many curious remarks from printed books and manuscripts, and has added 
 several diverting anecdotes, the fruits of his own observation : among which 
 is the account of Christina. 
 
 Todd. 
 
 A doubt had arisen whether the Latin epigram addressed to Christina 
 ought to be ascribed to Milton or to the poetical and patriotic Andrew 
 Marvell, in whose hand writing a copy of it was found : but the respectable 
 critics Todd, Dunster, and Dr. Symmons, all agree in believing it the com- 
 position of Milton. It appears to have all the characteristics of his Latin 
 verse, and altho’ it has been translated by a variety of powerful hands, I can- 
 not say, that I think any one of the English versions has perfectly equalled 
 all the united ease, energy, and grace of the original. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 4 6 . On the Death of the Vice-Chancellor, a Physician. 
 
 This Ode is on the death of Doctor John Goslyn, Master of Caius 
 College, and King’s professor of medicine at Cambridge ; who died while 
 a second time Vice-chancellor of that university in October, 1626. See 
 Fuller’s Hist. Cam. p. 164. He was a Norwich man, and matriculated Dec. 
 3, 1582. For his considerable benefactions to Caius College, see Bloom- 
 field’s Annals of that College, in Ives’s select papers, London, 1773. p. 76. 
 
 / 
 
285 
 
 and Bloomfield’s Collection. Cantab, p. 102. for those to Catherine Hall, see 
 Fuller, p. 83, and Kennet. Reg. p. 870. 
 
 PV 2LRT0N. 
 
 Page 47. Nor the chief to Jove allied. 
 
 Sarpedon. 
 
 Page 47. By Achilles’ phantom died. 
 
 Patroclus, who, disguised in the armour of Achilles, slew Sarpedon. 
 
 Page 47. Learned Machaon should have known 
 Doubtless to avert his own.. 
 
 The wound, and death of Machaon are circumstantially described in 
 the 6th book of Quintus Calabar, an author, as Mr. Warton observes, not fa- 
 miliar to boys at present, but one of the Classicks, whom Milton, accoiding 
 to his nephew, and biographer, Phillips, introduced to his disciples. Machaon 
 in Quintus Calabar falls by the spear of Eurypelus, who insulting over him 
 exclaims; “ that skilled in medicine as he is, he shall not escape death, not 
 even if his father iEsculapius should bring him Nectar and Ambrosia from 
 Olympus.” — The bleeding Machaon foretells the death of his exulting antago- 
 nist, and expires. ^ 
 
 Page 47. Chiron had surviv’d the smart 
 Of the Hydra-tainted dart. 
 
 Chiron had great skill in pharmacy, but died of a wound in his foot 
 by a dart of Hercules, which had been dipt in the blood of the Hydra. 
 
Page 47. Foil’d by disclepiades. 
 
 ./Esculapius. 
 
 Page 48. CEacus pronounce thee blest. 
 
 One of the infernal judges. 
 
 Page 48. 
 
 I cannot close the Notes to this Ode without noticing a remark of 
 Mr. Warfon on the following line of the original. 
 
 ff Tuque O alumno major Apolline.” 
 
 “ Certainly (says the critick) we should read Apollinis ; but who 
 was this pupil of Apollo in medicine ? Had it been iFsculapius, the transition 
 would have been more easy. But ^sculapius was sent by Apollo to Chiron 
 to be educated in that art. I think therefore although Milton’s allusions in these 
 pieces are chiefly to establish Grecian fable, we should here understand Vi rgiPs 
 Japis, who was Phcebo ante alios dilectus.” Mr. Warton appears to have been 
 aware, that the introduction of a Roman physician did not perfectly suit the 
 other allusions of the ode. Perhaps a different reading may obviate the dif- 
 ficulty — suppose we say 
 
 (( Tuque O alumno major Apollini.” 
 
 ff Thou who art greater in the eyes of Apollo, than one of his own disciples.” 
 
 The compliment becomes greater to the subject of the poem, and 
 such probably was the meaning of Milton. 
 
 H 
 
287 
 
 Page 49. On the Death of the Bishop of Ely, 
 
 Nicholas Felton, Bishop of Ely, died October 5, 1626, not many 
 days after Bishop Andrews before celebrated. He had been also Master of 
 Pembroke-hall, as well as Bishop Andrews; and Bishop of Bristol. He was 
 nominated to the see of Litchfield, but was translated to that ofElyin 1618-9. 
 He is said to have been a pious, learned, and judicious man. See Bentham’s 
 Ely, p. 199. 
 
 TV 2LRT0N. 
 
 Pa ge 49. With less revenge did Naso teem, 
 
 When hated Ibis was his theme. 
 
 By Ibis Ovid is supposed to have intended his enemy Hyginus. 
 
 Page 50. With less Archilochus denied 
 
 The lovely Greek his promised bride. 
 
 Archilochus, who killed Lycambes by the severity of his iambicks. 
 Lycambes had espoused his daughter Neobule to Archilochus, and afterwards 
 gave her to another. See Ovid’s Ibis, v. 54. 
 
 TV HR TON. 
 
 Page 51. - and now appear 
 
 Heaven’s chrystal battlements, her door 
 Of massy pearl, and em’rald floor. 
 
 Milton’s natural disposition, so conspicuous in the Paradise Lost, and 
 even in his prose-works, for describing divine objects, such as the bliss of the 
 saints, the splendor of heaven, and the music of the angels, is perpetually 
 
288 
 
 breaking forth in some of the earliest of his juvenile poems. And here more 
 particularly in displaying the glories of Heaven, which he locally represents, 
 and clothes with the brightest material decorations, his fancy, to say nothing 
 of the Apocalypse, was aided and enriched with descriptions in romances. 
 
 JFaRTON. 
 
 Page 53. Nature unimpair’d by Time. 
 
 This was an academical exercise, written in 1628, to oblige one of 
 the fellows of Christ’s college, who having laid aside the levities of poetry 
 for the gravity and solidity of prose, imposed the boyish task on Milton, now 
 about nineteen years old. “ Quidam oedium nostrarum socius, qui comitiis 
 hisce academicis in disputatione philosophica responsurus erat, carmina 
 super qumstionibus pro more annuo componenda, praetervectus ipse jam diu 
 leviculas illiusmodi nugas, et rebus seriis intentior, forte meae puerilitati com- 
 misit.” Milton’s Letter to A. Gill, Cambridge, --July 2, 1628. Epist. Earn. 
 Prose works, quarto, ii. g66. They were printed not for sale, and sent to 
 his late schoolmaster at Saint Paul’s, Alexander Gill aforesaid: For he adds, 
 
 Haec quidem typis donata ad te misi, utpote quem norin rerum poeticarum 
 judicem acerrimum et mearum candidissimum.” It is still a custom at Cam- 
 bridge to print the comitial verses accompanying the public disputations. What 
 a curiosity would be the sheet with Milton’s copy ! 
 
 To be able to write a Latin verse, versijican, was looked upon as a 
 high accomplishment in the dark ages. This art they sometimes applied to their 
 barbarous philosophy: and the practice gave rise to the Tripos Terses at 
 
289 
 
 Cambridge, and the Carmina Quadragesimalia at Oxford. From such rude 
 beginnings is eloquence derived. 
 
 JV2.RTON, 
 
 Page 54, Hence the prime mover wheels itself about 
 Continual. 
 
 Primum mobile a sphere imagined by the antient astronomers, who 
 supposed it exterior to the visible heavens, to which communicating its own 
 rotation it carried them round with it. 
 
 Page 56. The world consum’d in one enormous pyre. 
 
 This Poem is replete with fanciful and ingenious allusions. It has 
 also a vigour of expression, a dignity of sentiment, and elevation of thought, 
 rarely found in very young writers. 
 
 JV2LRTOX. 
 
 Let me add, that the Poem may be regarded as an antidote to 
 Johnson’s sarcastic assertion that Milton yielded “ to a fashionable dread of 
 fantastic evils.” 
 
 " There prevailed in his time,” says the critic, “ an opinion, that the 
 world was in its decay, and that we have had the misfortune to be born in the 
 decrepitude of nature.” Johnson exposes, with great felicity of expression, 
 this absurd idea, of which his own frame of body and mind was a com- 
 plete refutation ; but instead of deriding the great poet for harbouring so 
 weak a conceit, he might have recollected, that Milton himself has spurned 
 
 o o 
 
2 go 
 
 this chimera of timid imagination in very spirited Latin verse, written in his 
 twentieth year, and expressly against the folly of supposing nature impaired. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 57. On the Platonic Idea, &c. 
 
 “ Dicite, sacrorum presides nemorum Deae.” 
 
 I find this Poem inserted at full length, as a specimen of unintelli- 
 gible metaphysics, in a scarce little book, of universal burlesque, much in’the 
 manner of Tom Brown, seemingly published about the year 1715, and intit- 
 led " An Essay towards the Theory of the intelligible world intuitively consi- 
 dered, designed for forty-nine parts, &c. by Gabriel John. Enriched with a 
 faithful account of his ideal Voyage, and illustrated with Poems by several 
 Hands ; as likewise with other strange things, not insufferably clever, nor fu- 
 riously to the purpose. Printed in the year one thousand seven hundred et 
 eastern.” 12mo. Seep. 17. 
 
 WzrTON. 
 
 Page 58. Never the Theban seer, whose blindness prov’d 
 His best illumination. 
 
 Tiresias “ The son of Pleione” Mercury “ The Assyrian 
 
 priest” Sanchoniathon. 
 
 Page 58. Nor even thrice-great Hermes. 
 
 Hermes Tris-megistus an Egyptian. Suidas says he was so called, 
 
 because he was a philosopher, a priest, and a king. 
 
 Todd . 
 
I 
 
 291 
 
 Page 58. And thou who hast immortaliz’d the shades 
 Of Academus. 
 
 Plato.— We are not informed on what occasion this Poem was 
 written, but it has a mysterious sublimity and vigor in its sentiments and lan- 
 guage, that render it highly delightful. There is a kind of dignified pleasantry 
 in the poet’s concluding address to his favorite philosopher. Mr. Warton ob- 
 serves in a note to Comus, “ It is highly probable, that Henry More, the 
 great Platonist, who was Milton’s contemporary at Christ’s college, might 
 
 have given his mind an early bias to the study of Plato. Is it not more 
 
 probable, that Henry More might have received such a bias from Milton, his 
 senior by several years, the poet being born in 1608, the philosoper in 1614? 
 The portraits of these two illustrious fellow-collegians, engraved by the cele- 
 brated Faithorne, and drawn when each had past his sixtieth year, shew that 
 they resembled each other not only in devotional elevation of mind, but in the 
 expressive serenity of their features; 
 
 H: 
 
 Page 59. To his Father. 
 
 These Verses are founded on one of the most interesting subjects 
 that language can display, the warmth, and felicity, of strong reciprocal kind- 
 ness between a father and a son, not only united by the most sacred tie of na- 
 ture, but still more endeared to each other by the happy cultivation of hono- 
 rable and congenial hearts. The sublime description of poetry, and the no- 
 ble and graceful portrait, which the author here exhibits of his own mental 
 
 0 0 2 
 
292 
 
 character, may be said to render this splendid poem the prime jewel in a co- 
 ronet of variegated gems. 
 
 H . 
 
 According to Aubrey’s manuscript life of Milton, Milton’s father, 
 although a scrivener, was not apprenticed to that trade ; he says he was bred 
 a scholar, and of Christ-church, Oxford ; and that he took to trade in conse- 
 quence of being disinherited. Milton was therefore writing to his father in a 
 language which he understood. Aubrey adds, that he was very ingenious, 
 and delighted in music, in which he instructed his son John ; that he died 
 about 1647, and was interred in Cripplegate church from his house in 
 Barbican. MS. Ashm. 
 
 Warton. 
 
 Page 6o. In verse the Delphic priestess, and the pale 
 Tremulous Sybil make the future known. 
 
 The priestesses of Apollo’s temple at Delphi always delivered their 
 oracles in verse. Our author here recollected the Ion of Euripides. To 
 Phemonoe, one of the most celebrated of these poetical ladies, the Greeks 
 were indebted for Hexameters. Others found it more commodious to sing in 
 the specious obscurity of the Pindarick measure. Homer is said to have bor- 
 rowed many lines from the responses of the priestess Daphne, daughter of 
 Tiresias. It was suspected that persons of distinguished abilities in poetry 
 were secretly placed near the oracular tripod, who immediately clothed the 
 answer in a metrical form, which was almost as soon conveyed to the priestess 
 in waiting. 
 
 Wart on. 
 
 Of the oracular answers in a metrical form, here noticed by Milton, 
 see much curious information in Van Dale de Oraculis. 
 
 Todd. 
 
293 
 
 The more elegant history of Oracles by Fontenelle, has been called 
 an abridgment of Van Dale. The curious reader, who wishes to dive into 
 these mysterious subjects may be entertained by the very learned work of 
 another Dutch author, Servatii Gallaei dissertationes de sibyllis, quarto. Ansteh 
 1688. The volume is decorated with portraits of the prophetical Ladies, whose 
 history it contains. 
 
 ii • 
 
 Page 6 2 . Thou hast thy gift, and I 
 
 Mine also, and between us we receive 
 Father and son, the whole inspiring God. 
 
 Milton’s father was well skilled in music. Philips (his nephew 
 and biographer) says that he composed an In nomine of forty parts, for which 
 he was honoured with a gold chain and medal by a Polish prince, to whom 
 he presented it. He is mentioned by Wood in his manuscript history of 
 English Musicians, “ John Milton a musician livinge in the reigtie of Queene 
 Elizabeth, James i, Charles i. We have some of his compositions in the pub- 
 lic musicke schoole at Oxford ” Mss. Mus. Ashm. D. 19, dto. Among the 
 Psalmtunes, published by Thomas Ravenscroft in 1663, are many with the 
 name of John Milton ; more particularly that common one called York tune, 
 the tenour part of which was such a favourite, as to be used by nurses for a 
 lullaby, and as a chime tune for churches. lie has several songs for five voices 
 in “ The teares or lamentations of a sorrowful soule, composed with musical 
 ayres and songs, both for voices and divers instruments” — containing also 
 compositions by Bird, Bull, Orlando Gibbons, Dowland the Lutanist, berra- 
 bosco, Coperario, Weelk Wilbie, and others, the most celebrated masters of 
 the times, written and published by Sir William Leighton, knight, a gentleman 
 
 s 
 
294 
 
 pensioner, and a good musician in 1614. He has a madrigal for five voices, 
 among the numerous contributions of the most capital performers in the Tri- 
 umphs of Oriana, published by Morley in 1601. This collection is said to 
 have been planned by the Earl of Nottingham, Lord high Admiral, who, with 
 a view to sooth Queen Elizabeth’s despair for the recent execuion of Lord 
 Essex, by flattering her preposterous vanity, gave for a prize-subject to the 
 best poets and musicians, whom he liberally rewarded, “ The Beauty and Ac- 
 complishments of his royal Mistress” — now a decrepit virgin on the brink of 
 seventy ; but maiden queens are in perpetual bloom. 
 
 Warton. 
 
 Our two chief historians of musick, Burney and Hawkins, speak 
 highly of Milton’s father as a musician. The latter exhibits a specimen of his 
 composition in the song “O had I wings like to a Dove ” vol iii, p. 369. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 64. Shall to futurity perhaps convey, 
 
 This theme. 
 
 Such predictions of true genius, with a natural and noble conscious- 
 ness anticipating its own immortality are seldom found to fail. 
 
 WHARTON, 
 
 There is hardly any passage in the poetry of Milton that affords a 
 more animated and pleasing idea of his pure and exalted mind, than his sub- 
 lime defiance of calumny, the most execrable of enemies, in this poem. The 
 lines I allude to are translated with great felicity of expression by 
 Cowper: 
 
 Dr. Symmons has introduced in his life of Milton, a version of this 
 exquisite poem in rhyme, executed with elegance and spirit. I transcribe 
 
295 
 
 as a specimen of his production, the Defiance of Calumny, to which I have 
 alluded. 
 
 Now deck’d with ivies, and immortal bays. 
 
 One, tho’ the meanest of the sons of praise. 
 
 High shall I keep the tenor of my state. 
 
 O’er the base croud, and lifted from their fate. 
 
 Hence, wakeful cares, and pining sorrows fly ! 
 
 Hence leering envy, with thy side-long eye. 
 
 Slander in vain thy viper-jaws expand ! 
 
 No harm can touch me from your hateful band ; 
 
 Alien from you, my breast, in virtue strong, 
 
 Derides the menace of your reptile throng. 
 
 Appendix to Symmons’s Life of Milton, p: 540. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 65. To Salsillus a Roman Poet. 
 
 Giovanni Salsilli had complimented Milton at Rome in a Latin te- 
 trastick, for his Greek, Latin, and Italian poetry, Milton in return sent his 
 elegant Scazontes to Salsilli when indisposed 
 
 JV2LRTON. 
 
 Pa ge 66 , Health, Hebe’s sister, sent us from the skies. 
 
 This poem was a favourite of Mr. Warton’s: in his note on the orig 
 inal of the verse just cited, he says “ I know not any finer modern latin Ly- 
 rick poetry, than from this verse to the end. The close, which is digressional, 
 but naturally rises from the subject, is perfectly antique.” 
 
 H. 
 
296 
 
 Page 66. Numa, reclin’d in everlasting ease, 
 
 Amid the shade of dark embow’ring trees, 
 
 Viewing with eyes of unabated fire. 
 
 His lov’d Algeria shall that strain admire. 
 
 Very near the city of Rome, in the middle of a gloomy grove, is a 
 romantic cavern with a spring, where Numa is fabled to have received the 
 Roman laws from his wife Egeria, one of Diana’s nymphs. The grove was 
 called JVemus Aricinum , and sometimes Lucus Egerix et Camxnarum , and the 
 spring Fons Egerix. See Ovid’s Fast. iii. 275. And when Numa died, Egeria 
 is said to ha\e retired hither to lament his death. See Ovid Metam : xv. 487. 
 On these grounds Milton builds the present beautiful fiction, that Numa, 
 still living in this dark grove in the perpetual contemplative enjoyment of 
 his Egeria, from thence will listen with wonder to the poetry of the neigh- 
 bouring Bard. This place is much frequented in sultry weather by the peo- 
 ple of Rome, as a cool retreat: See Montfauc. Diar. Ital. c: xi. p. 152. edit. 
 
 1702. Milton might have visited it while at Rome. 
 
 W2LRT0N. 
 
 A recent and respectable describer of Rome gives the following 
 account of this very interesting spot. 
 
 “ In vallem iEgerise descendimus *’ 
 
 Juvenal Sat. 3. 
 
 “This is the famous valley Egeria, where I saw the remains of the 
 fountain sacred to this nymph and the muses. The situation is very roman- 
 tic. The opus reticulatum , the niches for the statues of the Muses, and the 
 mutilated statue, perhaps of the fountain, still remaining bespeak its antiquity. 
 
297 
 
 Here Numa the celebrated legislator of Rome, in order to persuade the peo 
 pie of the divinity of his Institutions, retired, and pretended to converse with 
 his Goddess. See Livy 1. c. 21. and Holdsworth’s dissertation on the Foun- 
 tain of Egeria. The modern Romans of a lower class, go annually in great 
 numbers to the valley of Egeria, on the first Sunday of May, where 
 they eat and drink, and crown themselves with garlands of flowers ; and 
 thus dancing and singing to various musical instruments, they return to Rome 
 in the evening like so many Bacchanals. This custom is, no doubt, a remain- 
 der of ancient superstition; 
 
 Lumisden’s Antiquities of Rome, quarto, 1737. p. 92. 
 Page 68. To Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa. 
 
 He was a nobleman of distinguished rank and fortune, had sup- 
 ported a military character with high reputation, of unblemished morals, a po- 
 lite scholar, a celebrated writer, and an universal patron. It was among his chief 
 honours, that he had been the friend of Tasso : and this circumstance above 
 all others must have made Milton ambitious of his acquaintance. 
 
 TV 2LRT0N. 
 
 The introduction to Tasso’s dialogue entitled “Manso,*’ contains a 
 splendid character of this highly accomplished nobleman, who supports a prin- 
 cipal part in the conversation, which closes with a sublime eulogy on friend- 
 ship, the main subject, that gives a second title to the dialogue, “ il Manso 
 overo dell’ amicizia.” Manso proved the warmth, and fidelity, of his own 
 friendship, by writing the lives of the two Italian poets particularly attached 
 
 P p 
 
298 
 
 to him, Tasso and Marino. His other works are Poesie Nomiche Venezia, 12mo, 
 1635. These contain a translation of Claudian’s Phenix, and a very large 
 collection of complimentary verses addrest to Manso. Erocallia, or dialogues 
 of love and beauty; in Venetia quarto, 1628. Thearguments to these dialo- 
 gues were written by the author’s friend Marino, who in a letter to the Mar- 
 quis, prefixed to the publication, gives a singular history of mischances, that 
 befell the manuscript — lost after a battle, and recovered from the bottom of 
 a river. These dialogues are curious compositions in the manner of Plato ; 
 and the Marquis introduces his friend Tasso as a speaker, in more than one, 
 particularly in that, which he entitles the first of his paradoxes on this ex- 
 traordinary maxim, that “the least beautiful ladies ought to be the most loved.” 
 The elaborate historian of Italian literature Tiraboschi, celebrates Manso as the 
 patron not only of arts and sciences, but of manly and martial exercises. He 
 founded in Naples a college of nobles, to which he bequeathed his fortune. He 
 also instituted in his own mansion, the academy described in the following 
 words of Quadrio, the indefatigable chronicler of poets, of every age and 
 country. “ Nel 1611 fu pure instituita da Giovan Batista Manso Marchese 
 di Villa, &c. l’academia degli oziosi, alia quale diede per impresa un aquila 
 in atto di mover Pali, nel rignardar fisa il sole col motto : non otiosa quies .” 
 This liberal friend to his country died in his native city of Naples, on the 28th 
 of December 1645, in his eighty-fourth year. 
 
 Mr. Walker, the historian of the Irish bards, who visited Italy, with 
 the eyes of a friend to genius and virtue in every climate, endeavoured to 
 discover the situation of the villa near Naples, in which Manso received Tasso 
 and Milton, but he had the mortification to learn, that a scene so peculiarly 
 
299 
 
 beautiful, and interesting, had been destroyed, or disfigured, by various inun- 
 dations. He affords however some pleasing information on this subject, and 
 very justly vindicates the honor of Manso, as the biographer of the great 
 Italian poet, in the 5th number of his Appendix to his elegant and entertain- 
 ing memoir on Italian tragedy, quarto, 1799. 
 
 Cicero has remarked the great pleasure derived from a contempla- 
 tion of the scenes, once inhabited by characters peculiarly endeared to me- 
 mory by genius and virtue. Were it possible to form a book, in which the 
 pencil and the pen had happily united to delineate the abodes of all the 
 most eminent philosophers, and poets, the pensive favorites of fame, in the 
 different ages and nations of the earth, such a book would be a source of 
 inexhaustible delight. 
 
 H 
 
 Page 6g. And thou, with punctual piety hast paid 
 In labour’d brass thy tribute to his shade. 
 
 Marino’s monument at Naples, erected by Manso. But the Academy 
 of the Humoristi are said in Marino’s epitaph to have been the chief contribu- 
 tors. (They probably were so, as Marino a few years before his death was 
 elected president of their academy at Rome. ) 
 
 Tasso was buried, in 1595, in the church of the monastery of Saint 
 Onufrius at Rome; and his remains were covered by his own desire, only with 
 a plain stone. Cardinal Cynthio, whom he made his heir, soon afterwards 
 proposed to build a splendid tomb to his memory, but the design never was 
 
 p p 2 
 
3 °° 
 
 carried into execution, Manso, to whom he bequeathed only his picture, 
 and to whom he had committed some directions about his funeral, coming 
 from Naples to Rome, about 1605, and finding not so much as his name in- 
 scribed on the stone, under which he was laid, offered to erect a suitable mo- 
 nument, but was not permitted. However he procured this simple but ex- 
 pressive inscription to be engraved on the stone, " Torquati Tassi ossa”. At 
 length the monument, which now appears, was given by Cardinal Bevilaqua, 
 of an illustrious family of Ferrara. 
 
 For a more particular account of the very singular attentions, and ho- 
 nours, which Marino received from Manso, the reader is referred to the Italian 
 life of Marino by F. Ferrari, published at Venice in 1633, 4to, at the end of 
 Marino’s Strage de gli Innocenti, and other poems. Marino died at Naples in 
 1625, aged fifty-six. 
 
 IVaRTON. 
 
 Mr. Walker supposes Milton to have caught some ideas in his Para- 
 dise Lost from two poems of Marino, not so generally known as his Adone- — 
 namely, Strage degli Innocenti, and La Gerusalemme distrutta ; the latter is so 
 little known, that it is not even mentioned by those biographers of the poet, 
 whom that elegant scholar had consulted. He learned however that a seventh 
 canto of the work is inserted in two editions of the Strage, and supposed by an 
 Italian critic to be the only one ever printed. Mr. Walker very justly con- 
 cludes, that it had been completed to the satisfaction of its author, because 
 he speaks of it in his familiar letters as a great poem, and not less excellent 
 than the Gerusalem of Tasso. Milton in speaking of Marino to his patron the 
 Marquis, has treated him mildly in calling him only prolixus. Tiraboschi 
 
3°i 
 
 speaks of him more severely in saying that “ few have been more indebted to 
 
 nature, than Marino for such endowments as may form a poet, and still fewer 
 
 have made so bad a use of her liberality.” 
 
 $ 
 
 The life of Maiino, written by his personal acquaintance Ferrari, 
 concludes with a description, that may run thus in English. 
 
 “ His eyes were full of fire ; his hair was light ; his features hand- 
 some, his voice sonorous : In short, he appeared, in all his deportment, gentle 
 and gracious. In friendship he was firm and constant; grateful towards his be- 
 nefactors, respectful to the great ; beneficent to those, who regarded him. In 
 his studies indefatigable ; by nature singularly pleasant, and inclined to love.’* 
 
 His amorous propensity had given an air of licentiousness to his 
 verse, but for this he endeavoured to atone by requesting his literary friends to 
 superintend an improved edition of his Adone , and erase every line, that could 
 be offensive to modesty. It is remarkable, that his associate and biographer 
 Ferrari gives no account of his poem on a grander subject. The Destruction of 
 Gerusalem, although the seventhcanto of the work in inserted in the volume, 
 which contains Ferrari’s life of the poet. In that canto there are verses of great 
 animation and splendor, and a Hymn sung by the Seraph Michael to God the 
 Creator, that may have contributed to inspirit the epic ambition of Milton, 
 who possibly had an opportunity of seeing the whole unpublished poem in the 
 possession of his friend Manso. Yet if he had seen and admired it, he would 
 most probably have alluded to it in his verses to the beneficent patron of its 
 author. Marino in truth, though possessed of a rapid and brilliant imagina- 
 
3°2 
 
 tion, was far from enjoying that rare union of genius, judgment, and virtue, 
 which has formed the basis of Milton’s poetical pre-eminence. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 69. Eloquent as the Carian sage, who true 
 
 To his great theme, the life of Homer drew. 
 
 Herodotus, born at Halicarnassus a city of Caria. 
 
 Milton in the Latin verse, where he alludes to a biographer of 
 Homer, describes him as born near the mountain Mycale. Mr. Warton taking 
 Mycale for a mountain in Boeotia, supposes the poet to have intended a com- 
 pliment to Plutarch. An author who lately inserted in a little volume of very 
 interesting poetry an elegant version of Milton’s Manso, has the following 
 note on the passage in question. 
 
 " A mountain of the name of Mycale in Boeotia will not be found 
 either in Pausanias, or Strabo. Mycale was in Asia minor, the country of 
 Herodotus. The epithet facundus, which Mr. Warton admires, is particularly 
 applicable to the father of history ; but I doubt, whether it would be allowed 
 to Plutarch on the banks of the Ilyssus, though he is rich in biographical and 
 moral reflexions.” Poems by the Revd. Joseph Stirling, London, 1789. While 
 this author is before me, I cannot resist the pleasure of transcribing from 
 his Manso a passage translated with great elegance and spirit. It is that, in 
 which Milton describes the natives of Britain as votaries of Apollo. 
 
 " Nos etiam colimus Phcebum, &c.” 
 
 “ We honour Phoebus ; we to Phoebus bring 
 The earliest promise of the purple spring. 
 
3°3 
 
 The yellow Crocus, every odorous flower. 
 
 That paints the dale, or decks the rural bower. 
 
 Ours were the Druids; men by Heaven approv’d ! 
 
 By strangers reverenc’d ! by their Britons lov’d ! 
 
 They taught the youth in virtue’s cause to bleed ; 
 
 They sung the hero, and heroic deed.” 
 
 Mr. Stirling has omitted the three Hypberborean nymphs, who sent 
 fruits to Apollo in Delos, and whom, as Mr. Warton observes, Milton has 
 converted into British goddesses. It must be allowed, that although their 
 names sound not ungracefully in a Hymn of Callimachus, they are not very 
 happily suited to English verse. I cannot quit Mr. Stirling without citing from 
 him another brief passage of great sweetness and beauty. 
 
 “ Nec vidisse semel satis est — juvat usque morari 
 Et conferre grad um.” 
 
 The lines I allude to are near the close of the poem, after the poet has expres- 
 sed a wish to be animated in his poetical enterprizes by such a friend as 
 Manso; 
 
 “ When all the pageantry of life is past. 
 
 And full of years, I yield my breath at last ; 
 
 That friend should heave the agonizing sigh, 
 
 (The tear of sorrow trembling in his eye) 
 
 With tender care inter my lov’d remains. 
 
 And tell my fortunes to the listening swains ; 
 
 With every virtue in full light display’d. 
 
 And o’er my errors throw a soften’d shade.” 
 
 Stirling’s Poems, page 193. 
 
 H. 
 
3°4 
 
 Page 71. But gentle Chiron’s cave was near, a scene 
 Of rural peace, cloth’d with perpetual green. 
 
 Chiron’s cavern ( in mount Pelion ) was ennobled by the visits and 
 education of sages and heroes. Chiron is styled mansuetus (gentle) because, 
 although one of the Centaurs, and the inhabitant of a cave in a mountain, 
 he excelled in learning, wisdom, and the most humane virtues : He may be 
 called gentle either on account of his mildness as a teacher, or his hospitality 
 to strangers. See a beautiful Poem in Dodsley’s Miscellanies, by the late Mr. 
 Bedingfield, called the Education of Achilles. Mr. Steevens adds " The most 
 endearing instance of the mansuetude (or gentleness) of Chiron, will be found 
 when the Argo sailed near the coast, on which he lived. He came down to the 
 very margin of the sea, bringing his wife with the young Achilles in her arms, 
 that he might shew the child to his father Peleus, who was proceeding on the 
 voyage with the other Argonauts.” Apollonius Rhodius, Lib. 1. 
 
 IVanTOnt. 
 
 The passage alluded to in the Greek poet is one of those simple and 
 delicate pictures of nature, in which he excelled, and in which he is fre- 
 quently copied by Virgil. It may gratify the English reader to see it entire in 
 the following elegant version of Mr. Preston. 
 
 Where the white breakers o’er the pebbles rave. 
 
 Amid the foam advancing thro’ the wave. 
 
 With hands uprais’d, he hail’d the parting train : 
 
 Safe may ye sail ! and safe your homes regain !” 
 
 Near him his consort Chariclo appears; 
 
 The young Achilles in her arms she rears. 
 
< 
 
 3 °5 
 
 And holds him forward, as the vessel flies. 
 
 With one last look to glad a father’s eyes.” 
 
 Preston’s Apollonius, Vol. 1 . p. 27. 
 
 Page 72. Should I recall hereafter into rhyme 
 
 The kings, and heroes, of my native clime, 
 
 Arthur the chief, who even now prepares 
 In subterraneous being future wars. 
 
 This was the subject for an epic poem, that first occupied the mind 
 of Milton. See the same idea repeated in Epitaph. Damonis, v. 162. King 
 Arthur, after his death, was supposed to be carried into the subterraneous 
 land of Faerie, or of Spirits, where he still reigned as a king, and whence he 
 was to return into Britain, to renew the Round Table, conquer all his old 
 enemies, and re-establish his throne. He was therefore, etiam movens bella 
 sub terris, still meditating wars under the earth. The impulse of Milton’s 
 attachment to this subject was not entirely suppressed : It produced his 
 
 History of Britain. By the expression revocabo in carmina (recall into rhyme) 
 the poet means, that these ancient kings, which were once the themes of the 
 British bards, should now again be celebrated in verse. Milton in his Church 
 Government, written in 1641, says, that after the example of Tasso, it haply 
 would be no rashness from an equal diligence and inclination, to present the 
 like offer in one of our own ancient stories. Prose works, 4 to. i. 60 . It is pos- 
 sible, that the advice of Manso, the friend of Tasso, might determine our poet 
 to a design of this kind 
 
 q q 
 
 JVSLRTON. 
 
3°6 
 
 We may here compare the illustrations of Drayton’s Polyolbion, S. 
 iii. p. 54. edit. 1622, where Lydgate, according to the fiction of the Welch 
 bards, says of Arthur, 
 
 “ He is a king crowned in Fairie 
 
 With scepter and sword ; and with his royally 
 
 Shall resort, as lord and soveraigne. 
 
 Out of Fairie, and reigne in Britaine.” 
 
 Todd, 
 
 The conclusion of this Poem, the lively description of Manso’s green 
 old age, the glory, that Milton throws around him, as the cordial friend and 
 protector of poets, the author’s wishes and presages concerning his own fu- 
 ture poetical enterprizes, his departure from earth, and his eternal beati- 
 tude, are expressed in verses eminently beautiful, pathetic, and sublime. The 
 character of Manso is so interesting in every point of view, and our country is 
 so highly indebted to him for his kindness to Milton, that I wish Mr. Walker, 
 who directed his attention in Italy to the residence and family of this pre- 
 eminent friend of the Muses, would favor the public with a complete life of a 
 personage so thoroughly entitled to grateful remembrance, and to a perfect 
 display of his various merits. 
 
 The elegant writer, from whose hand I should rejoice to call forth 
 such a work, would find in the Dialogues of the Marquis, many particulars of 
 his social habits. And the life of Manso would properly include a literary 
 history of his age. Ferrari the biographer of Marino speaks of Manso’s visit 
 to Paris, and the marks of regard that he received in France. 
 
3°7 
 
 Page 74. By his Father’s side. 
 
 Charles Diodati’s father, Theodore, was born at Geneva of an Italian 
 family in 1574. He came young into England, where he married an English 
 lady of good birth, and fortune. He was a doctor in physic, and in 1609, ap- 
 pears to have been physician to Prince Henry, and the Princess Elizabeth, 
 afterwards Queen of Bohemia. Fuller’s Worthies. Middlesex, p. 186. He 
 lived then at Brentford, where he performed a wonderful cure by phleboto- 
 my; as appears by his own narrative of the case, in a letter dated 1629, prin- 
 ted by Hakewill, at the end of his Apologie Lond: 1629. Signat. y y. 4. 
 Hakewill calls him Dr. Deodate, a French physician living in London. — See 
 Apol. L. iii. p. 218. One of his descendants, Mons. Anton. Josue Diodati, 
 who has honoured me with some of these notices, is now the learned librarian 
 of the Republic of Geneva. Theodore’s brother Giovanni Diodati, was an 
 eminent theologist at Geneva ; with whom Milton, in consequence of his 
 connection with Charles, contracted a friendship during his abode at Geneva, 
 and whose Annotations on the Bible were translated into English by the Puri- 
 tans. The original is in French and was printed at Geneva, 1638. He also 
 published “ Theses lx de peccato in genere et specie. Geneva 1620. — “ I 
 SACRI SALMI messi in rime Italiane da Giovanni Diodati , 1631. ” — 12mo. 
 « An Italian translation of the Bible, 1607.’* — And an answer sent to the Ec- 
 clesiastical Assembly at London, with marginal observations by King Charles 
 the First.” Newcastle 1647. But this last is a translation into English by one 
 of the Puritans. Perhaps the only genuine copy of it, for there were many 
 spurious editions, is now to be seen in the Bodleian library; See a curious 
 
 q q 2 
 
3°8 
 
 story concerning this G. Diodati, of his preaching at Venice in a trooper’s ha- 
 bit, and concerting a Venetian courtezan, in Lord Orrery’s Memoirs by T: 
 Morrice, prefixed to State Papers, ch. 1. In which it is said by Lord Orrery, 
 who lived a y ear in his house, that he was not unfavourably disposed towards 
 the English hierarchy, but wished it might be received under some restrictions 
 at Geneva; thiat he was a learned man, a celebrated preacher, and an excellent 
 companion. TThe family left Italy on account of religion. Compare Archbishop 
 Usher’s Letters, Lond. 1686, ad calc. Let. xii. p. 14. 
 
 TV ARTON. 
 
 Gio»vanni Diodati published also a French translation of Father 
 Paul’s History' of the Council of Trent. 
 
 Todd. 
 
 Page 75. The last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet was there. 
 
 Thyrsis, or Milton, was now at Florence. It is observable that he 
 gives this namie to the spirit, assuming the habit of a shepherd, in Comus. 
 
 TV ZRTON. 
 
 Page 80. - - - whose cottage on the lands 
 
 That skirt the Idumanian current stands. 
 
 The river Chelmer in Essex is called Idumanium fluentum, near its 
 influx into Blaick-water bay. Ptolemy calls this bay Tortus Idumanius . 
 
 TV ARTON. 
 
 Page 82. And Dati, and Francini, both have made 
 My name familiar to the beechen shade. 
 
3°9 
 
 Carlo Dati of Florence, with whom Milton corresponded after his re- 
 turn to England. Dati has a Latin eulogy prefixed to the Poemata, edit. 1673. 
 So has Antonio Francini, an Italian ode of considerable merit. 
 
 In Burman’s Sylloge, is a letter from Cuperus to Heinsius, dated 
 1672; Carolus Datus is mentioned, Cujus eruditionis sponsorem habeo 
 librum de vita Pictorum .” Vol. ii. 671. That is his Lives of four of the ancient 
 Painters. Again in another from the same, dated 1676, his death is mentioned 
 with much regret, where he is called “ vir in Etruscis praestantissimus,” and 
 one, whose loss would be deeply felt by the learned ; ibid 693. In another 
 from N. Heinsius, dated 1647, he is called lc amicissimum mihi juvenem.P 
 iii. 193. Again, ibid, 806, 820, 826, 827. In another from the same, dated 
 1652, “ Scribit ad me Datus, Florentise, in Mediceo codice extare, &c.” ibid 
 294. He corresponds with J. Vossius in 1647, ibid 573. Vossius and others 
 wish him to publish Doni’s book of inscriptions, ibid 574 . seq. Spanheim in 
 1661 writes toN. Heinsius, to introduce him to Carlo Dati, and other learned 
 men at Florence, ibid 817. In a letter from N. Heinsius, dated 1676, “ Mors 
 repentina Caroli Dati, quanto maerore me confecerit, vix est ut verbis ex- 
 primatur. Ne nunc quidem, cum virum cogito, a lacrymis temperare pos- 
 sum, &c.” Vol. iv. 409. See also Vol. v. 577, 578. In a letter to Christina, 
 Queen of Sweden, dated 1652, from Florence, N. Heinsius sends her an 
 Italian epigram, by Dati, much applauded, on her late accident, ibid 757. Again 
 from the same to the same, 1652. “ Habes et hie Caroli Dati Epigramma 
 
 Etruscum. Est autem ille, quod et alia monui occasione, magni inter Flo- 
 rentines poetas nominis ; laudes tuas singulari parat poemate/’ ibid 758. See 
 also p. 472, 742, 744. He was celebrated for his skill in Roman antiquities. 
 
3i° 
 
 A dissertation is addressed to him from Octavo Falconieri, concerning an in- 
 scribed Roman brick, taken from the rubbish of an ancient Roman structure, 
 destroyed for rebuilding the portico of the Pantheon, 1661. Graevii Roman 
 Antiq. iv. 1483. 
 
 Warton. 
 
 There are two interesting letters from Dati on literary subjects in 
 M. Gudii etDoctorum Virorum ad eum Epistolae, & c. Curante P, Burmanno. 
 Ultraject, 1697, 4to, p. 63, 64. 
 
 Besides his Lives of the Painters, already noticed, published in 
 1667, Dati committed to the press in 1669, his Panegyrick on Louis the 
 Fourteenth; which has been translated from the Italian into French. Rolli 
 mentions other works of Dati. 
 
 Todd. 
 
 Page 82. Renown’d for song and both of Lydian race. 
 
 Of the most ancient Tuscan families. The Lydians brought a colony 
 into Italy, whence came the Tuscans. On this origin of the Tuscans from 
 the Lydians, Horace founds the claim of the Tuscan Maecenas to a high and 
 illustrious ancestry. Sat. 1. 
 
 “ Non quia, Maecenas, Lydorum quicquid Etruscos 
 Incoluit fines, nemo generosior est te. ” 
 
 See also Propertius iii. ix. 1 . 
 
 W2LRTOH. 
 
 Page 83. Or on the margin stray of Colne’s clear flood. 
 
 Or where Cassibelan’s grey turrets stood ! 
 
The river Colne flows through Buckinghamshire, and Hertfordshire, 
 in Milton’s neighbourhood. His father’s house and lands, near Colnbrook, 
 were held under the Earl of Bridgewater, before whom Comus was acted. 
 
 By Cassibel art’s grey Turrets , we are to understand Verulam or St. 
 Alban’s, called the town of Cassibelan, an ancient British king. See Camd. 
 Brit. 1. 321. edit. Gibs. 1772. Milton’s appellations are often conveyed 
 
 by the poetry of ancient fable. 
 
 W'zrton. 
 
 Page 84. Of Brutus, Dardan chief, my song shall be. 
 
 The landing of the Trojans in England under Brutus. Rhutupium 
 is a part of the Kentish coast. 
 
 Brutus married Inogen, the eldest daughter of Pandrasus a Grecian 
 king ; from whose bondage, Brutus had delivered his countrymen the Tro- 
 jans. Brennus and Belinus were the sons of Molutius Dunwallo, by some 
 writers called the first king of Britain. The two sons carried their victorious 
 arms into Gaul and Italy. Arviragus the son of Cunobelin, conquered the 
 Roman general Claudius. He is said to have founded Dover castle. 
 
 Wxrton . 
 
 Page 84. And of the wife of Gorlois, who surpris’d 
 By Uther in her husband’s form disguis’d, 
 
 (Such was the force of Merlin’s art.) 
 
 This transformation of Uther Pendragon is also related by Bale. 
 “ Utherium regem in Gorloidis transformabat speciem, ut Iogernas uxoris po- 
 tiretur amplexu, ex quo concubitu Arthurium et Annam progenuit.” Balei 
 
3 12 
 
 Script Brit. edit. Gippesvici 1548, quarto; fol. 27. In the Mirror for Ma- 
 gistrates, Uther’s passion is related in a poem of considerable length, by 
 Thomas Blenerhasset; in which however Merlin’s artifice is not noticed. 
 
 Todd . 
 
 Page 85. And it shall well suffice me. 
 
 Our author says in the preface to Ch. Gov. B. ii. “ Not caring to 
 be once named abroad, though perhaps I could attain to that ; but content 
 with these British islands as my world.” Prose-zvorks, Vol. 1. GO 
 
 Wzrton. 
 
 Page 85. If Usa, golden-hair’d, my verse may learn, 
 
 If Alain bending o’er his chrystal urn, 
 
 Swift- whirling Abra, Trent’s o’ershadow’d stream, 
 Thames, lovelier far than all in mv esteem, 
 
 Tamar’s ore- tinctur’d flood, and, after these, 
 
 Usa is perhaps the Ouse in Buckinghamshire. But other rivers have 
 that name which signifies water in general. Alaunus is Alain in Dorsetshire, 
 Alonde in Northumberland, andCamlan in Cornwall; and is also a Latin name 
 for other rivers. 
 
 Wzrtqn. 
 
 Abra has been used as a Latin name for the Tweed, the Humber, and 
 the Severn, from the British Abren, or Aber, a river’s mouth. Of the three I think 
 the Humber, swift whirling, is intended. Leland proves from some old monkish 
 lines that the Severn was originally called Abren ; a name which afterwards the 
 
3*3 
 
 Welsh Bards pretended to be derived from King Locrine’s daughter Abrine , 
 not Sabrine, drowned in that river. Com?n.Cygn. Cant: vol ix. p. 67. edit. 1744. 
 In the tragedy of Locrine, written about 1594, this lady is called Sabren. Suppl. 
 Shaksp. vol ii. p. 262. A. iv. S. v. “Yes, Damsels yes, Sabren shall surely die, 
 &c And it is added that the river (Severn) into which she is thrown, was 
 thence called Sabren. Sabren through Safren, easily comes to Severn. In 
 the same play Humber the Scythian king exclaims p. 246. A. iv. S. iv. “And 
 gentle Aby take my troubled corse.” That is the river Aby, which just be- 
 fore is called Abis. Ptolemy enumerating our rivers, that fall into the eastern 
 sea, mentions Abi ; but probably the true reading is Abri which came from 
 Aber. Aber might soon be corrupted into Humber. The derivation of the 
 Humber from Humber, king of the Huns, is as fabulous as that the name Se- 
 vern was from Abrine or Sabrine. But if Humber, a king of the Huns, has 
 any concern in this name, the best way is to reconcile matters, and associate 
 both etymolygies in Hun- Aber, or Humber. 
 
 Warton. 
 
 “ Tamar’s ore-tinctured flood.” The river Tamar in Cornwall tinctu- 
 red with dn-mines. 
 
 THzrton. 
 
 Page 85. Manso, not least his native city’s pride. 
 
 This figure is properly called the Meiosis, according to which less is 
 said than intended, that the reader’s mind may supply the deficiency. An 
 instance of it occurs in the 15th Iliad, where Homer, describing the enfee- 
 bled condition of Hector bruised by Ajax with a stone says 
 
 “ E 8 [uv uQxvqoTCilog (iaX 9 Axxim.*’ 
 
 r r 
 
3»4 
 
 Page 85. The Spring was graven there. 
 
 Probably alludes to the ancient practice of crowning the cup with 
 flowers, the Red sea to the colour of its contents, and the Arabian groves to 
 spices grated into it. The Phoenix was perhaps introduced as a just compli- 
 ment to the receiver, and watches the sun-rise to remind the drinker of the 
 approach of morning. 
 
 The other device is explained by the poet. 
 
 Perhaps a poetical description of two real cups thus richly orna- 
 mented, which Milton received as a present from Manso at Naples. He had 
 flattered himself with the pleasure of shewing these tokens of the regard, with 
 which he had been treated in his travels, to Deodate, at his return. Or per- 
 haps this is an allegorical description of some of Manso’s favors. 
 
 TVzrton. 
 
 The censure of Johnson on this poem is abundantly compensated 
 by the praise of Cowper, who in one of his letters calls it “ a Pastoral in 
 my judgement equal to any of Virgil's bucolics." 
 
 The pastoral parts of this poem have been thought so delicately 
 translated into English rhyme by an elegant poet of our country (Langhorne) 
 that it was supposed the version of Cowper would by no means surpass its 
 predecessor. I select the following passage from Langhorne, that the reader 
 may have the immediate opportunity of comparing the two, and forming his 
 own judgement. 
 
3 1 5 
 
 “ And go, he cried, ray tender lambs, adieu ! 
 
 Your wretched master has no time for you. 
 
 Ah me ! what errors tempted me to go 
 
 O’er foreign mountains, and thro’ Alpine snow ? 
 
 Too great the price to mark in Tyber’s gloom 
 The mournful image of departed Rome ! 
 
 Nay, yet immortal, could she boast again 
 The glories of her universal reign. 
 
 And all that Maro left his fields to see. 
 
 Too great the purchase to abandon thee ! 
 
 To leave thee in a land no longer seen ! 
 
 Bid mountains rise, and oceans roll between ! 
 
 Ah ! not embrace thee ! not to see thee die ! 
 
 Meet thy last looks, or close thy languid eye ! 
 
 Not one fond farewell with thy shade to send. 
 
 Nor bid thee think of thy surviving friend !’* 
 
 The poetical Works of J. Langhorne, Vol. 2. p. 138. 
 
 ff ; 
 
 Page 88. Ode to Mr. John Rouse. 
 
 John Rouse, or Russe, master of arts, fellow of Oriel college, 
 Oxford, was elected chief librarian of the Bodleian, May 9, 1620. He died 
 in April 1652, and was buried in the chapel of his college. He succeeded to 
 Thomas James, the first that held this office from the foundation. In painted 
 
 R r 2 
 
3 l6 
 
 glass, in a window of the provost’s lodgings at Oriel college, are the heads of 
 Sir Thomas Bodley, James, and Rouse, by Van Ling. Hearne says they were 
 put up by Rouse : they were probably brought from Rouse’s apartments to the - 
 provost’s lodgings, when the college was rebuilt, about 1640. Hearne M. S. S. 
 coll. xii. p. 13. Rouse’s portrait large as life, a three-quarters length, and 
 coeval, is in the Bodleian library. He published an Appendix to James’s 
 Bodleian Catalogue, Oxon. 1636, 4to. In 1631 the University printed “Epis- 
 tola ad Joannem Cirenbergiura, ob acceptum synodalium epistolarum con- 
 cilii Basileensis AvroygcsQovj prefixa variorum Carminibus honorariis in eun- 
 dem Cirenbergium.” Oxon. 1631, iu quarto. Where among the names of the 
 writers in Latin, are Richard Busby of Christ-church, afterwards the celebrated 
 Master of Westminster: Jasper Maine, and Thomas Cartwright, both well 
 
 known as English poets, and of the same college: and Thomas Masters of New 
 college, author of the famous Greek ode on the Crucifixion, The dedication 
 to Cirenberg is written by our librarian Rouse, who seems to have conducted 
 the publication. In it he speaks of his travels, and particularly of his return 
 from Italy through Basil. He has a copy of not inelegant Latin elegiacs, in the 
 Oxford verses, called ff Britannia? natalis.” Oxon. 1630, 4to, p. 62. Hearne 
 says that Rouse was intimate with Burton, author of the celebrated book on 
 Melancholie: and that he furnished Burton with choice books for that work. 
 MSS. Coll. cxii. p. 114. He lived on terms of the most intimate friendship 
 with G. G. Vossius; by whom he was highly valued and respected forhislearn- 
 ing and activity in promoting literary undertakings. This appears fromVossius’. 
 Epistles to Rouse, viz. Epis. 73, 130, 144, 256, 409, 427. See Colome- 
 sius’s Fossii Epistolas, Lond. 1690. There is also a long and well written 
 Epistle from Rouse to Vossius, Ep.352. ibid ad calc. p. 241. Degory Wheare, 
 
3*7 
 
 the first Camden professor, sends his book De ratione et methodo legendi His - 
 torias, in 1625, to Rouse, with a letter, inscribed “ Joanni Rousceo , litera- 
 tissimo Academico meo.” See Wheare Epistolarum Eucharisticarum Fasciculus. 
 Oxon. 1628, 12mo. p. 113. Not only on account of his friendship with Milton, 
 which appears to have subsisted in 1637, but because he retained his librarian- 
 ship and fellowship through Cromwell’s usurpation, we. may suppose Rouse 
 to have been puritanically inclined. See Notes on Sir Henry Wotton’s letter 
 prefixed to Comus. However in 1627 he was expelled from his fellowship, 
 but soon after making his peace with the Presbyterian visitors was restored* 
 Walker C ler. p. ii, p. 132* 
 
 Milton, at Rouse’s request, had given his little volume of Poems, 
 printed in 1645, to the Bodleian library. But the book being lost. Rouse 
 requested his friend Milton to send another copy. In 1646 another was sent 
 by the author, neatly but plainly bound, munditie nitens non operosa, in which 
 this Ode to Rouse in Milton’s own hand-writing, on one sheet of paper, is 
 inserted between the Latin and English poems. It is the same now marked 
 M. 16S:Art. 8vo. In the same library is another small volume, uniformly bound 
 with that last mentioned, of a few of Milton’s prose tracts, the first of which 
 is of Reformation touching Church Discipline, printed forT. Underhill, 1641, 
 4to. Marked F. 56. Th. In the first blank leaf in Milton’s own hand-writing, 
 is this inscription, never before printed : “ Doctissimo viro proboque libro- 
 rum aestimatori Joanni Rousio, Oxoniensis Academia? Bibliothecario, gratum 
 hoc sibi fore testanti, Joannes Miltonus opuscula haec sua, in Bibliothecam 
 antiquissimam, atque celeberrimam adsciscenda, libens tradit; tanquam in me- 
 moriae perpetuce fanum, emeritamque, uti sperat, invidiae calumniaeque va- 
 cationem, si veritati bonoque simul eventui satis sit litatum. Sunt autem de 
 
318 
 
 Reformatione, Angliae, lib. 2. De Episcopatu Praelatico, lib. 1. De ratione 
 
 • s 
 
 Politic Ecclesiastical lib. 1 . Animadversiones in Remonstrantis Defensi- 
 
 I 
 
 onem, lib. 1. Apologia, lib. 1. Doctrina et Disciplina Divortii, lib. 2. 
 Judicium Buceri de Divortio lib. 1. Colasterion, lib. 1. Tetrachordon in 
 aliquot prascipua Scripture loca de Divortio, instar, lib. 4. Areopagitica, 
 sive de libertate Typographice oratio. De Educatione Ingenuorum epistoia* 
 (C Poemata Patina et Anglicana seorsim." About the year 1720, these two 
 volumes, with other small books, were hastily, perhaps contemptuously, 
 thrown aside as duplicates, either real or pretended : and Mr. Nathaniel 
 
 Crynes, an esquire beadle, and a diligent collector of scarce English books, 
 was permitted on the promise of some future valuable bequests to the library, 
 to pick out of the heap what he pleased. But he, having luckily many 
 more grains of party-prejudice than of taste, could not think any thing 
 worth having that bore the name of the republican Milton, and therefore these 
 two curiosities, which would be invaluable in a modern auction, were fortu- 
 nately suffered to remain in the library, and were soon after honorably restored 
 to their original places. 
 
 Tvzrton. 
 
 Wood informs us that Fairfax, Cromwell, &c. having been admit- 
 ted to the degree of doctor of civil law, went, after the ceremony, to the 
 Bodleian library, where they were received with a speech by the keeper Rouse. 
 See Annals Umv. Ox. edit. Gutch. Vol. ii. 620. Rouse prevented the plun- 
 dering of Bodley’s chest, ibid 325. He bequeathed twenty pounds to the 
 library, ibid 944. 
 
 * Tractate of Education to Ilartlib. 
 
 Todd. 
 
 9 
 
3*9 
 
 Page 91. Where he intends a richer treasure far. 
 
 Than Ion kept (Ion Erectheus’ son. 
 
 Illustrious, of the fair Creiisa born.)) 
 
 Cowper has here used the word intends (in a siense not common at 
 present, but justified by the authority of Bacon and of Milton) for superin- 
 tends. Ion was the grandson of Erectheus, the king of Athens, of whom 
 Cicero has said that he had four virgin daughters, who hooked on death with 
 contempt in their zeal for the glory of their country. Hlis daughter Creiisa, 
 being violated by Apollo gave birth to Ion, who was secretly educated in the 
 temple of the Delphic God, and raised to the hallowed office of preserving 
 its treasures, the splendid gifts of the powerful and numerous votaries, who 
 visited this celebrated shrine. The sacred mysterious character of the youth- 
 ful Ion, and the discovery of his parents, has supplied Eluripides with a sub- 
 ject for one of the most beautiful and interesting of thie Grecian tragedies. 
 The Ion of Euripides has been imitated by Racine in hisnnasterpiece L’Athalie, 
 and has probably contributed to heighten the pathos of two favorite tragedies 
 of Italy and England, Merope and Douglas. 
 
 The Grecian drama is excellently traslated by the late Mr. Potter, 
 it describes some treasures of the temple, to which M.'ilton has here allu- 
 ded. Xuthus descended from Jupiter, and happy in supposing himself the 
 father of Ion, directs the youth to prepare an immense temt, extensive enough 
 to feast all Delphi within it, and to decorate the scene off his joyous banquet 
 with ornaments borrowed from the temple. The followi ng description dis- 
 plays the festive magnificence of antiquity. 
 
3 2 ° 
 
 ff Meanwhile with reverent heed the son ’gan rear, 
 On firm supporters the wide tent, whose sides 
 No masonry require, yet fram'd to exclude 
 The mid-day Sun’s hot beams, or his last rays. 
 When sinking in the west : the lengthened lines. 
 Equally distant, comprehend a square 
 Of twice five thousand feet (the skillful thus 
 Compute it, ) space to feast, for so he will'd 
 All Delphi : from the treasures of the God 
 He took the sacred tapistry, and around 
 Hung the rich shade, on which th’ admiring eye 
 Gazes with fix’d delight : first over head 
 Like a broad pennon spread th* extended woof. 
 Which from th’ Amazonian spoils, the son 
 Of Jove, Alcides, hallowed to the God ; 
 
 In its bright texture interwoven a sky 
 Gathering the stars in its aetherial round. 
 
 While downward to the western wave the Sun 
 His steeds declines, and to his station high 
 Draws up the radiant flame of Hesperus. 
 
 Meanwhile the Night, rob’d in her sable stole. 
 
 Her unrein’d car advances ; on her state 
 The Stars attend ; the Pleiads mounting high. 
 
 And with his glittering sword Orion arm’d ; 
 
 Above, Arcturus to the golden pole 
 Inclines ; full-orb’d the month-dividing moon 
 
321 
 
 Takes her bright station, and the Hyades 
 Mark’d by the sailor ; distant in the rear 
 Aurora, ready to relume the day. 
 
 And put the stars to flight. The sides were grac’d 
 With various textures of th’ historic woof. 
 
 Barbaric arguments ; in gallant trim 
 
 Against the fleet of Greece th e hostile fleet 
 
 Rides proudly on : Here monstrous forms pourtray’d. 
 
 Human and brutal mix’d : The Thracian steeds 
 
 Are seiz’d, the hinds, and the adventurous chace 
 
 Of savage lions : Figur’d nigh the doors 
 
 Cecrops, attended by his daughters, roll’d 
 
 His serpent train : — In th* ample space within 
 
 He spread the festal table, ric hly deck’d 
 
 With golden goblets.” 
 
 Potter’s Euripides, 4to, Vol. 1. p. J 45. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 92. Then, malice silenc’d in the tomb, 
 
 Cooler heads, and sounder hearts. 
 
 Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise 
 I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim. 
 
 This appeal of Milton to posterity has been successful to a degree, 
 which, had he foreseen it distinctly in prophetiic vision, would probably have 
 satisfied the temperate ambition of the poet, for altho* malice against him is 
 
 S S 
 
322 
 
 far from having been silenced in his tomb , yet his renown is continually en- 
 creasing; and I shall rejoice if our Country agrees with me in thinking, that 
 the present version of his minor Poems may be said to add a kind of con- 
 summation to his poetical fame. Had he been empowered to select his own 
 translator from all his successors in English poetry, I question if the eye of a 
 prophet could have discovered any individual more worthy of the office than 
 Cowper. This collection of his translations can hardly fail to be admired in 
 general, but readers will probably entertain different opinions on the com- 
 parative merit of some particular versions. The present ode for instance may 
 fail to please those, who are very partial to rhyme, by having rejected it — 
 yet Cowper found authority in Milton himself for an English ode in metre 
 without rhyme. 
 
 The reader will recollect the version of Horace’s, 
 
 “ Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa,” 
 
 to which I allude. That Horatian ode without ryhme is by no means un- 
 graceful, yet inferior perhaps in felicity of expression to a similar experiment 
 of Collins in his exquisite ode to Evening. 
 
 Dr. Symmons has embellished his life of Milton with a version of the 
 ode to Rouse, in rhyme, executed with spirit and elegance by the biographer’s 
 friend Mr. Wrangham. I transcribe the close of it as an amusing contrast to 
 the less ornamented translation of Cowper. 
 
 " And ye my other toils 
 
 Not toil’d in vain — some distant day 
 From Envy’s fang shall speed your way, 
 
 Where Rouse protects, and Hermes smiles : 
 
323 
 
 There nor the rabble shall revile. 
 
 Nor factious critics pour their bile ; 
 
 But hoarded to a happier age 
 A purer race shall scan the page 
 With heart unwarp’d your humble worth regard. 
 
 Trample on Spleen’s wan corse, and bless the patriot Bard.*’ 
 
 Symons* Life of Milton, page 234. 
 
 I cannot terminate these miscellaneous Notes relative to the Latin 
 poems of Milton without observing to his praise, that they are admirably cal- 
 culated to animate and impell the mind of ingenuous and aspiring youth to 
 the pursuit and attainment of excellence, both literary, and moral. The elegy 
 to his Tutor, the Manso, and the verses to his Father, have this tendency in 
 the highest degree ; they are as worthy of being treasured in the memory of 
 our young students as our favorite passages from the poets of antiquity, and 
 might be a just and becoming honour to the memory of Milton to have parts 
 of these poems recited in our great schools upon public occasions. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 93. SONNETS. 
 
 It is remarkable that all the sublimest poets of the modern world, 
 Dante, Camoens, Tasso, Shakespeare, and Milton, seem to have taken a 
 delight in the composition of sonnets, as if they had all entertained the senti- 
 ment expressed in a verse of Boileau. 
 
 “ Un sonnet parfait vaut seul un long poeme.” 
 
 S S 2 
 
3 2 4 
 
 Nor is it less remarkable, that Shakespeare, the poet of this lofty group, who 
 possessed in general the most extensive mastery of language, both serious 
 and sportive, appears the most deficient in the graces of this petty compo- 
 sition. The Italians are said to have invented this popular little poem before 
 Petrarch was born, about the year 1250, but Faria, the indefatigable com- 
 mentator of Camoens, in one of his discourses prefixed to the minor poems 
 of his favourite author, disputes the title of Italy to this invention, by re- 
 lating, that Jordi and Febrer two poets of Valentia, who happening to be 
 with their king D. Jayme in a storm at sea, in the year 1250, composed 
 sonnets on that event. He goes still farther for the honour of Portugal, and 
 cites some Portugese verses of the year 1090, addrest by a valiant knight 
 Gonzalo Hermiguez to his wife Oroana. This profound scholar was so fond 
 of sonnets, that he intimates he had composed almost two thousand sonnets 
 himself; his modesty however sets but little value on his own compositions, 
 and declares Petrarch and Camoens to be the chief sonneteers of the world, or 
 to cite his own more lofty language <f es indubitable que estos dos felicissi- 
 raos Heroes en este arte son los Polos, sobre que se libra este genero de 
 escritura’” 
 
 Faria cites a sonnet written by Don Pedro prince of Portugal, son of 
 king John the first, in praise of the Portugese knight Vasco de Lobeyra, whom 
 he styles the inventor of books of chivalry by his Amadis. 
 
 To compose sonnets was so fashionable an amusement of the great in 
 the different kingdoms of Europe, that a complete catalogue of sonneteers 
 would include several princes and sovereigns. When Milton employed him- 
 self on this attractive species of composition, he imparted to it the force and 
 
325 
 
 dignity of sentiment, that were the characteristics of his elevated mind. The 
 following verse that closes one of his sonnets may serve to impress on a con- 
 templative spirit a deep sense of all our duties — 
 
 “ For ever in my great Task-master’s eye.” 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 93. Grace can alone preserve him, ere the dart 
 Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart. 
 
 In these effusions of gallantry Milton does not fail to blend some par- 
 ticles of his devotional spirit. Langhorne who has translated the Italian poems 
 of Milton with considerable elegance, has omitted this peculiarity of their 
 author, a peculiarity very striking in the close of the two first sonnets. 
 
 Page 96. CANZONE. 
 
 H. 
 
 It is from Petrarch, that Milton mixes the canzone with the sonetto. 
 Dante regarded the canzone as the most perfect species of lyric composition. 
 Della Volg. Eloq. c. iv. But for the canzone he allows more laxity than for 
 the sonnet; he says, when the song is written on a grave or tragic subject, it 
 is denominated canzone, and when on a comic, cantilena, as diminutive. 
 
 Wzrton. 
 
 The Abbe Salvini after pronouncing Filicaja as unquestionably the best 
 composer of the canzone, proceeds to speak of this species of verse as follows : 
 “ Ma dove mai vale a mostrarsi il poeta con tutte le ricchezze poetiche, coll 
 invenzione, colla disposizione, colla musicale varieta de’ metri, che l’anima 
 
 1 
 
326 
 
 variamente percuotono, co’lumi dellesentenze, colie figure grandi, e magnifiche, 
 se non nella canzone ?** Prose Toscane di A. M. Salvini Firenza 1715. p. 219. 
 
 Todd . 
 
 The curious reader who wishes for more information concerning the 
 canzone, may find many remarks on its name, nature, rules, and examples, in 
 the second volume of Quadrio’s elaborate work, “ Della storia e della Ragione 
 d 5 ogni poesia.” Quarto, Milano, 1742. 
 
 H. 
 
 Page 98. A mien majestic, with dark brows, that show 
 The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind. 
 
 Portamento expresses the lofty dignified deportment, by which the 
 Italian poets constantly describe female beauty ; and which is strikingly cha- 
 racteristic of the composed majestic carriage of the Italian ladies, either as 
 contrasted with the liveliness of the French, or the timid delicacy of the 
 English. Compare Petrarch’s first sonnet on the death of Laura. Son. ccxxix. 
 
 “ Oime ! il bel viso ! Oime ! il soave squardo ! 
 
 Oime ! il portamento leggiadro altiero V* 
 
 Our author appears to have applied this Italian idea of a graceful solemnity 
 in his description of Eve. 
 
 Milton, as it may be seen from these sonnets, appears to have been 
 struck, on going into Italy, with a new idea of foreign beauty, sotto nuova 
 idea peUegrina bellezza. He is now no longer captivated with the treccie d'oro, 
 
 $ 
 
327 
 
 nor the bloom so conspicuous in fair-haired complexions guancia vermiglia, 
 but with 
 
 " Quel sereno fulgor d’ amabil nero,” 
 
 The dark hair and eye of Italy are now become his new favourites. When a 
 youth of nineteen, in his general description of the English fair, he cele- 
 brates Cupid’s golden nets of hair in his first elegy, and in Comus beauty is 
 characterised by vermeil-tinctur' d cheek and tresses like the morn. 
 
 TFjlrton. 
 
 Page 101. Giovane piano, e semplicetto amante. 
 
 This is the last Italian sonnet of Milton, that has reached our time, but 
 others have existed, which are mentioned in the following note of Mr. Warton. 
 
 “ In 1762 the late Mr. Thomas Hollis examined the Laurentian library 
 at Florence for six Italian sonnets of Milton, addressed to his friend Chimentelli; 
 and for other Italian and Latin compositions, and various original letters said 
 to be remaining in manuscript at Florence. He searched also for an original 
 bust in marble of Milton, supposed to be somewhere in that city : but he was 
 unsuccessful in his curious enquiries.” 
 
 Page 101. - - - My heart, which I have found 
 
 By certain proofs not few, intrepid, sound. 
 
 Good, and addicted to conceptions high. 
 
 It has ever been thought difficult for an author to speak gracefully of 
 himself, especially in commendation; but Milton, who was gifted with powers 
 
328 
 
 to overcome difficulties of every kind, is eminently happy in this particular. 
 He has spoken frequently of himself both in verse and prose, and he conti- 
 nually shews, that he thought highly of his own endowments; but if he praises 
 himself, he does it with that dignified frankness and simplicity of conscious 
 truth, which render even egotism respectable and delightful: whether he de- 
 scribes the fervent and tender emotions of his juvenile fancy, or delineates 
 his situation in the decline of life, when he had to struggle with calamity and 
 peril, the more insight he affords us into his own sentiments and feelings, the 
 more reason we find both to love, and to revere him. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Seagrave, Printer, Chichester. 
 
 
Chichester Imprint. — Milton. Latin and Italian Poems, translated into 
 English Verse, and a Fragment of a Commentary on Paradise Lost, by the late 
 William Cowper. With a Preface by the Editor (William Hayley). Frontis., 
 4to, orig. boards and paper label. Chichester, 1808 ($4.20) 30s