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that arise in it, founds, upon the abovementioned circumstance, the first part of the fifth book. Adam, upon his awaking, finds Eve still asleep; with an unusual discomposure in her looks. The posture in which he regards her is described with a tenderness not to be expressed, as the whisper with which he awakens her is the softest that ever was conveyed to a lover's ear.

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His wonder was, to find unwaken'd Eve
With tresses discompos’d, and glowing cheek,
As though unquiet rest: he on his side
Leaning half-rais'd, with looks of cordial love,
Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces: then, with voice,
Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whisper'd thus—Awake,
My fairest, my espous'd, my latest found,
Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight!
Awake: the morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls us: we lose the prime, to mark how spring
Our tender plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed,
How nature paints her colours, how the bee
Sit on the bloom extracting liquid sweets.

Such whispering wak'd her, but with startI'd eye
On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake:

O sole, in whom my thoughts find all repose;
My glory, my perfection! glad I see
Thy face, and morn return'd-

I can not but take notice, that Milton, in the conferences between Adam and Eve, had his

eye very frequently upon the book of Canticles, in which there is a noble spirit of Eastern poetry, and very often not unlike what we meet with in Homer, who is generally placed near the age of

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Solomon. I think there is no question but the poet in the preceding speech remembered those two passages which are spoken on the like occasion, and filled with the same pleasing images of nature. (See No. 388.)

• My beloved spake, and said unto me, rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away; for la the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the siriging of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig-tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair

one, and come away.

Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us get up early to the vineyards, let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender

grapes appear, and the pomegranates bud forth.' His preferring the garden of Eden to that

-Where the sapient king Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse, shows that the poet'had this delightful scene in his mind.

Eve's dream is full of those high conceits engendering pride, which, we are told, the devil endeavoured to instil into her. Of this kind is that part of it where she fancies herself awakened by Adam, in the following beautiful lines:

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Why sleep'st thou, Eve! Now is the pleasant time,
The cool, the silent; save where silence yields
To the night-warbling bird, that now awake
Tunes sweetest his love-labour'd song: now reigns
Full-orb’d the moon, and with more pleasing light

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Shadowy sets off the face of things; in vain,
If none regard. Heav'n wakes with all his eyes,
Whom to behold but thee, nature's desire,
In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment,
Attracted by thy beauty, still to gaze.

An injudicious poet would have made Adam talk through the whole work in such sentiments as these; but flattery and falsehood are not the courtship of Milton's Adam, and could not be heard by Eve in her state of innocence, excepting only in a dream produced on purpose to taint her imagination. Other vain sentiments of the same kind, in this relation of her dream, will be obvious to every reader. Though the catastrophe of the poem is finely presaged on this occasion, the particulars of it are so artfully shadowed, that they do not anticipate the story which follows in the ninth book. I shall only add, that though the vision itself is founded upon truth, the circumstances of it are full of that wildness and inconsistency which are natural to a dream. Adam, conformable to his superior character for wisdom, instructs and comforts Eve

upon

this occasion.
So cheerd he his fair spouse, and she was cheer'd;
But silently a gentle tear let fall
From either eye, and wip'd them with her hair;
Two other precious drops, that ready stood
Each in their crystal sluice, he ere they fell
Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse
And pious awe, that feard to have offended.

The morning hymn is written in imitation of one of those psalms, where, in the overflowings of gratitude and praise, the psalmist calls not only upon the angels, but upon the most conspicuous

parts of the inanimate creation, to join with him in extolling their common Maker. Invocations of this nature fill the mind with glorious ideas of God's works, and awaken that divine enthusiasm which is so natural to devotion. But if this call. ing upon the dead parts of nature is at all times a proper kind of worship, it was in a particular manner suitable to our first parents, who had the creation fresh upon their minds, and had not seen the various dispensations of Providence, nor consequently could be acquainted with those many topics of praise which might afford matter to the devotions of their posterity. I need not remark the beautiful spirit of poetry which runs through this whole hymn, nor the holiness of that resolution with which it concludes.

Having already mentioned those speeches which are assigned to the persons in this poem, I proceed to the description which the poet gives of Raphael. His departure from before the throne, and his flight through the choirs of angels, is finely imaged. As Milton every where fills his poem with circumstances that are marvellous and astonishing, he describes the gate of heaven as framed after such a manner that it opened of itself upon the approach of the angel who was to pass through it.

-"Till at the gate
Of heav'n arriv'd, the gate self-opend wide,
On golden hinges turning, as by work

Divine, the sov’reign Architect had fram’d. The poet here seems to have regarded two or three passages in the 18th Iliad, as that in particular, where, speaking of Vulcan, Homer says,

that he had made twenty tripods running on golden wheels; which, upon occasion, might go of themselves to the assembly of the gods, and when there was no more use for them, return again after the same manner. Scaliger has rallied Homer very severely upon this point, as M. Dacier has endeavoured to defend it. I will not pretend to determine, whether in this particular of Homer, the marvellous does not lose sight of the probable. As the miraculous workmanship of Milton's gates is not so extraordinary as this of the tripods, so I am persuaded he would not have mentioned it, had he not been supported in it by a passage in the scripture, which speaks of wheels in heaven that had life in them, and moved of themselves, or stood still in conformity with the cherubim, whom they accompanied.

There is no question but Milton had this circumstance in his thoughts; because in the following book he describes the chariot of the Messiah with living wheels, according to the plan in Ezekiel's vision.

-Forth rush'd with whirlwind sound
The chariot of paternal Deity,
Flashing thick fames, wheel within wheel undrawn,

Itself instinct with spiritI question not but Bossu, and the two Daciers, who are for vindicating every thing that is censured in Homer by something parallel in holy writ, would have been very well pleased had they thought of confronting Vulcan's tripods with Ezekiel's wheels.

Raphael's descent to the earth, with the figure of his person, is represented in very lively colours.

VOL. VII.

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