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Et non mortali desuper igne pluunt :

Stat dubius cui se parti concedat Olympus,

Et metuit pugnæ non superesse suæ. Qui legis Amissam Paradisum, grandia magni At simul in cælis Messiæ insignia fulgent, Carmina Miltoni, quid nisi cuncta legis?

Et currus animes, armáque digna Deo, Res cunctas, et cunctarum primordia rerum,

Horrendúmque rotæ strident, et sæva rotarum Et fata, et fines, continet iste liber.

Erumpunt torvis fulgura luminibus, Inti ma panduntur magni penetralia mundi,

Et flammæ vibrant, et vera tonitrua rauco Scribitur et toto quicquid in orbe latet :

Admistis flammis insonuere polo : Terræque, tractusque maris, cælúmque profun- Excidit attonitis mens omnis, et impetus omnis, dum,

Et cassis dextris irrita tela cadunt; Sulpbureúmque Erebi, flammivomúmque spe- Ad pænas fugiunt; et, ceu foret Orcus asylum,

Infernis certant condere se tenebris, Quæque colunt terras, pontúmque, et Tartara Cedite, Romani scriptores ; cedite, Graii;

Et quos fama recens vel celebravit annus. cæca, Quæque colunt summi lucida regna poli:

Hæc quicunque leget tantùm cecinisse putabit Et quodcunque ullis conclusum est finibus us- Mæuniden runas, Virgilium culices,

Samuel BARROW, M.D. quam, Et sine fine Chaos, et sine fine Deus; Et sine fine magis, si quid magis est sine fine,

In Christo erga homines conciliatus amor. Hæc qui speraret quis crederet esse futurum ?

Et tamen hæc hodiè terra Britanna legit. When I beheld the poet blind, yet bold, O quantos in bella duces ! que protulit arma ! In slender book-his vast desigy unfold,

Quæ canit, et quantâ prælia dira tuba!, Messiah crown'd, God's reconcil'd decree, Coelestes acies! atque in certamine cælum ! Rebelling angels, the forbidden tree,

Et quæ cælestes pugna deceret agros ! Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, all ; the argument Quantus in æthereis tollit se Lucifer armis! Held me a while misdoubting his intent,

Atque ipso graditur vix Michaële minor ! That he would ruin (for I saw him strong) Quantis, et quàm funestis concurritur iris, The sacred truths to fable and old song ;

Dum ferus hic stellas protegit, ille rapit ! (So Sampson grop'd the temple's posts in spight) Dum vulsos montes ceu tela reciproca torquent, l'he world o'erwhelming to revenge his sight.

i This poem by Dr. Barrow, and the next by 2 Of Dr. Samuel Barrow, the author of these Milton's friend Andrew Marvel, have been usua)- verses, no account has been given by the editors ly published in the editions of Paradise Lost, of Milton. Toland only calls him a doctor of since the edition of 1674, to which they are both physic. Perhaps he was the physician to the prefixed. TODD.

army of general Monk. TODD.


Yet as I read, still growing less severe, How couldst thou hope to please this tinsel I lik’d his project, the success did fear;

race? Through that wild field how he his way should Though blind, yet, with the penetrating eye find,

Of intellectual light, thou dost survey O’er which lame Faith leads Understanding The labyrinth perplex'd of Heaven's decrees ; blind;

And with a quill, pluck'd from an angel's wing“, Lest he'd perplex the things he would explain, Dipt in the fount that laves the eternal throne, And what was easy he should render vain. Trace the dark paths of Providence Divine, Or if a work so infinite he spann'd,

“And justify the ways of God to man.” Jealous I was that some less skilful hand

F. C. 1680. (Such as disquiet always what is well, And, by ill imitating, would excell) Might hence presume the whole creation's day To change in scenes, and show it in a play.

'Three poets, in three distant ages born, Pardon me, mighty poet, nor despise

Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn. My.causeless, yet not impious, surmise.

The first in loftiness of thought surpass'd; But I am now convinc'd, and none will dare

The next, in majesty; in both, the last. Within thy labours to pretend a share.

The force of Nature could no farther go: Thou hast not miss'd one thought that could be

To make a third, she join'd the former two s. fit,

DRYDEN, And all that was improper dost omit : So that no room is here for writers left, But to detect their ignorance or theft. That majesty, wbich through thy work doth reign,

FROM AN ACCOUNT OF THE GREATEST ENGLISH POET Draws the devout, deterring the profane. And things divine thou treat'st of in such state | But Milton next, with high and haughty stalks As them preserves, and thee, inviolate.

Unfetter'd, in majestic numbers, walks : At once delight and horrour on us seize,

No vulgar hero can his Muse engage, Thou sing'st with so much gravity and ease; Nor Earth's wide scene confine his hallow'd rage. And above human flight dost soar aloft

See! see! he upward springs, and, towering high, With plume so strong, so equal, and so soft. Spurns the dull province of mortality; The bird, nam'd from that Paradise you sing, Shakes Heaven's eternal throne with dire alarms, So never flags, but always keeps on wing. And sets the Almighty Thunderer in arms! Where couldst thou words of such a compass Whate'er his pen describes I more than see, find?

Whilst every verse array'd in majesty, Whence furnish such a vast expense of mind? Bold and sublime, my whole intention draws, Just Heaven thee, like Tiresias, to requite, And seems above the critic's nicer laws. Rewards with prophecy thy loss of sight. How are you struck with terrour and delight,

Well might'st thou scorn thy readers to allure When angel with archangel copes in fight! With tinkling rhyme, of thy own sense secure; When great Messiah's outspread banner shines, While the Town-Bays writes all the while and How does the chariot rattle in his lines ! spells,

What sound of brazen wheels, with thunder, scare And, like a pack-horse, tires without his bells: And stun the reader with the din of war! Their fancies like our bushy points appear; With fear my spirits and my blood retire, The poets tag them, we for fashion wear. To see the seraphs sunk in clouds of fire : I too, transported by the mode, oftend,

But when, with eager steps, from hence I rise, And, while I meant to praise thee, must com- And view the first gay scene of Paradise; mend.

Wbat tongue, that words of rapture, can express Thy verse created, like thy theme, sublime, A vision so profuse of pleasantness ! In number weight, and measure, needs not rhyme.



ture that Francis Cradock,a member of the RotaClub to which Milton belonged, might be the

author of them. See Wood's Ath, Ox. vol. ï. TO MR. JOHN MILION, ON HIS POEM ENTITLED PA


4 The expressions, in this line, occur in one of O THOU ! the wonder of the present age,

Constable's Sunnets. An age immers d in luxury and vice;

The pen wherewith thow dost so heauenly singe A race of triflers; who can relish nought

Made of a quill pluckt from an angell's winge. But the gay issue of an idle brain :

So, in Davies's Bien Venu, 1606.

But poet's pens pluckt from archangels' wings. 3 These verses by F. C. are prefixed, to Mil- s Tbis celebrated epigram on Milton appears ton's poetical works in the edition of the English | under the well-engraved head of the poet by R. poets, 1779. They had before appeared in White, prefixed to the folio edition of Paradise Fawkes and Woty's Poetical Calendar, 1763, vo'. Lost in 1688. It has been thus published in many viji. 6:. But we are not told who F. C. vas. As succeeiling editions of the same poem. Dryden, I have not yet met with these verses in any other I should add, is a subscriber to the edition of 1688. publication, I may be permitted to offer a conjec- | TODD.



Whose generous zeal, unbought by flattering ADDRESS TO GREAT BRITAIN.


Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times;

-For lofty sense, Immortal patrons of succeeding days,
Creative fancy, and inspection keen

Attend this prelude of perpetual praise !
Through the deep windings of the human heart, Let Wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage
Is not wild Shakspeare thine and Nature's boast? With close Malevolence, or public Rage;
Is not each great, each amiable Muse

Let Study, worn with Virtue's fruitless lore,
Of classic ages in thy Milton met ?

Behold this theatre, and grieve no more. A genius, universal as his theme;

This night, distinguish'd by your smiles, shall Astonishing as Chaos; as the blocom

tell, Of blowing Eden fair; as Heaven sublime ! That never Britain can in vain excel;

THOMSON'S SUMNER. The slighted arts futurity shall trust,

And rising ages hasten to be just.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
Fill the loud voice of universal praise;
And baffled Spite, with hopeless anguish dumb,

Yields to renown the centuries to come;
SAY, goddess, can the festal board,

With ardent haste each candidate of fame,

Ambitious, catches at his towering name: Or young Olympia's form ador'd;

He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow Say, can the pomp of promis'd fame

Those pageant honours which he scorn'd below, Relume thy faint, thy dying, flame?

While crowds aloft the laureat bust behold,
Or have melodious airs the power
To give one free poetic hour?

Or trace his form on circulating gold.

Unknown --unbeeded, long his offspring lay, Or, from amid the Elysian train, The soul of Milton shall I gain,

And want hung threatening o'er her slow decay.

What though she shine with no Miltonian fire, To win thee back with some celestial strain ?

No favouring Muse her morning dreams inspire; O powerful strain ! O sacred soul!

Yet softer claims the melting heart engage, His numbers every sense control:

Her youth laborious, and her blameless age ; And now again my bosom burns;

Hers the mild merits of domestic life,
The Muse, the Muse herself, returns !

The patient sufferer, and the faithful wife.
Thus grac'd with humble Virtue's native charms,
Her grandsire leaves her in Britannia's arms;

Secure with peace, with competence, to dwell,
Our stedfast bard, to his own genius true, While tutelary nations guard her cell.
Still bade his Muse, “ fit audience find, though yours is the charge, ye fair, ye wise, ye brave !

'Tis yours to crown desert-beyond the grave. Scorning the judgement of a trifling age,

Dr. Johnson's Prologue to the Mask of Comus, To choicer spirits he bequeath'd his page.

acted at Drury-Lane Theatre, April 5, 1750, He too was scorn'd; and, to Britannia's shame, for the Benefit of Milton's Grand-daughShe scarce for half an age knew Milton's name.

But now, his fame by every trumpet blown,
We on his deathless trophies raise our own.
Nor art nor nature did his genius bound;

Nor second he that rode sublime lleaven, Hell, Earth,Chaos, he survey'd around; Upon the seraph-wings of ecstasy; All things his eye, through wit's bright empire The secrets of the abyss to spy,

thrown, Beheld; and made, what it beheld, his own.

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: Such Milton was: 'tis ours to briog him forth; Where angels tremble while they gaze,

The living throne, the sapphire blaze, And yours to vindicate neglected worth.

He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, Such Heaven-taught numbers should be more than read,

Clos'd his eyes in endless night.

More wide the manna through the nation spread.
Like some bless'd spirit he to night descends.
Mankind he visits, and their steps befriends;
Through mazy errour's dark perplexing wood,
Points out the path of true and real good;
Warns erring youih, and guards the spotless Alugu on some cliff, to Heaven up-pil’d,

Of rude access, of prospect wild,
From spell of magic vice, by reason's aid.- Where tangled round the jealous steep
DR. DALTON'S PROLOGUE TO COMUs, 1738. Strange shades o'erbrow the vallies deep,

And holy Genii guard the rock,
Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock,

While on its rich ambitious head Yg patriot crowds, who burn for England's An Eden, like his own, lies spread; fame,

I view that oak the fancied glades among, Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's By which as Milton lay, his evening ear, name,

From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew,




Nigh spher'd in Heaven, its native strains could | To the fell house of Busyrane, he led hear,

The unsbaken Britomart; or Milton knew, On which that ancient trump he reach'd was Whieu in abstracted thought he first conceiv'd hung;

All Heaven in tumult, and the seraphim Thither oft his glory greeting,

Came towering, arın’d in adamant and gold. From Waller's myrtle shades retreating, With many a vow from Hope's aspiring tongue My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue; In vain: Such bliss to one alone

Apart, and on a sacred hill retird, Of all the sons of soul was known;

Beyond all mortal inspiration fird, And Heaven and Fancy, kindred powers,

The mighty Milton sits :- An host around
Have now o'erturn'd the inspiring bowers, Of listening angels guard the holy ground;
Or curtain'd close such scene from every fu- Amaz’d they see a human form aspire
ture view,

To grasp with daring hand a seraph's lyre
Inly irradiate with celestial beams,
Attempt those bigh, those soul-subduing themes,
(Which bumbler denizens of Heaven declive,)
And celebrate, with sanctity divine,
The starry field from warring angels won,

And God triumpbant in his Victor son.
Rise, hallow'd Milton! rise, and say,

Nor less the wonder, and the sweet delight, How, at thy gloomy close of day;

His milder scenes and softer notes excite, How, when « depress’d by age, beset with When, at his bidding, Eden's blooming grove wrongs;"

Breathes the rich sweets of innocence and love. When “fall’n on evil days and evil tongues :" With such pure joy as our forefather knew

When Darkness, brooding on thy sight, When Raphael, Heavenly guest, first met his Exild the sov'reign lamp of light:

view, Say, what could then one cheering hope diffuse; And our glad sire, within his blissful bower, What friends were thine, save Memory and the Drank the pure converse of the etherial Power, Muse ?

Round the best bard his raptur'd audience Hence the rich spoils, thy studious youth

throng, Caught from the stores of ancient Truth: And feel their souls imparadis'd in song. Hence all thy busy eye could pleas'd explore,

HAYLEY'S ESSAY ON EPIC POETRY, EPIST. III. When Rapture led thee to the Latian shore;

Each scene, that Tiber's bank supplied ;

Each grace, that play'd on Arno's side; Aces elaps'd ere Homer's lamp appear'd, The tepid gales, through Tuscan glades that fly; And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard: The blue serene, that spreads Hesperia's sky; To carry Nature lengths unknown before, Were still thine own: thy ample mind

To give a Milion birth, ask'd ages more Each charm receiv'd, retain’d, combin’d, Thus Genius rose and set at order'd times, And thence “the nightly visitant,” that came And shot a day-spring into distant climes, To touch thy bosom with her sacred flame, Ennobling every region that he chose; Recall'd the long-lost beams of grace;

He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose; That whilom shot from Nature's face,

And, tedious years of Gothic darkness pass'd, When God, in Eden, o'er her youthful breast Emerg'd all splendour in our isle at last. Spread with his own right hand Perfection's gor- Thus luvely hak:yons dive into the main,

Then show far ofl'their sbining plumes again,



geous vest.




In the pure fountain of eternal love,
Has eyes indeed; and, viewing all she sees

As meant to indicate a God to man,
Lo! this the land, whence Milton's Muse of fire Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own.
High svar'd to steal from Heaven a seraph's lyre; Learning has borne such fruit in other days
And told the golden ties of wedded love

On all her branches: fiety has found
In sacred Eden's amarantine grore.

Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer
Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews.

Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage!
FROM THE DESCRIPTION OF NIGHT IN THE SAME AU- Sagacious reader of the works of God,

And in his word sagacious. Such 100 thine,

Milton, whose genius had angelic wings, Non then let dreams, of wanton folly born, And fed on manna. And such thine, in whom My senses lead through flowery paths of joy; Our British Themis gloried with just cause, But let the sacred Genius of the night

Immortal Hale! for deep discernment prais'd, Such mystic visions send, as Spencer saw, And sound integrity, not more than fam'd When through bewildering Fancy's magic For sanctity of manners undefiia. maze,


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And thou, with age oppress'd, beset with wrongs, He sings no mortal war:-his strains
And “fall’n on evil days and evil tongues. Describe no hero's amorous pains;
In darkness and with dangers compass'd round," He chants the birth-day of the World,
What stars of joy thy night of anguish crown'd? The conflict of angelic powers,
What breath of vernal airs, or sound of rill, The joys of Eden's peaceful bowers,
Or haunt by Siloa's brook or Sion's hill,

When Aed the infernal host, to thundering Chaos Or light of cherubim, the empyreal throne,

The effulgent car, and inexpressive One?
Alas, not thine the foretaste of thy praise; Yet, as this deathless song he breath'd,
A dull oblivion wrapt thy mighty lays.

He bath'd it with AMiction's tear;
A while thy glory sunk, in dread repose;

And to posterity bequeath'd Then, with fresh vigour, like a giant rose,

The cherish'd hope to Nature dear, And strode sublime, and pass'd, with generous No grateful praise his labours cheer'd, rage,

No beam beneficent appear'd The feeble minions of a puny age.

To penetrate the chilling gloom;

Ah! what avails that Britain now
PRESTON, ESQ. DUBLIN, 1793. With sculptur'd laurel decks his brow,

And hangs the votive verse on his unconscious

tomb ! See! where the British Homer leads

FROM POEMS AND PLAYS BY MRS. The Epic choir of modern days;

WEST, 1799. Blind as the Grecian bard, he speeds

To realms unknown to pagans lays:


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