imagination. After all this, the result at which we should arrive would not, in our opinion, detract from the just fame of Milton. We might, perhaps, in forming a more enlightened estimation of his real merits, accord to his great poem less of that admiration which, even among the learned, it has received, rather as by prescription than by impartial and severe examination-admiration bestowed chiefly upon its great invention-the sublimity of imagination which made choice of such a great epic subject—and the original genius which conceived, and invested with such moral grandeur, the character of Satan-bestowed also, without stint or the slightest suspicion of the pre-existence of similar ideas and language, upon various excellences in the structure, and beauties in the delineation of its subordinate parts. But we would not, on this account, dispute its claim to be considered among the noblest productions of the human mind,-a great, wonderful, and still an original work of genius. On the contrary, it is on this very account that we the more admire it as a work of art, and learn to appreciate the full extent the vastness of Milton's genius as an epic poet. Tasso, in his critical discourses, delivers a rule by which the originality of epic poets is to be judged :

"Nuovo sará il poema, in cui nuova sara la testura de' nodi, nuove le solutione, nuovi gli episodi, che per entro vi sono traposti, quantunque la materia fosse notissima, e dagli altri prima trattata; perche la novita del poema si considera piutosto alla forma che alla materia."

Milton, in the beautiful language of Dr. Channing,

"Had not learned the superficial doctrine of a later day, that poetry flourishes most in an uncultivated soil, and that imagination shapes its brightest visions from the mists of a superstitious age; and he had no dread of accumulating knowledge, lest it should oppress and smother his genius. He was conscious of that within him which could quicken all knowledge, and wield it with ease and might; which could give freshness to old truths, and harmony to discordant thoughts; which could bind together, by living ties and mysterious affinities, the most remote discoveries, and rear fabrics of glory and beauty from the rude materials which other minds had collected."

In the words of another elegant native writer and scholar,

"His poetry is addressed to the learned. It bears upon every line of it the impress of vast erudition and consummate art. It is true, he is the greatest master of the sublime that any language has to boast

of-greater than Shakspeare-greater than Dante-greater than Homer. But it requires study and reflection, objects of comparison, and a competent familiarity with literature, to perceive the amazing magnitude of this glorious orb." *

The imagination-the poetic faculty-without something solid to support it-without nourishing materials to select from and assimilate, like a plant stimulated by the fervor of the sun, but suspended and rootless in a barren soil, may be promising in its precocity, but can bear no excellent or notable fruits. "The genius of any single man," observes Lord Bacon, "can no more equal learning, than a private purse hold way with the exchequer." We prefer the more elevated and comprehensive views of Dr. Channing in relation to poetry, as much more in conformity with the practical example of Milton, and encouraging to our intellectual progress, than those of Mr. Macaulay in his essay on Milton, which lean to the materialism of art, and appear to us narrow, disheartening, and not of a piece with the philosophy of his otherwise just and elegant critique. The former, agreeing with Milton's estimate of poetry, and of poetical genius as "the most transcendent of all God's gifts of intellect," has asserted and depicted in glowing words the divine and everlasting empire of poetry. We quote one passage:

"In an intellectual nature, framed for progress and for higher modes of being, there must be creative energies, powers of original and ever-growing thought; and poetry is the form in which these energies are chiefly manifested. It is the glorious prerogative of this art, that it 'makes all things new' for the gratification of a divine instinct. It indeed finds its elements in what it actually sees and experiences, in the worlds of matter and mind, but it combines and blends these into new forms and according to new affinities; breaks down, if we may so say, the distinctions and bounds of nature; imparts to material objects life, and sentiment, and emotion, and invests the mind with the powers and splendors of the outward creation; describes the surrounding universe in the colours which the passions throw over it, and depicts the soul in those modes of repose or agitation, of tenderness or sublime emotion, which manifest its thirst for a more powerful and joyful existence."

This power of poetry to refine our views of life and happiness, is, in his opinion, more and more needed as society

* Southern Review, volume 5th. Article on Lord Byron's character and writings.

+ De Augmentis Scientiarum.

+ Channing's Discourses, p. 7.

advances. Mr. Macaulay, on the other hand, thinks that, as civilization advances, poetry almost necessarily declines:

"Therefore, though we admire those great works of imagination which have appeared in dark ages, we do not admire them the more because they have appeared in dark ages. On the contrary, we hold that the most wonderful and splendid proof of genius, is a great poem produced in a civilized age. We cannot understand why those who believe in that most orthodox article of literary faith, that the earliest poets are generally the best, should wonder at the rule as if it were the exception. Surely, the uniformity of the phenomenon indicates a corresponding uniformity in the cause. The fact is, that common observers reason from the progress of the experimental sciences to that of the imitative arts." *

In our more humble judgment, the laws of progress towards perfection in both, do not essentially differ: nor do we even concede that "language, the machine of the poet, is best fitted for his purpose in its rudest state." As an instrument, it is certainly capable of improvement like the instruments of the mathematician, the sculptor, or painter; and adapts itself to new forms of thought, sentiment and social condition; as fitting now as ever, to convey the poet's sacred frenzy to the souls of men, and lend impressive tones to the delicious-murmurs of his dreams. We may not be orthodox; but we cannot bring ourselves to believe that the earliest poets are the best. We conceive that even Homer would not have been the poet he was, had he not found a language rich and refined enough to express himself in, and fables, incidents, etc., already invented to his hands,-had he not profited by the scattered productions, the first experimental efforts of the elder poets who no doubt existed. And if what chiefly characterizes poetry is passion, we do not think Byron will yield the palm to any of his predecessors. As long as ideal beauty, sentiment, feeling, exist as components of humanity, so long will the genius of poetry, still young and fresh, spring anew, like the Phoenix from the fragrant volumes which appear to constitute its funeral pyre, and infuse life and action into the dormant principles and sluggish motions of the coming new state of things; shedding the light of its inspiration upon the moral darkness around, or lending to the new demands of intellect the inexhaustible allurements of fiction, accompanied with the varied harmony of numbers.

* Macaulay's Miscellaneous Writings. Milton-p. 20.

"Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge-it is immortal as the heart of man. If the labours of men of science should ever create any material revolution, direct or indirect, in our condition and in the impressions which we habitually receive, the poet will sleep then no more than at present, but he will be ready to follow the steps of the man of science, not only in those general indirect effects, but he will be at his side, carrying sensation into the midst of the objects of the science itself. The remotest discoveries of the chemist, the botanist, or mineralogist, will be as proper objects of the poet's art as any upon which it can be employed. If the time should ever come when those things shall be familiar to us, and the relations under which they are contemplated by the followers of these respective sciences, shall be manifestly and palpably material to us as enjoying and suf fering beings-if the time should ever come when what is now called science, thus familiarized to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the poet will lend his divine spirit to aid the transfiguration, and will welcome the being thus produced as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man." *

When Mr. Macaulay tells us, that the most striking characteristic of the poetry of Milton is the extreme remoteness of the associations, by means of which it acts on the reader, that its effect is produced, not so much by what it expresses, as by what it suggests,-that he electrifies the mind through conductors,-that he sketches, and leaves others to fill up the outline,-strikes the key-note, and expects his hearer to make out the melody;—and, in speaking of the Allegro and the Penseroso, that "these poems differ from others, as ottar of roses differs from ordinary rose water, the close-packed essence from the thin diluted mixture. They are, indeed, not so much poems, as collections of hints, from each of which the reader is to make out a poem for himself," etc.,--it is strange that it did not strike him that it was, most probably, to that very learning which he considers a disadvantage to poetical genius, that Milton owed this excellence. Milton, under this view, appears to us to hold the place in poetry that Lord Bacon does in philosophy. The poctry of Milton shadows forth the forms of the beautiful, and stimulates the imagination to fresh discoveries, as the philosophy of Bacon dives into the depths of nature, and sketches the outlines of the sciences and teaches the road to new truths. The one may be said, as well as the other, to have left nothing to the idle and hasty vagaries of the imagination; but to have endeavored at real fruits through an intimate and steady acquaintance with the facts

* Wordsworth's Poetical Works. Appendix 2. Observations, etc. VOL. VI.-NO. 11.

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and collected experience of the beautiful and true in nature and art, and through the process of elaborate induction; while both were devoutly inspired with a lofty sense of the nobleness of their respective aims, and animated forwards by a holy enthusiasm to the achievement of a great work. For thus Milton proposed to himself a work "not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite, nor to be obtained by the invocation of dame Memory and her siren daughters, but by devout prayer to that eternal Spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his Seraphim, with the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases."

It is not good versification alone which constitutes poetry in its highest acceptation; yet Milton's power lies very much in the force, beauty and simplicity of expression: by a judicious selection and location of words, by the spirit and harmony of his numbers, he could invest the same thoughts which, elsewhere tamely expressed, or wrapped up in the idiom of another language, would not strike us, with a vigorous freshness, a charm, and a sublimity, that they overpower us like an incantation. Even those passages, it has been remarked, which are little more than mere muster rolls of names, haunt the memory-the very names are charmed. Nor, as Dr. Channing observes, is this power over language to be ascribed to Milton's musical ear. believe, with him, that it belongs to the soul. We speak not of the faculty or art of mere versification,--the simple disposition of words into smooth measures or rhythm, which gives pleasure to the ear but nothing beyond, and which belongs to the poetaster and rhymester; but of a power of the intellect--a native gift of genius-that sublimity and force of the understanding which perceives at a glance the sympathies and harmonies between the impressions of sense and the conceptions of imagination,--that ardor and fire of the spirit, which infuses into words and periods a warmth. that rouses into life the dormant sensibilities of the soul.

We

We must now conclude our remarks, imperfect as they are. We had more to say on the subject, in connection with the two questions stated in the former portion of this

* Milton's Prose Writings, Vol. 1st, p. 148.