Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies. 148 15 155 160 It is obvious, that the general texture and sentiment of this line is from the "Winter's Tale," a. iv. s. 5:— Pale primroses That died unmarried, &c. Especially as he had first written "unwedded" for "forsaken," which appears in the edition of 1638. But why does the primrose die unmarried? Not because it blooms and decays before the appearance of other flowers; as in a state of solitude, and without society. The true reason is, because it grows in the shade, uncherished or unseen by the sun, which was supposed to be in love with some sorts of flowers.-T. WARTON. • Ay me! Here Mr. Dunster observes, the burst of grief is infinitely beautiful, when properly connected with what precedes it, and to which it refers.-TODD. Monstrous world. The sea, the world of monsters. monstra natantia." Virgil, "En.” vi. pontus."-T. WARTON. Horace, "Od." 1. iii. 18:-"Qui siccis occulis 729 :—“ Quæ marmoreo fert monstra sub æquore u Moist vows. Our vows accompanied with tears. As if he had said "vota lacrymosa." But there may be a quaint allusion to the water.-T. WARTON. Bellerus old. No such name occurs in the catalogue of the Cornish giants: but the poet coined it from Bellerium. Bellerus appears in the edition 1638: but at first he had written Corineus, a giant who came into Britain with Brute, and was made lord of Cornwall. Hence Ptolemy, I suppose, calls a promontory near the Land's End, perhaps St. Michael's Mount, "Ocrinium :" from whom also came our author's "Corineida Loxo," Mans. v. 46. Milton, who delighted to trace the old fabulous story of Brutus, relates, that to Corineus Cornwall fell by lot, "the rather by him liked, for that the hugest giants in rocks and caves were said to lurk there still; which kind of monsters to deal with was his old exercise."-"Hist. Eng." i. 6. On the south-western shores of Cornwall, I saw a most stupendous pile of rock-work, stretching with immense ragged cliffs and shapeless precipices far into the sea: one of the topmost of these cliffs, hanging over the rest, the people informed me was called the "Giant's Chair." Near it is a cavern called in Cornish the "Cave with the voice."-T. WARTON. w Where the great vision of the guarded mount, &c. That part of the coast of Cornwall called the "Land's End," with its neighbourhood, is here intended, in which is the promontory of Bellerium, so named from Bellerus, a¦ Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold; Look homeward, angel, now; and melt with ruth: Cornish giant: and we are told by Camden, that this is the only part of our island that looks directly towards Spain. But what is the meaning of "The great vision of the guarded mount?" and of the line immediately following, "Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth?" I flatter myself I have discovered Milton's original and leading idea. Not far from the Land's End in Cornwall, is a most romantic projection of rock, called St. Michael's Mount, into a harbour called Mount's-bay: it gradually rises from a broad basis into a very steep and narrow, but craggy elevation: towards the sea, the declivity is almost perpendicular: at low water it is accessible by land; and not many years ago, it was entirely joined with the present shore, between which and the mount. there is a rock called Chapel-rock. Tradition, or rather superstition, reports, that it was anciently connected by a large tract of land, full of churches, with the isles of Sicily. On the summit of St. Michael's Mount a monastery was founded before the time of Edward the Confessor, now a seat of Sir John St. Aubyn. The church, refectory, and many of the apartments, still remain: with this monastery was incorporated a strong fortress, regularly garrisoned: and in a patent of Henry IV., dated 1403, the monastery itself, which was ordered to be repaired, is styled Fortalitum. A stone lantern, in one of the angles of the tower of the church, is called St. Michael's Chair. There is still a tradition, that a vision of St. Michael, seated on this crag, or St. Michael's Chair, appeared to some hermits; and that this circumstance occasioned the foundation of the monastery dedicated to St. Michael: and hence this place was long renowned for its sanctity, and the object of frequent pilgrimages. Nor should it be forgot, that this monastery was a cell to another on a St. Michael's Mount in Normandy, where also was a vision of St. Michael. But to apply what has been said to Milton: this great vision is the famous apparition of St. Michael, whom he with much sublimity of imagination supposes to be still throned on this lofty crag of St. Michael's Mount in Cornwall, looking towards the Spanish coast. The "guarded mount" on which this great vision appeared, is simply the fortified mount, implying the fortress above mentioned. With the sense and meaning of the line in question, is immediately connected that of the third line next following, which here I now for the first time exhibit properly pointed: Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth. Here is an apostrophe to the angel Michael, whom we have just seen seated on the guarded mount:-"O angel, look no longer seaward to Namancos and Bayona's hold: rather turn your eyes to another object: look homeward or landward: look towards your own coast now, and view with pity the corpse of the shipwrecked Lycidas floating thither." Thyer seems to suppose that the meaning of this last line is,-"You, O Lycidas, now an angel, look down from heaven," &c. But how can this be said to "look homeward?" And why is the shipwrecked person to "melt with ruth?" That meaning is certainly much helped by placing a full-point after "surmise," v. 153: but a semicolon there, as we have seen, is the point of the first edition: and to show how greatly such a punctuation ascertains or illustrates our present interpretation, I will take the paragraph a few lines higher, with a short analysis :-"Let every flower be strewed on the hearse where Lycidas lies, so to flatter ourselves for a moment with the notion that his corpse is present; and this (ah me!) while the seas are wafting it here and there, whether beyond the Hebrides, or near the shores of Cornwall," &c.-T. WARTON. * Namancos. I once thought that this name was designed for the celebrated Numantia, and that Milton had adopted the spelling from some romance. In the Monthly Magazine for June 1800, it is observed that "Namancos" must have been intended for the ancient Numantia near Tarragona, on the coast of Catalonia, and that Milton has given a Spanish termination to the word. The observer adds, "I am aware that this place was on the opposite side to Bayona; but let it be remembered, that they are no common eyes which look upon the scene; that they are no less than those of an archangel." Mr. Dunster, noticing the preceding criticism, observes, that "Milton scarcely meant to make his archangel look two ways at once. "Acceding," he says, "to Namancos being the ancient Numantia, I shall not hesitate to consider Bayona's hold' as the French Bayonne with its citadel, a very strong fortress. To this, Mount's-bay, or the guarded mount, looks I believe more directly than to the Spanish Bayona; and the line Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more; Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor: 165 So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves; With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, 175 180 185 of vision directed to it would pass at no great distance from that part of the Spanish coast, which lies nearest to the site of the ancient Numantia.” It will however appear that the ancient Numantia, and the French Bayonne, were not the present objects of Milton's consideration. I have been directed by a literary friend to Mercator's "Atlas," edit. fol. Amst. 1623, and again in 1636; and in the map of Galicia, near the point Cape Finisterre, the desired place occurs thus written, "Numancos T." In this map the castle of Bayona makes a very conspicuous figure. Milton most probably recollected this geographical description of the Spanish province.-TODD. y Weep no more, &c. Milton, in this sudden and beautiful transition from the gloomy and mournful strain into that of hope and comfort, imitates Spenser in his eleventh Eclogue, where, bewailing the death of some maiden of great blood in terms of the utmost grief and dejection, he breaks out all at once in the same manner.-THYER. z Through the dear might, &c. Of Him, over whom the waves of the sea had no power. It is a designation of our Saviour, by a miracle which bears an immediate reference to the subject of the poem. -T. WARTON. a In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. Even here, after Lycidas is received into heaven, Milton does not make him an angel: he makes him, indeed, a being of a higher order, the Genius of the shore, as at v. 183. If the poet, in finally disclosing this great change of circumstances, and in this prolix and solemn description of his friend's new situation in the realms of bliss after so disastrous a death, had exalted him into an angel, he would not have forestalled that idea, according to Thyer's interpretation, at v. 163.-T. WARTON. b In solemn troops, and sweet societies. Milton's angelic system, containing many whimsical notions of the associations and subordinations of these sons of light, is to be seen at large in Thomas Aquinas and Peter Lombard but it was not yet worn out in the common theology of his own times. The same system, which afforded so commodious a machinery for modern Christian poetry, is frequent in the Italian poets.-T. WARTON. : And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. From Scripture: Isaiah, xxv. 8. Rev. vii. 17.-Todd. And shalt be good, &c. The same compliment that Virgil pays to his Daphnis, "Ecl." v. 64, Deus, Deus ille, Menalca! Sis bonus, O, felixque tuis! &c.-THYER. Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue: e The still morn went out with sandals gray, &c. 194 "The gray dawn,”,"-" Par. Lost," b. vii. 373. "Still," because all is silent at daybreak. But though he began to sing at daybreak, he was so eager, so intent on his song, that he continued till the evening.-T. WARTON. He touched the tender stops of various quills. Some readers are here puzzled with the idea of such stops as belong to the organ. By "stops" he here literally means what we now call the holes of the flute or any species of pipe. He mentions the stops of an organ, but in another manner, in "Par. Lost," b. xi. 561. See also b. vii. 596.-T. WARTON. With eager thought warbling his Dorick lay. This is a Doric lay, because Theocritus and Moschus had respectively written a bucolic on the deaths of Daphnis and Bion: and the name of "Lycidas," now first imported into English pastoral, was adopted, not from Virgil, but from Theocritus, "Idyll." vii. 27. Mr. Warton is mistaken in asserting that the name of "Lycidas" was first imported into English pastoral by Milton: for Lisle, in his "Pastorall Dedication to the King" of his translation of "Du Bartas," 1625, 4to, says, My former shepheard's song deuised was h To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. So Ph. Fletcher, "Purp. Isl." c. vi. st. 77, edit. 1633. "To-morrow shall ye feast in pastures new."-T. WARTON. I will conclude my remarks on this poem with the just observation of Mr. Thyer :"The particular beauties of this charming pastoral are too striking to need much descanting upon; but what gives the greatest grace to the whole, is that natural and agreeable wildness and irregularity which run quite through it, than which nothing could be better suited to express the warm affection which Milton had for his friend, and the extreme grief he was in for the loss of him. Grief is eloquent, but not formal.” -NEWTON. I see no extraordinary wildness and irregularity, according to Dr. Newton [Mr. Thyer], in the conduct of this little poem. It is true, there is a very original air in it, although it be full of classical imitations: but this, I think, is owing, not to any disorder in the plan, nor entirely to the vigour and lustre of the expression; but, in a good degree, to the looseness and variety of the metre. Milton's ear was a good second to his imagination.-HURD. Addison says, that he who desires to know whether he has a true taste for history or not, should consider whether he is pleased with Livy's manner of telling a story; so, perhaps it may be said, that he who wishes to know whether he has a true taste for poetry or not, should consider whether he is highly delighted or not with the perusal of Milton's "Lycidas." If I might venture to place Milton's works, according to their degrees of poetic excellence, it should be perhaps in the following order: Paradise Lost, Comus, Samson Agonistes, Lycidas, L'Allegro, Il Penseroso. The last three are in such an exquisite strain, says Fenton, that though he had left no other monuments of his genius behind him, his name had been immortal.-Jos. WARTON. Of "Lycidas," the diction is harsh, the rhymes uncertain, and the numbers unpleasing: what beauty there is, we must therefore seek in the sentiments and images. It is not to be considered as the effusion of real passion; for passion runs not after remote allusions and obscure opinions: passion plucks no berries from the myrtle and ivy, nor calls upon Arethuse and Mincius, nor tells of "rough Satyrs" and "Fauns with cloven heel." Where there is leisure for fiction there is little grief. In this poem there is no nature, for there is nothing new: its form is that of a pastoral, easy, vulgar, and therefore disgusting; whatever images it can supply are long ago exhausted; and its inherent improbability always forces dissatisfaction on the mind. When Cowley tells of Harvey, that they studied together, it is easy to suppose how much he must miss the companion of his labours, and the partner of his discoveries; but what image of tenderness can be excited by these lines? We drove afield, and both together heard We know that they never drove afield, and that they had no flocks to batten; and though it be allowed that the representation may be allegorical, the true meaning is so uncertain and remote, that it is never sought because it cannot be known when it is found. Among the flocks, and copses, and flowers, appear the heathen deities; Jove and Phoebus, Neptune and Eolus, with a long train of mythological imagery, such as a college easily supplies. Nothing can less display knowledge, or less exercise invention, than to tell how a shepherd has lost his companion, and must now feed his flocks alone, without any judge of his skill in piping! and how one god asks another what is become of Lycidas, and how neither god can tell. He, who thus grieves, will excite no sympathy; he who thus praises, will confer no honour. This poem has yet a grosser fault. With these trifling actions are mingled the most awful and sacred truths, such as ought never to be polluted with such irreverend combinations. The shepherd likewise is now a feeder of sheep, and afterwards an ecclesiastical pastor, a superintendent of a Christian flock. Such equivocations are always unskilful; but here they are indecent, and at least approach to impiety; of which, however, I believe the writer not to have been conscious. Such is the power of reputation justly acquired, that its blaze drives away the eye from nice examination. Surely no man could have fancied that he read "Lycidas" with pleasure had he not known its author. -JOHNSON. Dr. Johnson observes, that "Lycidas" is filled with the heathen deities; and a long train of mythological imagery, such as a college easily supplies; but it is such also, as even the court itself could now have easily supplied. The public diversions, and books of all sorts, and from all sorts of writers, more especially compositions in poetry, were at this time overrun with classical pedantries: but what writer, of the same period, has made these obsolete fictions the vehicle of so much fancy and poetical description? How beautifully has he applied this sort of allusion to the druidical rocks of Denbighshire, to Mona, and the fabulous banks of Deva! It is objected, that its pastoral form is disgusting; but this was the age of pastoral: and yet "Lycidas" has but little of the bucolic cant, now so fashionable. The satyrs and fauns are but just mentioned. If any trite rural topics occur, how are they heightened! Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd We drove afield, and both together heard Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night. Here the daybreak is descried by the faint appearance of the upland lawns under the first gleams of light; the sunset by the buzzing of the chaffer; and the night sheds her fresh dews on their flocks. We cannot blame pastoral imagery, and pastoral allegory, which carry with them so much natural painting. In this piece there is perhaps more poetry than sorrow: but let us read it for its poetry. It is true, that passion plucks no berries from the myrtle and ivy, nor calls upon Arethuse and Mincius, nor tells of "rough Satyrs with cloven heel:" but poetry does this; and in the hands of Milton does it with a peculiar and irresistible charm. Subordinate poets exercise no invention, when they tell how a shepherd has lost his companion, and must feed his flocks alone, without any judge of his skill in piping: but Milton dignifies and adorns these common artificial incidents with unexpected touches of picturesque beauty, with the graces of sentiment, and with the novelties of original genius. It is objected "here is no art, for there is nothing new." To say nothing that there may be art without novelty, as well as novelty without art, I must reply that this objection will vanish, if we consider the imagery which Milton has raised from local circumstances. Not to repeat the use he has made of the mountains of Wales, the Isle of Man, and the river Dee, near which Lycidas was shipwrecked; let us recollect the introduction of the romantic superstition of St. Michael's Mount in Cornwall, which overlooks the Irish seas, the fatal scene of his friend's disaster. But the poetry is not always uncornected with passion. The poet lavishly describes an ancient sepulchral rite, but it is made preparatory to a stroke of tenderness: he calls for a variety of flowers to decorate his friend's hearse, supposing that his body |