ENGLAND. JOHN MILTON. 1608-1674. THE seventeenth century, an epoch momentous in our national history, is noteworthy also from a literary point of view, as having, in its earlier decades, witnessed the culmination of the Elizabethan, and before its close, the inauguration of the so-called Augustine, age, while one great poet, John Milton, may justly be regarded as its poetical representative. At the time of Shakespeare's death, Milton was eight years old: consequently upon the publication of the folio edition of the Shakespearian dramas in 1623, the young poet had entered upon his fifteenth year. How profound was the impression produced upon his mind by the dramas of the great master-singer, is attested by "The Epitaph," written in his twenty-second year, on the admirable dramatic poet, W. Shakespeare.' 66 Deep interest, moreover, attaches to this poem as one of the first among the numerous tributes paid by one poet to the memory of a brother-bard, of which our literature offers so many illustrious examples. "What needs my Shakespeare, for his honour'd bones, Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou, in our wonder and astonishment, Hast built thyself a live-long monument." Upon the remarkable group of seventeenth century poets, Milton's contemporaries, including Herrick, Carew, Crashaw, George Herbert, Vaughan, and many others, I must not dwell. While enriching our literature with a few exquisite lyrics, together with occasional lines of great beauty, their works, excepting perhaps those of George Herbert, whose sacred poems have secured for him a place in popular favour, are comparatively little read. Milton, on the contrary, who, as patriot, republican, and puritan, was intimately associated with the troublous times in which his lot was cast, in his poetical character rose above his contemporaries, and bequeathing to the world a treasure for all time, has realized his fondly cherished dream, "that he might perhaps leave something so written to after-time, as they should not willingly let die." Nevertheless, for their true appreciation, the poems of Milton require to be studied in connection with the political history of the period, the temper of which offers a striking contrast to that of the previous century. The heart of England, during the latter half of the sixteenth century, had been, as already pointed out, possessed by a spirit of joyous exultation, caused in part by its twofold emancipation, from the bondage of Rome, and from the threatened invasion of Spain; it was, moreover, animated by sentiments of passionate loyalty to the Virgin Queen, while as yet, no question had been raised as to the limitation of the royal prerogative. During this brief respite from internal discord, the mind of the nation became, as it were, conscious of its strength, and among a host of lesser luminaries, hailed, as its chief glory, "the miracle of Stratford." With the death of Elizabeth a change came over the scene; the new king, by his ostentatious assumption of sovereignty, beyond the control of law, alike in civil and ecclesiastical affairs, ran counter to the growing impatience of despotic rule, which, ere long, was to find such eloquent expression through the voice of Sir John Eliot and his political compeers. The policy of Charles I. was as completely opposed to the national will as had been that of his predecessor. Coming events cast their shadows before them, and amid the stern realities of actual life, men lost their relish for adventure and romance. Hampden and Pym became the popular heroes, men of a very different type from Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Walter Raleigh, the favourites of the Elizabethan age. The political storm, the first muttering of which had been heard two centuries before, when Wyclif grappled with Sacerdotalism, and when the peasants rose against their feudal lords, now burst forth with irrepressible fury, ending, after the varied vicissitudes of the Civil War, with the temporary triumph of the Republic and of Puritanism. Into that struggle Milton threw himself with passionate intensity. "I resolved," he says, "though then meditating other matters, to transfer to this struggle all my genius, and all the strength of my industry." His enthusiasm for the cause of freedom, civil and religious, may be estimated by the greatness of the sacrifices which be offered at her shrine. Having from early manhood regarded poetry as his vocation, all his efforts were directed to qualify himself for what he considered his heaven-appointed mission; accordingly, having in his twenty-first year, produced his "Hymn on the Nativity," thus giving promise of his future greatness, he retired, in his twenty-fourth year, to his beloved seclusion at Horton, and during his six years residence there, he composed "L'Allegro," "Il Penseroso," "Arcades," "Comus," and "Lycidas." So far, however, from considering his poetic equipment as complete, in a letter addressed to his friend, Charles Diodate, after leaving Horton he writes as follows: 66 But what am I doing? I am pluming my wings and preparing to fly: but my Pegasus has not yet feathers enough to bear it aloft." Accordingly, with a view of completing his education, he embarked upon a continental tour. A scholar, saturated with classic lore, he could not, without a pang, have relinquished the prospect of visiting Athens, and other scenes of classical celebrity. Hearing, however, during his travels, of the troubled state of affairs in England, he renounced his intention of visiting Greece, and turned his face homeward. "I considered it dishonourable," he says, "to be enjoying myself abroad, while my countrymen were striking a blow for freedom at home." His second sacrifice made in the cause of liberty, was an instance of still greater self-denial. On the convocation of the long Parliament in 1640, the year after his return to England, relinquishing for a time his intention of writing a great poem, he devoted himself to the publication of his controversial pamphlets, and pleaded the cause of civil and religious freedom through the medium of prose," a manner of writing," as he himself tells us, wherein, knowing myself inferior to myself, led by the genial power of nature to another task, I have the use, as I may account, but of my left hand." 66 His determination, on his return from the Continent, to devote his energies to the composition of a great poem, his preparatory labours being now completed, "appears from the list of subjects, ninety-nine in number, including Paradise Lost,' drawn up by him, at this period, and which may be seen in MS. in the Library at Trinity College, Cambridge." With what reluctance he abandoned his fondly cherished dream, appears from the following noble passage. "I trust hereby to make it manifest with what small willingness I endure to interrupt the pursuit of no less hopes than these, and leave a calm and pleasing solitariness, fed with cheerful and confident thoughts, to embark in a troubled sea of noises and harsh disputes, put from beholding the bright countenance of truth in the still air of delightful studies. . . "But were it the meanest under service, if God, by his secretary conscience, enjoined it, it were sad for me if I were to draw back." Still more costly was his third great sacrifice, made in the interest of the Commonwealth. A vindication of Charles I. having appeared from the pen of Salmasius, Milton, who in 1649 became Latin secretary to the Commonwealth, was ordered by the council, "to prepare something in reply." He had been warned by his physicians that the effort would irreparably cost him his sight. In spite of this warning, with heroic self-sacrifice he undertook the task. "My resolution," he writes, "was unshaken, though the alternative was either the loss of my sight, or the desertion of my duty. I would not have listened to the voice of Esculapius himself from the shrine of Epidaurus, in preference to the suggestions of the heavenly monitor within my breast." Milton reflected, in its gradual development, the highest consciousness of Puritan England in the seventeenth century. Its passionate love of civil freedom; its severe morality; its recognition of the indissoluble relation of the soul to God; its abhorrence of episcopal tyranny, and repudiation of secular authority in spiritual concerns; all these found a vehement advocate in him. How completely Milton's genius was in harmony with the grave and earnest spirit of the age appears even in his earlier poems, "Comus," and "Lycidas,' 'Lycidas," composed in the sweet retirement of Horton. "Comus" is justly regarded as one of the most perfect poems in the English language. Nothing can exceed the exquisite beauty, not only of the whole, but also of the individual parts; "it is impossible," to quote the words of Mr. George Saintsbury, "to single out passages, for the whole is golden." The versification is perfect, while the fundamental idea embodied in the poem is that which lies at the very root of Puritanism, namely, the inveterate struggle between right and wrong, between good and evil, which subsequently found such sublime expression in "Paradise Lost." While giving expression to the elevation of sentiment, and intense moral earnestness which are among the most striking characteristics of Puritanism, this charm |