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JOHN MILTON 
 
 AND HIS 
 
 MINOR POEMS 
 
 Their Influence on the XVII, XVIII, 
 
 and XIX Centuries 
 
 in England. 
 
 By 
 
 Mary Stewart Kennedy, 
 
 A.B., Adelphi College, New York State University. 
 
 A. M., Columbia University. 
 
 Pd.D., New York City University. 
 
 Brattleboro, Vt. 
 
 The Vermont Printing Company 
 
 1922 
 

 Copyright, 1922 
 Mary Stewart Kennkdy 
 
 DEC -I rj22 
 
 ©CI A690735 
 
PART ONE 
 
 l'allegro, il penseroso, 
 comus, arcades, lycidas. 
 
 PART TWO 
 
 DRYDEN, POPE. 
 
 PART THREE 
 
 LATER WRITERS OF XVIII CENTURY 
 
 AND 
 
 SOME OP XIX CENTURY. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Such students as desire further information on 
 the topics treated herein, will find a list of books and 
 authors at the end of the volume. 
 
 This little book would have appeared much earl- 
 ier but for wars and rumors of wars. 
 
 Mary Stewart Kennedy, 
 
 Associate Professor in English, 
 
 Hunter College, Manhattan, 
 New York City, September 1915. 
 
PART I. 
 
 After a sojourn of seven years within the walls 
 of his Alma Mater, Christ's College, Cambridge, 
 John Milton went to reside in his father's house, at 
 Horton in Buckhamshire, near Windsor. He had 
 obtained two degrees from his college and had estab- 
 lished a reputation for great scholarship. Science 
 and mathematics were not far advanced in his time, 
 so he had pursued the classics with delight and 
 profit. In addition to the required Greek and Latin, 
 he had perfected himself in Hebrew, because his 
 own and his father's early idea was, that he should 
 become a clergyman of the Episcopal Church. But 
 his later views and desires, had led him to a life of 
 literary activity, and therefore, he had made much 
 progress in French — the language of courts — and 
 in Italian — the tongue of the most famous writers 
 of his day. 
 
 He had been born in Bread Street, Cheapside, 
 London, in 1608. His father, (also John Milton), 
 son of Richard Milton, yeoman, of Oxfordshire, had 
 been obliged to leave the ancestral home on account 
 of a disagreement with his parents on the score of 
 religion. The parents were of the ancient Roman 
 Catholic faith, and they could not brook the change 
 which their son (John, Senior), made to the newer 
 form — Episcopalianism. 
 
 John, (Senior,) settled in London, and in time se- 
 
6 John Milton 
 
 cured a competence and a reputation as a scrivener 
 — a sort of lawyer — like a notary public. He appears 
 to have been a man of considerable education for 
 the time. We learn that he belonged to reading 
 clubs, and musical societies. He was a performer, 
 of some ability, on some musical instruments, and 
 he composed the scores for several part pieces, 
 which were performed by the musical societies. He 
 drew around him men of intelligence and learning, 
 in the literary and musical world of his circle. He 
 was intensely anxious about the education of his 
 boy John. The latter has referred many times to 
 the father's solicitude in the matter. 
 
 The region of Cheapside, was in that day, almost 
 a country village — separated by fields and woods 
 from the nucleus of London proper. 
 
 The father, John Milton, inherited the love of 
 country life, which must necessarily have been his, 
 as the descendant of a long line of sturdy English 
 yeomen. 
 
 The mother, Sarah Jeffreys, came of a similar 
 family, originally from Essex. 
 
 The boy, (John the poet), had the woods and 
 fields about his home for his ranging ground in his 
 leisure hours, until the age of seventeen, and from 
 that time until his graduation, the vicinity of the 
 college, on the banks of the Cam, furnished its 
 scenery for his observation. Hence it is no wonder 
 that in his leisurely composition at Horton — to 
 which the family had removed — we find rural 
 scenes depicted, with the pen of one accustomed to 
 observe nature, one who loved that which he de- 
 scribed. 
 
John Milton 7 
 
 In L' Allegro, the pleasures of the cheerful man 
 are set forth, as of one determined to obtain from 
 life all the innocent enjoyment she had to offer. 
 
 To Melancholy he virtually says "Aroint thee, 
 witch, we'll none of thee." The unhappy pedigree 
 of Melancholy is set forth, — 
 
 "Born in darkest cave forlorn." The nymph of 
 Mirth is invoked, and bid to bring with her all cheer- 
 ful attributes, and among others, 
 
 "Sport, that wrinkled care derides. 
 And Laughter holding both his sides," — 
 but especially, 
 
 "The mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty," 
 and he entreats permission to be of the charming 
 company. 
 
 Then follows the list of country sounds and sights 
 which they would all enjoy, ending with the 
 enumeration of certain rural occupations, pleasures, 
 and superstitions. 
 
 After this, city enjoyments are recalled, and the 
 knightly tournament, and the bright-eyed dames 
 who adorn it, are not forgotten. And lastly, the 
 theatre, if 
 
 "Johnson's learned sock be on, — 
 Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, 
 Warble his native wood notes wild." 
 
 Then follow certain lines which prove that his 
 father's son was a true musician, and well he under- 
 stood the movement of musical composition. 
 
8 John Milton 
 
 "Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 
 Married to immortal verse: 
 Such as the meeting soul may pierce, 
 In notes with many a winding bout, 
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out. 
 With wanton heed and giddy cunning, 
 The melting voice through mazes running, 
 Untwisting all the chains that tie 
 The hidden soul of harmony." 
 
 He had many "eating cares" in his later life, and 
 his consolation was always his organ, or some other 
 sweet instrument. 
 
 How close, he here considers, the union should be 
 between music and poetry. Apollo's emblem was 
 the lyre, indicating the inseparable nature of music 
 and poetry. 
 
 How vividly he portrays the voice of the singer, 
 in pursuing the "runs" of a musical composition. 
 We can almost hear the voice singing. 
 
 This delightful passage is really not the keynote 
 of U Allegro. 
 
 The poem is written to set forth the charms which 
 the natural world of field, dale, mountain, and flood, 
 have for the healthy mind that observes them. Such 
 person rises betimes, as did Chaucer of old, and 
 cheerful thoughts and companions attend him. 
 Melancholy and Sorrow flee from before him. The 
 soaring lark, the noisy cock, the hounds and horns, 
 the rising sun, the plowman, the milkmaid, the 
 mower, the shepherd, the sheep — these belongings 
 of daily life, gave him pleasure to observe. Then, 
 too, the general view of the landscape with its lights 
 
John Milton 9 
 
 and shades, the clouds above, the daisies in the 
 grassy meads, the little streams, the wide rivers, 
 all affect him pleasantly. Later, the noonday labor- 
 ers with their earnest industry, the holiday enjoy- 
 ments of the peasantry, and their little harmless 
 superstitions, all receive attention. 
 
 This simple life he portrays through a whole day. 
 When the day ends he turns to record the pleasures 
 of city life, more briefly, but not less effectively. 
 
 The tournament, the marriage feast, the "masque 
 and antique pageantry," 
 
 "Such sights as youthful poets dream. 
 On summer eve, by haunted stream," — 
 and such a city day ends with a visit to the "well-trod 
 stage," where the best plays are given. 
 
 This poem is written in octo-syllabic lines, mainly 
 in trochaic feet, to show the light tripping quality 
 of the rhythm, appropriate to the cheerful theme. It 
 describes nature as nature would appeal to, and af- 
 fect, a young and joyous mind. Its tone is pure, 
 healthy, sane, the work of one who loved, who sym- 
 pathized with, who appreciated, and who was 
 happily affected by natural objects. 
 
 There was another side to the poet's nature be- 
 sides the merely objective. , 
 
 He composed a companion piece — II Penseroso — 
 the pensive man, the thoughtful man, the man of in- 
 ward, subjective enjoyment. It may be that his 
 Puritan scruples made him feel that L' Allegro was 
 too lively, too frivolous, and he wished to justify 
 himself to himself, (or to any possible later readers, 
 for these poems did not see the light of publication 
 
10 John Milton 
 
 for several years), by singing of the other side of 
 his thoughts. 
 
 This second poem, perhaps, much better expressed 
 the real nature of the writer, with his likes and dis- 
 likes in regard to those matters which would be of 
 more lasting interest to his refined and scholarly 
 temperament. 
 
 The contrast between the opening invocations of 
 these companion poems is quite marked. The in- 
 troduction in each case is filled with much of clas- 
 sical allusion. The metaphors and personifications 
 are very numerous. We may say, that the poems, as 
 wholes, have a romantic tendency. The introduc- 
 tions are highly classic. 
 
 U Allegro says, 
 "Hence loathed Melancholy" 
 but in II Penseroso, we find, 
 
 "Hence vain deluding Joys," 
 and later, 
 
 "Hail divinest Melancholy," 
 and farther on, 
 
 "Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure. 
 Sober, steadfast, and demure, etc." 
 
 II Penseroso is a poem of intellectual joys, as 
 V Allegro is one of purely sensous delights. It is 
 pitched in a higher key, and carried on in a finer 
 strain. 
 
 Melancholy's "looks commercing with the skies," 
 and her "rapt soul sitting" in her "eyes," tell of lof- 
 tier things than those of mirth that was adjured to 
 "Trip it on the light fantastic toe." 
 
John Milton 11 
 
 More of literature, more of philosophy, until at 
 last instead of "Lydian airs," *'the full-voiced choir 
 below" would "dissolve" him "into ecstasies," and 
 "bring all heaven before" his "eyes." And, finally, 
 "old experience" would "lead him to prophetic 
 strain." 
 
 U Allegro, was written about the pleasures of the 
 day; II Penseroso is about the occupations of a 
 thoughtful man in the calm night. The two poems 
 cover the period of the twenty-four hours. Walking 
 here in the darkness of evening, to hear if the night- 
 ingale will deign to sing a song, 
 
 "Soothing the rugged brow of night," the poet 
 utters a charming invocation to the pleasing song- 
 stress. 
 
 "Sweet bird that shun'st the noise of folly, 
 Most musical, most melancholy. 
 Thee, chantress, oft the woods among, 
 I woo, to hear thy evensong." 
 And, "missing" what he sought, "the wandering 
 moon" attracts his gaze, and then, in the distance, 
 the curfew peals out, lonely and sad, across the re- 
 mote lake. 
 
 When "the air will not permit," in a quiet and 
 "removed place," he passes his time — his light "the 
 gleaming embers," his lonely "contemplation" dis- 
 turbed only by "the cricket on the hearth," or the 
 watchman calling the hours without. 
 
 His chief delight, "at midnight hour," is to "study 
 in some lonely tower," astronomy — "to outwatch the 
 Bear" — or meditate on philosophy — 
 
12 John Milton 
 
 "Inspire 
 The Spirit of Plato, to unfold 
 What worlds, or what vast regions hold 
 The immortal mind, that hath forsook 
 Her mansion in this fleshly nook." 
 
 And then, he bewails the loss of the great poets de- 
 parted from this life, Musaeus, Orpheus, Chaucer, 
 Spenser, Tasso, Ariosto. 
 
 "More is meant than meets the ear," in Milton as 
 well as in Spenser. 
 
 All night long he would be engaged in contempla- 
 tion, or study. 
 
 "Till civil-suited Morn appears," and then, "when 
 the Sun" would "begin to fling, his flowing beams," 
 he would seek to find "arched walks of twilight 
 groves," to be hidden "from day's garish eye," when 
 the hum of the bee and the drowsy murmur of the 
 waters, would 
 
 "Entice the dewy feathered sleep." 
 But ever and ever, this was his desire : 
 "But let my due feet never fail, 
 To walk the studious cloisters pale. 
 And love the high embowered roof, 
 With antique pillars, massy, proof. 
 And storied windows richly dight. 
 Casting a dim religious light. 
 There let the pealing organ blow, 
 To the full voiced choir below. 
 In service high, and anthems clear, 
 As may with sweetness through mine ear. 
 Dissolve me into ecstacies. 
 And bring all heaven before mine eyes." 
 
John Milton 13 
 
 Thus study — contemplation — heavenly music — 
 were to be the occupations of the thoughtful 
 man, in contradistinction to the active outdoor life 
 of the cheerful one — the second supplementing the 
 first — two halves of one whole. 
 
 These lyrics were composed in 1632-33, when 
 young Milton was first at home from college, after 
 obtaining his master's degree. 
 
 In all the Minor Poems, we find a love of nature, 
 and also an aptness in describing natural scenery — 
 a readiness to note its salient points. The human 
 beings connected therewith, and even the lower 
 animals were properly depicted — often with merely 
 a few striking touches. He used pleasing imagery. 
 He was much addicted to iambic and trochaic meas- 
 ures — and he employed blank verse wherever pos- 
 sible. 
 
 In II Penseroso, we are called upon to note, that 
 because the subject is more "thoughtful" the 
 measure is mainly iambic — which gives dignity. It 
 is better in keeping with the stately character of the 
 "pensive nun" — with the solemn contemplation of 
 lofty subjects — with deep meditation on the im- 
 mortality of the soul, and on the ennobling qualities 
 of "heavenly music." 
 
 Both poems are filled with figurative language, 
 especially personifications. Classical lore is every- 
 where apparent. 
 
 Arcades and Comus are in imitation of Greek 
 odes, though in the form of the one act Elizabethian 
 plays called masques. Each is a pastoral drama — 
 
14 John Milton 
 
 and here again Milton's predilection for country 
 sights and sounds is to be observed. 
 
 Let us begin with Comus. When we read these 
 words we cannot give too high praise to the senti- 
 ments. 
 
 "He that has light within his own clear breast, 
 May sit in the center and enjoy bright day; 
 But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts, 
 Benighted walks under the mid-day sun : 
 Himself in his own dungeon." 
 Again, 
 
 "How charming is divine Philosophy; 
 Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose, 
 But musical as is Apollo's lute, 
 
 And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets. 
 Where no crude surfeit reigns." 
 
 This whole poem is Milton himself, set forth on 
 the side of purity, order, and law. The moral is 
 given in the concluding words of the attendant 
 good spirit, embodying the author's inmost beliefs. 
 "Mortals that would follow me, 
 Love virtue: she alone is free. 
 She can teach ye how to climb. 
 Higher than the sphery chime. 
 Or, if Virtue feeble were. 
 Heaven itself would stoop to her." 
 
 In regard to Comus there is but one opinion. In 
 its lofty ideals, it is unsurpassed. As to the class of 
 readers he sought, those whose favor he desired, we 
 may quote the writer's own lines, put into the 
 mouth of the "attendant spirit:" 
 
John Milton 15 
 
 "Yet some there be that by due steps aspire, 
 To lay their just hands on that golden key 
 That opes the palace of eternity. 
 To such my errand is." 
 This poem is the apotheosis of virtue. 
 
 The Faustus of Marlow sought earthly, sensual 
 pleasure — and his Tamhurlaine, universal empire. 
 Comus is based upon another idea ; 
 
 "the crown that Virtue gives 
 
 After this mortal change to her true servants." 
 
 The song to Echo, by the lady lost in the forest, 
 attracts by its melody of diction, and its charming, 
 ideal description. 
 
 "Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph that liv'st unseen, 
 
 Within thy airy shell, 
 
 By slow Meander's margent green, 
 
 And the violet embroidered vale. 
 
 When the love-lorn nightingale. 
 
 Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well, 
 
 Can'st thou not tell me of a gentle pair, 
 
 That likest thy Narcissus are? 
 
 Or, if thou have 
 
 Hid them in some flowerly cave. 
 
 Tell me but where, 
 
 Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere; 
 
 So may'st thou be translated to the skies. 
 
 And give resounding grace to all Heaven's 
 harmonies." 
 The beautiful imagery, in the address to the 
 water nymph, asking aid for the distressed lady 
 held in the power of the evil enchanter, is also very 
 attractive. 
 
IS. John Milton 
 
 "Sabrina fair, 
 
 Listen where thou art sitting, 
 Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave 
 In twisted braids of lilies knitting. 
 The loose train of thy amber dropping hair: 
 Listen for dear honor's sake. 
 Goddess of the silver lake, 
 Listen and save." 
 Sabrina replies, 
 
 "By the rushy fringed bank. 
 
 Where grow the willow and osier dank, 
 
 My sliding chariot stays, 
 
 Thick set with agate, and the azure sheen. 
 
 Of turquoise blue, and emerald green. 
 
 That in the channel stays : 
 
 Whilst from off the waters fleet. 
 
 Thus I set my printless feet. 
 
 O'er the cowslip's velvet head 
 
 That bends not as I tread ; 
 
 Gentle swain, at thy request 
 
 I am here." 
 
 This little poem contains 1023 lines, and was 
 founded on a simple incident about three young 
 children. A little girl and her two older brothers 
 strayed into the woods of their father's demesne, and 
 were unable to find their way home, because of ap- 
 proaching darkness. A shepherd in their father's 
 employ, found the little wanderers, and escorted 
 them home, before their absence was discovered. 
 
 Their father, Earl of Bridgewater, was later ap- 
 pointed by King Charles, to some high office in 
 Wales. His friends and neighbors decided upon 
 
John Milton 17 
 
 giving him a farewell entertainment. A masque 
 was proposed as part of the programme. To Henry 
 Lawes, for his skill in such matters, was entrusted 
 the charge of the necessary music. He induced John 
 Milton, who knew the family, to furnish the words. 
 Milton used the above incident as a foundation for 
 his narrative. 
 
 But — the poet represented the young Egertons 
 as fully grown, lost in a forest inhabited by an evil 
 spirit, unknown to classic antiquity, (namely 
 Comus, son of Bacchus and Circe, a construction of 
 Milton's imagination,) possessed of the bad quali- 
 ties of both the parents. Comus always had a riot- 
 ous crew of followers. 
 
 Night came on, and the young girl separated by 
 darkness from her brothers, is confronted by Comus, 
 who assailed her by his violence, his enchantments, 
 his allurements. Her innate purity enabled her to 
 resist all temptations, and she was finally rescued by 
 the intervention of a good spirit specially sent by 
 Heaven to save such as she. 
 
 Hence Milton's opportunity to utter his views on 
 purity of thought, on life, and soul. He made golden 
 use of the chance and for his success he has won the 
 highest encomiums. 
 
 This poem, with such a lofty purpose, required 
 the dignified measure of iambic pentameter lines, 
 and he has made a fine arrangement. Comus is 
 partly pastoral, because of its necessary setting. 
 The lovely lyrics interspersed, serve to give sufficient 
 variety to its severe tone. 
 
 The author gives due attention to poor humanity. 
 
18 John Milton 
 
 The peasant's "thatched hut," with "wicker hole for 
 a window," the "swinked hedger" — weary soul — the 
 "long leveled rule of streaming light," from the fee- 
 ble taper, and other similar expressions, show that 
 poverty and wretchedness were not unobserved by 
 the writer. 
 
 The allusions to natural scenery and natural oc- 
 currences, prove, as in other poems, how his mind 
 was receptive to the world's daily panorama. "The 
 gilded car of day," "his glowing axle," "teeming 
 flocks," "granges full," "green mantling vine," "bos- 
 ky bourn," "low roosted lark," "chill dew," "rude 
 burs and thistles," and many other expressions show 
 his observing powers. 
 
 His many figurative forms continue; as, for ex- 
 ample, "some cold bank her bolster," "low but loyal 
 cottage," "thou shalt be our star," "disinherit 
 chaos," "coutinous echo," "to answer from her 
 mossy couch," "pure-eyed Faith," "champion Con- 
 science," "white-handed Hope," "to quench the 
 drought of Phoebus" — and others without number. 
 
 Arcades is a mere fragment compared to Comus. 
 No evil genius is here introduced, but some of the 
 lines and ideas bear a wonderful resemblance to 
 parts of Comus, and the whole is a little pastoral of 
 a delightful character, and in honor of the birthday 
 of a very old and very charming lady. The celebra- 
 tion was a very quiet one, by her children and 
 grandchildren, to sing her praises. 
 
 Here is a trifle of lyric writing: 
 "O'er the smooth enameled green, 
 
John Milton 19 
 
 Where no print of step hath been 
 
 Follow as I sing, 
 
 And touch the warbled string: 
 Under shady roof 
 Of branching elms, star proof. 
 
 Follow me ; 
 I will bring you where she sits, 
 Clad in splendor, as befits 
 
 Her dignity. 
 Such a rural queen. 
 All Arcadia hath not seen." 
 
 The last important poem of the happy period of 
 the six years Milton spent at Horton, after his 
 graduation, was Lycidas. In it the poet portrays the 
 loss of a college friend. This young man, Edward 
 King, was drowned in crossing the Irish Sea, to his 
 home in Dublin, August 1637. The vessel was un- 
 seaworthy, and in calm weather it suddenly sank 
 out of sight, no person escaping, though other 
 vessels were near. 
 
 King was amiable, scholarly, faithful, a priest of 
 the Episcopal Church, son of the Sir John King 
 who was Secretary for Ireland under Elizabeth, 
 James I, and Charles I. Milton here laments for 
 his friend, calling him Lycidas — a Greek shepherd. 
 
 He sets forth the rare virtues of the departed one, 
 and calls upon Nymphs and Muses to tell why the 
 untoward event occurred. Later, he launches out 
 into invectives against many false and unworthy 
 pastors who had brought evil into the Church, 
 throuprh desire of worldly gain. 
 
20 John Milton 
 
 "Such as, for their bellie's sake, 
 Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold." 
 Then 
 
 "The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed." 
 These words Milton puts into the mouth of "the 
 Pilot of the Galilean lake," who came to mourn the 
 loss of this faithful worker in the fold, and to 
 threaten condign and speedy punishment to the 
 negligent and careless. 
 
 When Nymphs, Muses, heathen deities, and 
 Christian Apostles had paid their tributes of 
 sorrow, the poem takes on a jubilant tone, because, 
 
 "Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, 
 Through the dear might of Him who walked 
 the waves." 
 
 At the beginning of this elegy is an invocation to 
 the laurels, myrtles, and ivy to render up their 
 leaves for a wreath. 
 
 "For Lycidas is dead, young Lycidas, 
 And hath not left his peer." 
 
 Thus at the very outset there is a pastoral flavor, 
 which is observable to the very end. Hence we may 
 call it a pastoral elegy. Comus was a pastoral 
 drama. 
 
 Comus began in the woods; the overshadowing 
 gloom of the trees has a marked effect : the story is 
 continued in the woods. Rural allusions and rural 
 occupations are some of the themes touched upon 
 by the brothers in talking together — by Comus in 
 conversing with the young girl — by the good spirit 
 — and by Sabrina. We breathe the health and 
 beauty of the woods. 
 
John Milton 21 
 
 In Lycidas, the living and grieving friend mourns 
 in pitiful terms for his companion of the hillside, of 
 the noonday heat, of the musical pleasures of 
 the flute. His lamentations excite the commiseration 
 of the rural deities, who all alike deny complicity in 
 bringing about the death of Lycidas. 
 
 Next Milton rises to a heat of passion, almost un- 
 expected in him, against false shepherds. Then he 
 cools down, and grieves in exquisite lines, in a ten- 
 der and gentle pastoral fashion : 
 "Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers lie 
 In shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks. 
 On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks. 
 Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes 
 That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, 
 And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 
 Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies. 
 The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, 
 The white pink and the pansy freaked with jet. 
 The glowing violet. 
 
 The musk rose and the well attired woodbine. 
 With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, 
 And every flower that sad embroidery wears: 
 Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, 
 And daffodillies fill their cups with tears. 
 To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies." 
 Towards the close of the poem the mourning 
 friend seems to find consolation in such thoughts as 
 these : 
 
 "Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no mure, 
 For Lycidas, your sorrow is not dead, 
 Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; 
 
22 John Milton 
 
 So sinks the day star in the ocean bed, 
 
 And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore, 
 
 Flames in the forehead of the morning sky." 
 
 This idea of return, or resurrection — resurgam 
 — gives added luster. After further brief mono- 
 logue the poem closes thus: 
 
 "Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills. 
 While the still morn went out with sandals gray : 
 He touched the tender stops of various quills. 
 With eager thought, warbled his Doric lay ; 
 And now the sun has stretched out all the hills, 
 And now was dropped into the western bay. 
 At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue : 
 Tomorrow, to fresh woods and pastures new." 
 The gentle friend had mourned for his lost com- 
 panion and been comforted, and so he would go "to 
 fresh woods and pastures new," and sing a new song 
 on the morrow. 
 
 Milton shortly went to Italy, but remained only 
 fifteen months, being recalled home by what he 
 thought his duty to his country — civil war was 
 looming up. He was nearly thirty-two years old, — 
 years filled with ease, competence, study, delight — 
 but these had fled, and youth had ended. Civil 
 troubles arose, domestic trials came upon him, po- 
 litical trials, physical evils, pecuniary difficulties, 
 and danger, blindness, death followed in turn. 
 Hardly any man had a life so markedly divided — 
 thirty-two years of everything desirable — then 
 thirty-five years of trials and unhappiness — some 
 
John Milton 23 
 
 In the latter part of his life he wrote poems con- 
 sidered greater than those we mention — poems on 
 themes more lofty, subjects more ambitious, more 
 difficult — but nothing sweeter, purer or better than 
 his "Minor Poems." One competent critic says "Had 
 he never written anything but these he would stand 
 in the front rank of English poets." Their in- 
 fluence succeeded, in time, in mitigating the crudity 
 and the coarseness of the other writers of the XVII 
 and XVIII centuries, and in beginning a new era. 
 From this elegy sprang two noble poems, Shelley's 
 "Adonais" for Keats, and later, Tennyson's "In 
 Memoriam" for his friend Hallam. 
 
PART II 
 
 If we desire to understand the effect of Milton's 
 poems upon the XVIII century, and why he did not 
 produce greater results in his own — the XVII cen- 
 tury — we must look into history. History and lit- 
 erature ever go hand in hand, with causal relations 
 between them. 
 
 We can arrange the dates of the three foremost 
 consecutive poets of the period, thus : 
 
 Milton Dryden Pope 
 
 1608-1674 1631-1700 1688-1744 
 
 Their times thus overlap, each one appearing on 
 the scene before the preceding one has left it. 
 
 This was a space of 136 years, a period of marked 
 changes in English history. Hence literature had 
 varying fortunes. 
 
 In James First's era, some of the greatest voices 
 of Elizabeth's day still lingered. In Charles First's 
 time came Milton with his Minor Poems. Then civil 
 strife stilled his poetic voice, and he became engaged 
 with political pamphlets, until after 1660, when he 
 produced his great epics, for an unappreciative 
 audience. Of Paradise Lost, Waller, a court poet, 
 wrote — "The old, blind poet has written a new book. 
 If its length be not its merit, it hath no other." 
 
 The kind of literature that the followers of 
 Charles Second could admire, was not the sort that 
 
 25 
 
26 John Milton 
 
 Milton could furnish. What did they like? They 
 professed to believe in the divineness of Kings, so 
 they followed the tastes of their sovereign Lord, the 
 King. By his bad example, evil was pronounced 
 good, and it was eagerly sought and pursued, as de- 
 sirable. 
 
 Corruption showed its chief effect on comic 
 drama, but everywhere, in prose and poetry, do we 
 nnd the blighting trail of the serpent. 
 
 In such times, and to such persons, poems about 
 holiness, or truth, or purity, would be incompre- 
 tiensible, — and poems on the beauties of country 
 scenes, or the delights of study, or on the joys of 
 faithful friendship, — would be written in a dead 
 language. These things were "too high," they "could 
 not attain to them." 
 
 The most able poet of this time was John Dryden, 
 born (of noble families on both sides of his ancestral 
 line,) at Aldwinkle, Northamptonshire, 1631. He 
 was educated at Westminister School, and then at 
 Trinity College, Cambridge, from which he was 
 graduated in 1650. His parents and people were 
 Puritans. 
 
 His poetry illustrates remarkably the history of 
 his age. When Puritanism and Cromwell were in 
 power, he was of that party, in affiliation, and in 
 expressed thoughts. When the licentiousness of the 
 Restoration prevailed, his comic dramas — he wrote 
 twenty-two plays — rivalled those of Wycherley, 
 Congreve, Farquahar, and Van Brugh, in looseness 
 of morals, and obscenity of language — but they were 
 more cleverly written. When Jeremy Collier, a non- 
 
John Milton 27 
 
 juring clergyman, moved to indignation by the vile- 
 ness of the stage, protested in his work "Against the 
 Immorality of the Stage," he mentioned Dryden 
 with others, by name, as having corrupted the 
 morals of the nation — and Dryden, at the time, held 
 the position of Poet Laureate. 
 
 Dryden's forte was satire. It was an age of bru- 
 tal frankness of speech, and in Absalom and Achito- 
 phel, in The Medal, and in MacFlecknoe, we find the 
 most biting sarcasm, joined to the plainest expres- 
 sions of opinion, in regard to real physical, or sup- 
 posed mental defects, of the persons so unfortunate 
 as to have fallen under the cruel words of his pen. 
 
 He wrote didactic poetry — Religio Laid, and The 
 Hind and the Panther, respectively lauding the 
 Episcopal or the Catholic faith, according to his 
 changes in religious forms. 
 
 He translated Theocritus, Homer, Lucretius, Hor- 
 ace, Virgil, Juvenal, Persius. He did these trans- 
 lations so well that his readers were convinced that 
 he could have surpassed the classic writers in the 
 particular kind of work for which each was noted. 
 He wrote songs, odes, elegies, — and, strange to say 
 — he produced two hymns, filled with such religious, 
 fervor, seemingly genuine, that — John Milton, him- 
 self, could not have surpassed them. He had such 
 a varied power over poetic rhymed composition, 
 that his admirers at the literary club — in Will's 
 Coffee House — called him "Glorious John" — but his 
 influence on morals was baleful. 
 
 His verse shows a great contrast in youth and 
 ac'e. in reerard to religrous expressions. He undoubt- 
 
28 John Milton 
 
 edly aided in improving the English prose methods, 
 then in vogue — though he harmed morals. 
 
 That he had true poetic fire cannot be disputed. 
 If we desire to consider, the sway, the power, the 
 control he had over words, rhythm, melody, here is 
 a strong stanza from the Ode, Alexander's Feast. 
 
 "Now strike the golden lyre again 
 A louder yet, and yet a louder strain; 
 Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
 And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder ; 
 
 Hark, hark, the horrid sound, 
 Has raised up his head. 
 
 As awaked from the dead. 
 And amazed he stares around: 
 Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries. 
 
 See the Furies arise. 
 
 See the snakes that they rear. 
 
 How they hiss in their hair, 
 And the sparkles that flash from their eyes : 
 Behold ; a ghastly band. 
 
 Each a torch in hand ; 
 These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were 
 slain, 
 
 And unburied remain. 
 
 Inglorious on the plain; 
 
 Give the vengeance due, 
 
 To the valiant crew; 
 Behold, how they toss their torches on high. 
 
 How they point to the Persian abodes, 
 And glittering temples of the hostile gods : 
 
 The princes applaud with a furious joy; 
 
John Milton 29 
 
 The King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy ; 
 Thais led the way, 
 To light him to his prey, 
 
 And like another Helen, fired another Troy." 
 In this" passage, clamor, anger, war, pity, re- 
 venge, fury, hatred, piety, are portrayed in a few 
 lines. Each one of the twelve poetic measures usedi 
 in the English language is effectively introduced — 
 onomatopoeia and kindred figures are employed, — 
 and an infinite variety of musical change is required. 
 The typical ideas demanded by the Pindaric ode are 
 fully rendered. As for its poetic technique, the 
 whole ode is simply perfect. But the content is a 
 different matter. The general religious belief of 
 Dryden's day was that a man's conduct 4id not 
 matter, provided he agreed with the correct creed. 
 So, about poetry the content made no difference, 
 provided the technical construction/ was right. 
 This is technically correct — but — ^tbe subject is a 
 drunken orgy — followed by the destruction by fire 
 of a beautiful captured city, Pers^olis. 
 
 No wonder Paradise Lost was|;unappreciated in 
 such an age. $ 
 
 Yet Dryden himself was frieifidly with Milton, 
 when Milton was a proscribed man. And Dryden 
 wrote these lines on Milton: 
 
 "Three poets in three distant ages born, 
 Greece, Italy and England did adorn; 
 The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, 
 The next in majesty, in both the last; 
 The force of nature could no farther go. 
 To make a third, she joined the other two." 
 
30 John Milton 
 
 But none can be further apart in form, subject, 
 method, manner of treatment, than John Dryden 
 and John Milton. Dryden was of the earth, earthy. 
 He desired the favor of his King, and forgot about 
 the favor of his God. Milton's poetry was in the 
 pure region of holy thoughts, and lofty aspirations. 
 Dryden did not write about nature, or the pleasures 
 of study, or of friendship — (as does Milton in the 
 Minor Poems) — nor does he speak of celestial joys 
 — (as do Milton's greater poems). Dryden writes 
 about the city, about man, about his meanness,his 
 petty squabbles, about rancorous enmities, about 
 the vile deeds, and the unclean deeds, which trans- 
 figure life. 
 
 Morover the poetic forms he employed tended to 
 hamper his muse. Classical forms restrained lofty 
 imaginative flights — as the hope of earthly honor 
 and preferment came between him and pure as- 
 pirations. Dryden was regarded as the greatest 
 literary man ^f his period. Hence we understand 
 why, in the latter part of the XVII century, the 
 writings of John Milton were without power in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 In 1688, twelve years before Dryden died there 
 was born to an elderly couple, named Pope, engaged 
 in the linen business, and living in Lombard Street, 
 London, a puny, deformed boy. 
 
 Remarkably early he wrote passable verses, — and 
 he had a wonderful passion for the society of those 
 who made verse their profession. His father's 
 means were ample. Because of feebleness, he could 
 
John Milton 31 
 
 not go to school, but he received a good education in 
 the classics at home. At the age of twelve, escorted 
 by a servant, he made his way to Will's Coffee 
 House, to gaze from a distance upon John Dryden. 
 This was the year Dryden died. 
 
 At the age of sixteen, this boy, Alexander Pope, 
 was made supremely happy by an introduction to 
 the dramatist, Wycherley. A strange friendship 
 sprang up between these two, an almost elvish look- 
 ing boy, and the large, handsome, elderly man, who 
 disgraced the comic muse by his gross dramas. 
 
 Soon we find Alexander Pope altering and cor- 
 recting Wycherley's dramas, at the latter's request. 
 
 All his life Pope sought, and was admitted into 
 the society of the literary and the learned, — and so 
 keen, so clever, so active, was his intellectual force, 
 that wits and scholars were delighted by his pres- 
 ence among them. 
 
 Long before the end of his life of fifty-six years, 
 this frail, peevish hunchback, was the chief author- 
 ity, in London, on matters of taste in literature — ^the 
 highest social and learned circles desired the honor 
 of his acquaintance — and he ruled his kingdom with 
 no uncertain hand. 
 
 Among his early friends was William Walsh, a 
 Worcestershire squire, who had great admiration 
 for classic forms, and who strongly urged upon Pope 
 the value of "correctness," saying, "We have had 
 some great poets, but never one that was 'correct.' " 
 
 This advice sank deep. Pope's one aim in writ- 
 ing seemed to be a continuous effort after "correct- 
 ness." He succeeded in his aim. Form, formal 
 
32 John Milton 
 
 "correctness," is the mark of his works — and that 
 of his followers, the "school" that imitated him. 
 Classic formality, proper measures, exact lines, 
 good rhymes, smooth pentameters, — sometimes 
 ending in an Alexandrine — these were what he 
 sought. To be formally "correct," according to 
 classic models — that was to be a poet. As for emo- 
 tion, or fancy, or imagination — these were actually 
 forbidden. 
 
 At twenty he wrote a didactic poem, "Essay on 
 Criticism." This was so "correct," the ideas were 
 so neatly expressed, in such well balanced lines, 
 suited to the popular notion of right style, that he 
 received great praise. What "Mr. Pope" said and 
 thought, was treated with respect, and he became 
 the great authority in weighty concerns of litera- 
 ture. 
 
 Later he wrote the "Essay on Man" — neat as the 
 other — in rhymed couplets — pentameters — marked 
 by polished regularity — saying nothing new — 
 teaching no great truths — merely illustrating his 
 own style and ideas of good composition. 
 
 The field in which Pope excelled was satire, — not 
 that sort of satire which would reform the world by 
 thrusts against sin or folly — but satire against per- 
 sonal foes, imagined or real. 
 
 • 
 
 Good poetry has been defined as "The most beau- 
 tiful thoughts set forth in the most beautiful 
 language, in accordance with the rules of meter." 
 Now, satire is merely scolding — and didactic writ- 
 ing is intended to teach — and is best adapted to 
 prose. Pope chiefly used these two forms, — so the 
 
John Milton 33 
 
 soul of true poetry is lacking, but — he pleased his 
 age. 
 
 Everywhere we find in Pope's verse, neat coup- 
 lets, iambic pentameters, finished and exact use of 
 words, didactic and tiresome style, — but no new 
 thoughts — and only as much real poetry as would be 
 in the proverbs of Solomon, if arranged in well 
 rhymed lines. Wordly wisdom, precept, maxim a- 
 bounded — but no nature, no emotion, no fire, no en- 
 thusiasm,no imagination, nothing to lift the soul, — 
 no poetry. 
 
 Restrained it was, and correct in form, lest by 
 dreadful neglect there should be a syllable too much 
 in a line, — but at the same time there was a care- 
 ful and labored study, of how to most successfully 
 stab an enemy to the heart, by the poisoned dagger 
 of dainty, rhymed couplet. This was Pope's idea of 
 poetry. Would that he could have learned Shake- 
 speare's idea of poetry, or that he could have read 
 Shelley and Wordsworth, on the aim and scope of 
 poetry. 
 
 He said Shakespeare did not know how to write, 
 or how to express ideas. Shakespeare's lines sel- 
 dom rhymed — and alas! sometimes did not scan. 
 So Pope re-wrote, revised, re-arranged Shake- 
 speare, and gave to the world an edition of Shake- 
 speare, a la Pope ; at which some of the world covert- 
 ly laughed — and then Pope in wrath wrote a satire 
 — the Dunciad — or the Downfall of the Dunces, 
 wherein he abused his critics by their names. 
 
 Pope desired to make a translation of Homer. As 
 his own knowledge of Greek was uncertain, he em- 
 
34 John Milton 
 
 ployed Broome, and Fenton, and several other as- 
 sistants to do the work. Occasionally he altered a 
 word, or suggested a change of line. He published 
 in installments, and by subscription, and he real- 
 ized considerable money. Pope's Homer had suc- 
 cess in his time, but many standard editions have 
 set it aside since that day. 
 
 From Pope's writings, more perhaps, than from 
 the works of most authors, we may take quotable 
 lines or couplets. His lines often contain antithetic 
 statements. Such work in couplets gives a choppy, 
 detached effect. Hence he soon becomes tiresome. 
 His lines resemble a string of cheap and glittering 
 beads run together. He does not use words to build 
 up a beautiful picture like Wordsworth, or a grand 
 argument like Milton, or a lively conversation like 
 Shakespeare, 
 
 "A little learning is a dangerous thing, 
 
 Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring." 
 "To err is human, to forgive divine." 
 "And so obliging that he ne'er obliged." 
 "Two principles in human nature reign, 
 
 Self love to urge, and reason to restrain." 
 "Order is Heaven's first law ; and this confessed, 
 
 Some are, and must be greater than the rest." 
 "The learn'd is happy, nature to explore, 
 
 The fool is happy, that he knows no more." 
 
 "Know then this truth, enough for man to know, 
 Virtue alone is happiness below." 
 
 Examples might be multiplied, but the above 
 show the sort of the poetry. 
 
John Milton 35 
 
 Pope was the model of his day, in poetry, for the 
 first four and a half decades of the XVIII century. 
 Queen Anne had taken the throne on the death of 
 William III, and then came George I, in 1714, to be 
 followed by George II, in 1727. 
 
 The age is called dull, unimaginative, brutal. 
 
 There was no system whatsoever for general or 
 private education, and the ignorance of all classes 
 was incredible. In 1685 a newspaper had been be- 
 gun, but it was poorly patronized. Until Addison 
 made The Spectator popular in 1712-13, there was 
 no periodical that received much attention. Even 
 then, the middle and lower classes took no interest 
 in it. Richardson's first novel appeared in 
 1740. His material, it is said, he gathered in listen- 
 ing to the ladies of the beau monde, who came to 
 him — a discreet, elderly bookseller — to have him 
 write their love-letters, because they could not 
 write themselves. 
 
 In that tale of Goldsmith — The Vicar of Wake- 
 field — published in 1762 — and extolled as a "de- 
 lightful pastoral," and as a "lovely idyll," we find 
 the Vicar vaunting his wife's attainments. "She 
 can read almost any English book without much 
 spelling." 
 
 The women mentioned in these cases were women 
 of rank and position. If such were their literary 
 acquirements, how must the women of poorer rank 
 have fared ! 
 
 Under such conditions as these, noble aims, noble 
 thoughts, grand sympathies, could not, did not 
 thrive. 
 
36 John Milton 
 
 Some consider Swift's rendering of the Yahoes 
 a coarse exaggeration, a transcription of the mor- 
 bid grossness of his own mind. Yet the reader of 
 carefully prepared history will discover that he 
 was really representing what went on around him. 
 
 Fielding supposed he was depicting a brave and 
 healthy character in Tom Jones. Probably Tom 
 Jones was a typical young Englishman of the per- 
 iod. But we shrink in disgust at the portrayal. 
 
 Even John Milton did not regard education as 
 necessary to women, though he planned out a fine 
 Tractate for boys. But no one can rise much above 
 the spirit of his age, — and Milton had died seventy 
 years before Pope's death, — when ideas were even 
 less advanced. 
 
 These being the moral environments of Pope's 
 time, do we wonder that there were no master- 
 pieces of poetry, and no real masters of poetry? 
 
 Chaucer and Spenser were mostly forgotten. 
 Shakespeare was condemned as "Gothic," "Barbar- 
 ous," "Incorrect," and Milton was a "Puritan" 
 whom nobody could understand. Such authors 
 were above and beyond the comprehension of the 
 writers of the age, designated as "Augustan." It 
 was very critical, very exacting as to the ivay a 
 thing was said. What was said was of little import- 
 ance. 
 
 And now — ive say poor little Pope was not a poet 
 at all — only a rhymer! ! 
 
 In the period of time discussed the same ideas 
 prevailed in religion as when Dryden was the mas- 
 ter poet. "It is no matter what a person does, as 
 
John Milton 37 
 
 long as he believes what is right," was the watch- 
 word. Hence he could violate the whole Decalogue, 
 if only his creed was correct. 
 
 Jonathan Swift — one of the foremost prose 
 writers of the time, (who died in 1745) , a year after 
 Pope — had written as his first important work, "The 
 Battle of the Books" — in which he maintained that 
 no modern book was equal to the writings of the 
 Greeks and Romans. These two nations had 
 achieved such reputation, because they really wrote 
 books. Prior to them, most of the written matter 
 left by preceding nations consisted of lists of slain 
 peoples and individuals, inscribed on stone slabs. 
 The best books of the Greeks and Romans were 
 epics. Epics are fiction — modern fiction, we call no- 
 vels. Now, we consider a novel of good rank, when 
 the events therein narrated, closely resemble what 
 happens in real life — that is, seem probable. 
 
 The epics of Greece and Rome were concoctions 
 of impossibilities. In Homer's Ulysses — the hero 
 visits Sparta, where he finds Menelaus and his wife 
 Helen, after her husband had returned with her 
 from Troy. He describes her, as if she were 
 a "Daughter of the gods, divinely fair, and most 
 divinely tall" — he shows her fresh and young, say 
 about sixteen years old. She had tv/o brothers born 
 at the time of her birth — and they went on the 
 Argonautic expedition — so the years of her life 
 were about one hundred and forty, at Ulysses' visit 
 — an age which no one reached at that time — an 
 utter impossibility. 
 
38 John Milton 
 
 Then again, the student of Virgil is so busied 
 with difficulties of syntax, that he does not give 
 heed to chronology. If he did, he would remember 
 that Eneas left Troy at 1174 B. C— and Dido 
 founded Carthage about 850 B. C. — hence Eneas 
 could not have been Dido's lover, suitor, husband 
 — another impossibility — they never met. Eneas, 
 having been born three hundred years before Dido, 
 v/as denied acquaintance with her. 
 
 Strange to say, it was the peculiar system of re- 
 ligion of the Greeks and Romans that made them 
 employ such folly in their epics, and prevented their 
 consideration of natural beauty. Their religious 
 beliefs made them fill the land and the water with 
 minor dieties — beings mostly considered inimical 
 to man — beings who resented intrusion into their 
 haunts by the race of mortals — beings who treated 
 such intrusion with dire vengeance. 
 
 The forests contained wild beasts — but mankind 
 had learned to cope with that sort of creature — a 
 creature that makes an open attack. 
 
 But the supernatural, the unseen beings, pro- 
 duced a terror that could not be overcome — even 
 the bravest avoided, in their fear, the beautiful 
 spots of the earth. So it is a most singular fact that 
 the religion of these nations was the cause of a lack 
 of nature poetry. They did not dare study nature 
 from a deadly fear of interfering with unseen 
 enemies, that could execute appalling vengeance if 
 disturbed. Hence poetry among Greeks and Rom- 
 ans was about man and his doings, and not about 
 
John Milton 39 
 
 beauties of form and color. There were no botan- 
 ists among them. 
 
 The literary lawgivers of the early XVIII century 
 in England had imbibed the classical ideas of the 
 French Academy. These classicists held that style 
 should be regulated by a study of the ancient writ- 
 ers. No one had a good style who did not follow 
 strict, narrow, classical methods. Horace, not 
 Shakespeare, was the only model. Hence, the motto 
 of Pope's "school" was "correctness," polished reg- 
 ularity. So painfully exacting was Pope about the 
 fornl of his poems, that it is said he sometimes re- 
 wrote them many times, before the polish would 
 suit him. Anj^thing romantic, picturesque, or novel, 
 was contrary to established canons of taste. Dull, 
 didactic verse, and the invective of bitter satire, 
 were the favorites, for they were regulated by clas- 
 ical rules. 
 
 The opening bud, the bird's song, the leafy forest, 
 the purling stream, not being found in classical 
 form, were avoided by the "Augustans" as unsuit- 
 able for poetry. 
 
 Hence John Milton was regarded as an effete 
 writer of the past, one who had long since sunk in- 
 to oblivion. His power as a leader, or master was, 
 seemingly, forever at an end — and "correctness," 
 classical formality, and stupid scurrility, reigned 
 in his stead, and were called good poetry. 
 
PART III 
 
 As the XVIII century crept on, lines less rigid in 
 their adherance to classical form, and really con- 
 taining emotion, beauty, and appeal to nature, be- 
 gan to appear — even before Pope died. 
 
 The first writers of this new cult were not pre- 
 eminent for showing poetic ability, though they 
 were men of no small amount of learning. The 
 model of these men was John Milton, Among 
 those who most successfully imitated his Minor 
 Poems, were two brothers, Joseph and Thomas 
 Warton. They were the sons of the Rev. Thomas 
 Warton, (Vicar of Basingstoke, in Hants,) who 
 had been Professor of Poetry at Oxford, 1718-1728. 
 Joseph, the elder of the two, was trained at Oxford, 
 and succeeded his father as Curate of Basingstoke. 
 In 1740, when an undergraduate, aged eighteen, he 
 wrote a blank verse poem. The Enthusiast, or the 
 Lover of Nature." 
 
 In one place he uses the following lines : 
 
 "Happy the first of men, ere yet confined 
 To smoky cities: who in shelt'ring groves, 
 Warm caves, and deep sunk valleys, lived 
 
 and loved. 
 By cares unwounded." 
 
 Said Milton in II Penseroso : 
 
 "Me goddess bring, 
 
 41 
 
42 John Milton 
 
 To arched walks of twilight groves, 
 And shadows brown that Sylvan loves, 
 Of pine, or monumental oak, 
 Where the rude axe with heaved stroke, 
 Was never heard, the Nymphs to daunt." 
 
 Enthusiast : 
 
 "Yet let me choose some pine topped precipice, 
 Abrupt and shaggy, where a foamy stream, 
 tumbling roars." 
 
 II Penseroso : 
 
 "Over some wide watered shore. 
 Swinging slow with sullen roar." 
 
 Enthusiast : 
 
 "With thy long leveled rule of streaming light." 
 
 This is line 340 of Comus. 
 
 In 1740, Joseph Warton published a small book 
 of odes — to Fancy, Liberty, Health, Evening, etc. 
 Many lines in each represent Miltonic ideas — octo- 
 syllabic in form — and in single words, phrases, and 
 general mode of expression, — the methods of the 
 author of II Penseroso and U Allegro pervade the 
 poems of Joseph Warton. 
 
 The young brother, Thomas, 1728-1790, was 
 student at Oxford, then a fellow at Cambridge, then 
 Professor of Poetry at Oxford, 1757-1767. He 
 wrote a popular "History of English Poetry" — and 
 in 1785 he was made Poet Laureate. He was so Mil- 
 tonic in his methods of versification, that he hardly 
 shows any originality. He was an intense Roman- 
 
John Milton 43 
 
 ticist. Joseph Warton had attacked Pope. Thomas 
 defended Spenser, against Pope. 
 
 The Ode on the Approach of Summer, says : 
 "Haste thee Nymph, and hand in hand. 
 With thee lead a buxom band." 
 
 L' Allegro : 
 
 "Haste thee Nymph and bring with thee, 
 Jest and youthful Jollity." 
 
 Many similar resemblances repeatedly occur in 
 Thomas Warton's poetry. 
 
 In his "Critical Essay," Joseph Warton daringly 
 r.ttacked Pope, calling him the poet of reason — and 
 that sort of poetry. This appeared in 1750. Here 
 passion and nature are enduring. He placed Dry- 
 den and Pope in a lower rank than the neglected 
 Shakespeare and Milton. 
 
 He declared that to regenerate poetry, the pictur- 
 esque, the pathetic, the sublime, must be employed, 
 as is done by Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton. He 
 needed much courage to take such a stand in the era 
 of Pope's popularity. 
 
 Thomas Warton was even more outspoken than 
 Joseph, in setting up these earlier writers as the 
 best models in poetry. 
 
 He revived the sonnet, which had been neglected 
 by the "Augustans." He wrote nine sonnets which 
 are pronounced most excellent by the best judges of 
 that sort of poetry. These appeared in 1750. 
 
44 John Milton 
 
 Here is one. 
 "Ah what a weary race my feet have run, 
 Since first I trod thy banks with alders crowned, 
 And thought my way was all through fairy ground, 
 Beneath thy azure sky and golden sun. 
 Where first my Muse to lisp her notes begun; 
 While pensive Mem'ry traces back the round. 
 Which fills the varied interval between ; 
 Much pleasure, more of sorrow marks the scene. 
 Sweet native stream, those skies and suns so pure. 
 No more return to cheer my evening road; 
 Yet still one joy remains, that not obscure. 
 Nor useless, all my vacant days have flowed. 
 From youth's gay dawn, to manhood's prime ma- 
 ture; 
 Nor with the Muse's laurel unbestowed." 
 
 This is called "A Sonnet to the River Luddon." 
 Coleridge's sonnet "To the River Otter," and Words- 
 worth's sonnet "To the River Duddon," are sup- 
 posed to have been suggested by this of Thomas 
 Warton. 
 
 William Mason, 1725-1797, was the son of a 
 clergyman, and was graduated from Cambridge in 
 1745, and became fellow in 1747. Later he became 
 rector at Asten in Yorkshire, and afterwards 
 Chaplain to the King. He opposed the war against 
 the American Colonies, and he endeavored, with 
 others, to obtain reforms in Parliament: later, the 
 horrors of the French Revolution changed his views ; 
 and he ceased to be so radical. He was resident 
 Canon of York for many years. 
 
 He wrote a monody on the death of Pope, in imi- 
 tation of Lycidas. 
 
John Milton 45 
 
 Milton, in this poem, was "Thyrsis," Spenser 
 was "Colin Clout," Chaucer was "Tityrus." "Thyr- 
 sis" spoke in blank verse, "Colin Clout" used Spen- 
 serian stanza, and "Thyrsis" archaic language. 
 
 In the same year, in Miltonic style. Mason pro- 
 duced two odes, II Bellicoso, and II Pacifico, repre- 
 senting War and Peace. The measure, much of the 
 arrangement of the wording, the allusions to Greek 
 poets, "the cloister," "the gloom," "the heaven-born 
 strain," and other expressions, savor of U Allegro 
 and its companion ode. 
 
 Dodsley's Miscellany, in six volumns, appeared 
 in 1745. The authors given above are freely quot- 
 ed and there are also Odes and Elegies innumerable, 
 on every conceivable subject, by other authors, 
 known and unknown to fame. Odes to Fancy, Mel- 
 ancholy, Solitude, a Harp, Health, Autumn, Spring, 
 Ambition, Night, Silence, an Owl, a Child of Six, a 
 Young Lady, an Old Man, a Lark, a Thrush, Italy, 
 Gratitude, the River Tiber, — all in imitation of Mil- 
 ton — and innumerable other Odes besides these — 
 prove how his leadership was reviving. 
 
 The following is from "Ode to Cupid on Valen- 
 tine's Day." 
 
 "Come, thou rosy, dimpled boy. 
 Source of every heart-felt joy, 
 Leave thy blissful bowers awhile. 
 Visit Britain's rocky shore," etc. 
 
 Also, from an "Ode to Vacation." 
 
 "Come sweet Goddess, full of play. 
 Ever unconfined and gay. 
 
46 John Milton 
 
 Bring the leisure hours with thee, 
 Leading on the Graces three," etc. 
 
 As the century progressed several writers better 
 known began to imitate Milton's octo-syllabic lines 
 — say, Parnell, Dyer, Gay, Tickell, and Ambrose 
 Phillips. 
 
 The sonnet became popular, and Edwards, Still- 
 lingfleet, and others wrote fairly well in this line. 
 
 Blank verse, with decided Miltonic allusions and 
 figures, began to appear. John Phillips' "Splendid 
 Shilling," "Blenheim," and "Cyder" were of this 
 order. The public ideas of poetry were very grad- 
 ually altered from those of the arid period of Pope 
 and his "School." 
 
 Joseph Addison, the great prose writer, made an 
 imitation of some Miltonic forms. He devoted some 
 space in the Spectator to the advocacy of Milton's 
 poetry, setting forth Milton's supreme superiority. 
 John Dyer, (born in Wales) 1698-1758, produced 
 in 1726, "Grongar Hill," or "The Country Walk." 
 He could paint pictures with a brush, and he shows 
 that he can also portray a landscape with his pen. 
 Wide vistas, lofty castles, peasant huts, mountain 
 streams, peaceful vales, — he sets forth these and 
 more, having in mind the picturesque diversity of 
 his native land. 
 
 From Grongar Hill : 
 
 "The pleasant seat, the ruined tower, 
 The naked rock, the shady bower, 
 The town and village, dome and farm, 
 Each give to each a double charm." 
 
John Milton 47 
 
 He wrote, in blank verse, another good poem, The 
 Fleece. 
 
 "If verdant elder spreads 
 Her silver flowers, if humble daises yield 
 To yellow crowfoot, and luxurious grass, — 
 Gray shearing time approaches." 
 In these two poems may be found all the methods 
 of Milton's Minor Poems. 
 
 James Thomson, Kelso, Scotland, 1700-1748, was 
 the son of a clergyman. His poem. The Seasons, ap- 
 peared as a whole in 1737 — in blank verse, filled 
 with the beauty of nature — and all is Miltonic. He 
 wrote a Spenserian poem. The Castle of Indolence, 
 which had great vogue. 
 
 The description of Spring, in The Seasons, runs 
 thus: 
 "From the moist meadow, to the withered hill. 
 Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs. 
 And swells and deepens to the pleased eye; 
 The hawthorn whitens; and the juicy groves 
 Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees. 
 Till the whole leafy forest stands displayed. 
 In full luxuriance to the sighing gales ; 
 And the deer rustle through the twining brake, 
 And the birds sing concealed. At once arrayed 
 In all the colors of the flushing year, 
 By nature's swift and secret working hand. 
 The garden grows and fills the liberal air, 
 With lavish fragrance." 
 
 Here are ideas, not rhyming couplets. Here is 
 original work, not imitation. Here are solid and 
 
48 John Milton 
 
 permanent qualities, and the author, as a colorist, 
 has been Hkened to Rubens. His work became very 
 popular, and translations and imitations of The Sea- 
 sons were made by French and German writers. 
 
 Thomson depicted sea and sky, subjects hitherto 
 neglected; but the fields, the heather, the trees, the 
 birds, the flocks, the peasants, the domestic animals, 
 the landscape, in whole or in part, all rural topics 
 received his attention. He used iambic pentameter 
 lines, interspersed moral ideas everywhere, as they 
 were in Lycidas and Comus. 
 
 He is respected as a real poet of nature, emotion, 
 imagination, and enthusiasm. 
 
 Let us quote from Summer. 
 
 "But yonder comes the powerful King of Day, 
 Rejoicing in the East. The lessening cloud, 
 The kindling azure and the mountain's brow, 
 Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach — 
 Betoken glad." 
 
 From Autumn: 
 "Where Autumn basks with purple fruit. 
 Appears the downy peach; the shining plum. 
 The ruddy fragrant nectarine ; and dark. 
 Beneath his ample leaf, the luscious fig: 
 The vine here, too, lies curling tendril shoots, 
 Hangs out her clusters." 
 
 Winter: 
 
 "And thus the snows arise ; and foul and fierce, 
 All winter drives along the darkened air ; 
 In his own loose revolving fields, the swain 
 Disastered stands; sees other hills ascend 
 
John Milton 49 
 
 Of unknown joyless brow: and other scenes, 
 Of horrid prospect shag the trackless plain, 
 Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid 
 Beneath the formless wild." 
 
 Nearly all the writers here given were merely im- 
 itators, walking in the line of Milton. But they 
 showed the awakening spirit which discerned be- 
 tween true poetry and mere rhyme. 
 
 Thomson is the first to show originality and 
 ability to write about nature with continuous power. 
 He paves the way for a line of more gifted writers, 
 
 William Collins comes first, 1722-1756. The 
 melody of his verse and the beauty of his imagery 
 make his readers wish he had lived longer. Though 
 we discover his indebtedness to Milton, we see that 
 he had imbibed a genuine Greek method, and his 
 poetry has Greek beauty and grace. 
 
 Some think that his best poem was a posthumous 
 publication, in 1788, "Ode on the Scottish Super- 
 stitions in the Highlands." It contained the folk 
 lore of the people of that region. It is not so well 
 known as many of his other Odes, and would not ap- 
 peal to so large a class of readers. 
 
 An examination of some other Odes, will prove 
 that he had absorbed the Miltonic spirit. One of his 
 choicest is a beautiful *'Ode to Evening." In the 
 opening stanza he addresses "chaste eve," while 
 Comus says "grey-headed even." He speaks of the 
 "bright-haired sun whoses cloudy skirts o'erhang 
 his wavy bed." 
 
 "0 Nymph reserved, 
 
50 John Milton 
 
 Come pensive Nun" — after the manner of II 
 Penseroso. 
 
 Evening, stanzas 8, 9 and 10. 
 , "Then let me rove some wild and healthy scene, 
 Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells, 
 Whose walls more awful nod. 
 By thy religous gleams. 
 Or if chill blustering winds or driving rain, 
 Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut 
 
 That from the mountain side 
 
 Views wild and swelling floods. 
 And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires, 
 And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all 
 
 Thy dewy finger draw 
 
 The gradual dusky veil." 
 
 The whole poem is in the iambic measure of Mil- 
 ton, with his figures and ideas. 
 
 Take another Ode, most beautiful. 
 
 "In Memory of Those who Died for their Country 
 in 17If5" — (The Pretender's Invasion). 
 "How sleep the brave who sink to rest. 
 By all their country's wishes blest; 
 When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
 Returns to deck their hallowed mold. 
 She there shall dress a sweeter sod. 
 Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 
 By fairy hands their knell is rung. 
 By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 
 There, Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
 To bless the turf that wraps their clay : 
 And freedom shall, a while, repair, 
 To dwell a weeping hermit there." 
 
John Milton 51 
 
 In all the range of English poetry there is hardly 
 a more exquisite bit than this. It is the essence of 
 love of liberty, and love of country. It is filled w^ith 
 melody, pathos, grandeur, simplicity, beautiful 
 imagery, graceful ideas and expressions, and it is 
 most compact in form. Spring comes to "deck," 
 Honor to "bless" and freedom to "mourn" the mar- 
 tyrs to the cause of country and liberty — nothing is 
 too good for these patriots. War, suffering, death, 
 befel them here, but glory, life and immortality 
 were their rev^ards, — and all this is summed up in 
 twelve brief lines. 
 
 "Ode on the death of the Poet Thomson.*' 
 
 Stanzas 8 and 9. 
 
 "And see, the fairy valleys fade. 
 
 Dim night has veiled the solemn view ; 
 Yet once again, dear parted shade, 
 Meek nature's child, again adieu. 
 
 The genial meads assigned to bless 
 
 Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom; 
 
 There, hinds and shepherd girls shall dress 
 With simple hands thy rural tomb." 
 
 From the Ode, 
 
 "Dirge in Cymbeline." 
 
 The breathing Spring, the poet says, is to be rifled 
 of her soft and earliest blooms, and maids and vil- 
 lage are to bring the fragrant plunder to fair Fide- 
 le's tomb. That place will never be visited by wail- 
 ing winds or shrieking ghosts, but shepherd lads and 
 
52 John Milton 
 
 maids will meet there to tell their mutual love. No 
 goblins or witches shall ever haunt the place, but 
 gentle Fairies shall seek Fidele's last resting place 
 to strew flowers. 
 
 The poem continues thus : 
 "The red-breast oft at evening hours, 
 Shall kindly lend his little aid, 
 With hoary moss and gathered flowers, 
 To deck the ground where thou are laid. 
 
 When howling winds and beating rain. 
 In tempests shake the sylvan cell, 
 Or, midst the chase, on every plain. 
 O'er thee, the tender thought shall dwell. 
 
 Each lonely scene shall thee restore, 
 P'or thee the tear be duly shed, 
 Belov'd till life can charm no more, 
 And mourned till pity's self be dead." 
 
 Compare the above ideas with this passage from 
 
 Lycidas. 
 
 "But, oh the heavy change, now thou art gone. 
 Now thou art gone, and never must return. 
 Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves. 
 With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown 
 And all their echoes, mourn." 
 
 Collins follows Milton, who made it apparent that 
 all nature sympathized in his grief for the loss of 
 his friend. So Collins takes nature into his con- 
 fidence, makes her assist in the mournful service, 
 makes her the partaker of his grief. 
 
John Milton 53 
 
 In his Odes, To Pity, To Simplicity, To Peace, To 
 Fear, To Mercy, all written in an exquisite manner, 
 there is the same Miltonic spirit in form and con- 
 tent. 
 
 In Collins we find originality, purity, grace, 
 beauty, and real poetic fire. All these were his own 
 — yet unconsciously, perhaps, he makes us think of 
 Milton. He utters, in his letters, his admiration 
 for the blind poet, and frankly acknowledges much 
 indebtedness to him. 
 
 We have now reached Thomas Gray, 1716-1771, 
 another poet of originality, not an imitator. As a 
 classical scholar he ranks next to Milton himself. 
 His list of poems is brief. No other poet has 
 achieved so much fame with so short a repertoire. 
 It is quality, not quantity that he gives. 
 
 His first important poem was "Ode to the Distant 
 Prospect of Eton College" — then an "Ode to 
 Spring," "The Hymn to Adversity" — and two hav- 
 ing a Pindaric flavor, — the "Progress of Poesy" 
 and "The Bard" all following Milton's ideas. 
 
 Let us consider another, "The Elegy Written in 
 a Country Churchyard." 
 
 It contains thirty-two four line stanzas, iambic, 
 pentameter measure. It represents a solitary poet 
 loitering in a lonely country churchyard until twi- 
 light, and then, influenced by the time and place, 
 giving utterance to his thoughts. 
 
 The poem became immediately an object of ad- 
 miration and imitation. Translations were numer- 
 ous. Also every budding English poet deemed it his 
 duty or pleasure to write an "Elegy" on some topic. 
 
54 John Milton 
 
 But, in thus imitating Gray, they were following 
 Milton. Gray's Elegy appeared in 1750. He had 
 spent upon it seven years, rewriting, altering, re- 
 vising, until it suited him. Some of the rejected 
 stanzas are extant and we almost wish he had used 
 them. 
 
 Let us consider this poem. 
 "The curfew tolls the knell of parting day." 
 II Penseroso. — the curfew "swinging slow with 
 sullen roar." 
 
 "The plowman homewards plods his weary way." 
 U Allegro — "The plowman whistles blithe." 
 
 "Now fades the glimmering landscape from the 
 sight." 
 Comus — "Darkness spets her thickest gloom. 
 And makes one blot of all the air." 
 
 "The moping owl doth to the moon complain." 
 Comus — "Fair moon. 
 
 Stoop thy pale visage." 
 
 "The breezy call of incense-breathing morn." 
 L' Allegro — "Till the dappled dawn doth rise." 
 
 "The cock's shrill clarion — " 
 IJ Allegro — "While the cock with lively din." 
 
 "Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe hath broke." 
 U Allegro "Whistle o'er the furrowed land." 
 
 "And waked to ecstasy the living lyre." 
 II Penseroso — "Dissolve me into ecstasies." 
 
 Then we have "the straw-built shed," "the echo- 
 ing horn," 'the smiling land," "solemn stillness." 
 We look into the Minor Poems and find "clay habi- 
 tations," "hounds and horn," "rouse the slumbering 
 
John Milton 55 
 
 morn," "the tanned haycock," "linked sweetness," 
 and similar bucolic personifications. 
 
 Gray also refers to Ambition, Joy, Destiny, 
 Boast of Heraldry, Pomp of Power, Beauty, Grand- 
 eur, Wealth, Knowledge, Science, Melancholy, and 
 many like terms, as does the earlier poet. 
 
 So too, with transferred epithets. "Drowsy tink- 
 lings," "rude forefathers," "blazing hearth," stub- 
 born glebe," "animated bust," "living lyre," "noise- 
 less tenor," "dumb forgetfulness," "fair Science," 
 "trembling hope," — this was also a method of Mil- 
 ton. 
 
 For example, we find in Comus "sainted seats," 
 "ambrosial weeds," "nodding horror," "nice morn," 
 "thievish night," — and in Arcades — "thwarthed 
 thunder," "warbling string," — in Lycidas — "occa- 
 sion dear," "melodious tear," "sultry horn," san- 
 guine flower," — in U Allegro — "brooding darkness," 
 "slumbering morn," "secure delight," — in II Pen- 
 seroso — "cypress lawn," "trim gardens," "Dragon 
 yoke," "sceptered pall," — and hosts of others. 
 
 Gray had much onomatopoeia. 
 "Plods his weary way" 
 "Beetle wheels his droning flight." 
 "Heaves the turf in many a moldering heap." 
 "Bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke." 
 "Pealing anthem swells the note of praise." 
 "Froze the genial current of their soul." 
 "Cool sequestered vale of life." 
 "Implores the passing tribute of a sigh." 
 "Warm precincts of the cheerful day." 
 'One longing, lingering look behind." 
 
56 John Milton 
 
 Hear Milton: 
 
 "Rank vapors of a sin-worn mold." 
 "Thick shelter of black shades" 
 "Gilded car of day." 
 "His glowing axle doth allay." 
 "Advice with scrupulous head." 
 "Makes one blot of all the air." 
 "Blind mazes of this tangled wood." 
 "The grim wolf with privy paw." 
 "Till the dappled dawn doth rise." 
 "Soothing the rugged brow of night." 
 "Entice the dewy feathered sleep." 
 
 If each stanza of the Elegy were to be studied, it 
 would be found that every line is a little picture. Of 
 no other poem in our language, can this be said. 
 This shows how closely packed is the Elegy with 
 ideas. Clever artists have published editions with 
 dainty little marginal illustrations for each line. 
 
 The language is most simple, and is full of tender 
 and pathetic expressions, as - 
 
 "Each in his narrow cell forever laid." 
 "The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." 
 "Short and simple annals of the poor." 
 "Soothe the dull, cold ear of death." 
 The last seven words are so very expressive of the 
 actual state of affairs, that hardly any other seven 
 monosyllables could replace them, 
 
 "Some frail memorial still erected nigh." Not 
 marble, not granite, or something colossal as in 
 Shelley's Ozymandias, — but "frail" — a pitiful little 
 word, that causes a tear : — and the rest of it. 
 
John Milton 57 
 
 "With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture 
 decked, 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh." 
 
 And then, the rude inscription, "spelled by the un- 
 lettered Muse," rouses sympathy for those deprived 
 of their rights by "chill penury," which kept the 
 "page of knowledge" from their eyes. This was the 
 sorrowful record of many lives. 
 
 But, at last, as even, 
 
 "The paths of glory lead but to the grave," 
 they can "repose" in "trembling hope" upon 
 
 "The bosom of their Father," and their "God." 
 
 In thus briefly examining this Elegy, one of the 
 finest productions of the English tongue, we observe 
 the depiction everywhere of country scenes and life 
 — of pathos and tenderness in referring to the poor 
 and down-trodden — and in a manifestation in all 
 parts of a deep religous feeling, which shows itself 
 in kindly actions, not in more sentimental expres- 
 sions. 
 
 Gray, like Milton, was a man of pure and attrac- 
 tive character. He appreciated the blind poet and 
 wrote of him thus : 
 
 "Nor second he, that rode sublime 
 
 Upon the wings of ecstasy. 
 
 The secrets of the abyss to spy. 
 
 He passed the flaming bounds of place and time. 
 
 The living throne — the sapphire blaze, 
 
 Where angels tremble while they gaze, 
 
 He saw ; but blasted with excess of light, 
 
 Closed his eyes in endless night." 
 
58 John Milton 
 
 Many authors have been here enumerated. As 
 the XVIII century progressed poetry improved — 
 leaving behind the deadening effect of the Restora- 
 tion, and succeeding reigns. 
 
 Some of the writers were imitators, without orig- 
 inality — yet they showed an appreciation of good 
 poetry. The power so to do, is firstly, beautiful 
 thoughts in the soul, and secondly the knowledge 
 that content is more than form. 
 
 From the coarseness of the Restoration, when 
 Dryden was the poetic leader, until the frigidity of 
 the reign of Pope and the Augustans, we come to the 
 last quarter of the XVIII century. Collins and 
 Gray were real poets. They returned with scholarly 
 tastes and pure aspirations to the methods of Milton, 
 but they did not imitate him — they would have been 
 what they were — real poets — had he not been born. 
 Gray died in 1771, but the new movement continued. 
 Poets and poetry awakened from the deadly de- 
 structiveness of the influence of Dryden and Pope — 
 as Europe at last shook off the incubus of the Bar- 
 barians, who nearly blotted out its civilization, and 
 gave instead the Dark Ages. So poetry — real poe- 
 try — began to return, and a host of good writers ap- 
 peared — Akenside, Beattie, Goldsmith, Cowper, 
 Campbell, — Burns, the child of nature — and Crabbe 
 and Blake : not all of the highest ability, but all filled 
 with poetic ideals. 
 
 As the XVIII century closes, and the XIX begins, 
 we find arising a blaze of poetic glory — Keats, Shel- 
 ley, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Southey, Scott, Byron. 
 
John Milton 59 
 
 Tennyson, Browning, — and a host of lesser lights — 
 all of whom openly acknowledged, and all of whom 
 more or less, followed, the methods and the subjects 
 of John Milton in his Minor Poems. 
 
 The End 
 
LIST OF BOOKS TO BE CONSULTED 
 
 1 Poems of Milton. 
 
 2 Life of Milton, Mark Pattison. 
 
 3 Essay on Milton, T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 4 Notes on Milton, Sir E. Brydgss. 
 
 5 Ward's Poets, Vol. IL 
 
 6 History of Romanticism in England, . . Beers. 
 
 7 Beginning of Romantic Movement, . . Phelps. 
 
 8 History of English Literature, .... Hallock. 
 
 9 History of English Literature, . . Cleveland. 
 
 10 History of English Literature, 
 
 Thomas Warton. 
 
 11 History World's best Literature, . . Vol. XVIL 
 
 12 Encyclopedia Britannica, 
 
 Articles on Milton, Dryden, Pope. 
 
 13 History of English Literature, . H. A. Taine. 
 
 14 Life of Addison, T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 15 Life of Dryden, G. E. Saintsbury. 
 
 16 Critical Essays G. E. Saintsbury. 
 
 17 Life of Pope, Leslie Stephen. 
 
 18 Poems of Dryden. 
 
 19 Comic Poets of Restoration, . T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 61 
 
62 John Milton 
 
 20 Poems of Pope. 
 
 21 Battle of the Books, Jonathan Swift 
 
 22 Classical Dictionary Anthon 
 
 23 English in the XVIII Century, . Lecky, Vol. I. 
 
 24 Classical Essays, G. E. Saintsbury. 
 
 25 History of England, T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 26 Englische Studien, Vienna 1898. 
 
 27 World's Best Literature, Vol. VIII. 
 
 28 Life of Alexander Pope, . . . Samuel Johnson. 
 
 29 Critical Essays, Matthew Arnold. 
 
 30 Ward's Poets, Vol. III. 
 
 31 Ward's Poets, Vol. IV. 
 
 32 Criticisms, Thomson and Dyer, 
 
 Edmund Gosse. 
 
 33 Collections of Poems, by Several Hands, 
 
 Robert Dodsley, Pub. 
 
 32 Poems of Collins. 
 
 35 Life of William Collins, M. A. Thomas. 
 
 36 Life of Thomas Gray, Edmund Gosse. 
 
 37 Poems of Gray. 
 
 38 Essays, Edw. Dowden 
 
 39 Accounts of Authors, 
 
 Encyclopedia Britannica, Ed. XI. 
 
'^ik.