well-marked moods of one individual character, rather than that of bringing into juxtaposition two radically different characters. L'Allegro may not be the Milton who meditated entering the Church and making his life a true poem, but he is rather the Milton who went to the theatre in his youth, and could in his mature age ask Lawrence "What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste with wine, whence we may rise To hear the lute well touched or artful voice than the typical Cavalier of Charles's court. Cavaliers did not usually call for "sweet Liberty " but for sweet License, nor did they greatly hanker after "unreprovèd pleasures." They were not particularly noted for their early rising; and if any one of them had watched the Bear out, in different pursuits from those of Il Penseroso, he would probably not have continued his morning walk after encountering the "milk maid singing blithe." Another point on which critics differ is, whether or not Milton intended to describe the events of a day of twenty-four hours. Some claim that he merely sketches the general tenor of the life of his characters; others that he represents the events of an ideal day. The antagonists ought to be satisfied with the assurance that he intended to do both the one thing and the other. The careful and sequential division of the day that is apparent in each poem (even if "Il Penseroso" does begin with the nightingale and the moon) cannot be accidental, nor can the grouping of events and natural sights belonging to different seasons of the year be the result of ignorance or negligence. It is, probably, a fad of criticism to call as much attention as is now done to the fact that Milton was not so accurate or so penetrating an observer of nature as some of his successors, like Tennyson, have been. In the first place, neither here nor in "Paradise Lost" will Milton be found to be much of a sinner in this regard if he be compared with his predecessors and contemporaries. In the second place, it is by no means certain that minute and accurate observation of nature is essential to the equipment of a great poet. A genuine love of nature, a power to feel and - impart something of her spirit, is doubtless essential; but as poetry on its pictorial side. should be mainly suggestive, it is not yet clear that posterity will get more pleasure out of the elaborate and accurate pictures of some modern poets than out of the broadly true and suggestive, if sometimes inaccurate, pictures of Milton. It is not entirely unlikely that our recently developed love of detail-work has injured our sense for form, and that our grandchildren will take Matthew Arnold's advice and return to the Greeks and Milton, in order to learn what the highest poetry really is like. Milton is nearer akin to Homer and Sophocles than he is to the modern naturalist or nature mystic, and it is well for English poetry that he is. He would probably have thought the picture of the sunbeams lying in the golden chamber, suggested by a few words in that exquisite fragment of Mimnermus beginning "Ainτaw TÓλ,” more in keeping with the requirements of a rational poetics than ninetenths of the purple descriptive passages in English poetry since the days of Wordsworth. Yet if editors and critics have had their humors and fads, they have always ended by acknowledging the perennial charm of these poems. And the mass of readers has paid its highest tribute of culling many a phrase and verse for quotation to please the outer or the inner ear. The anthologist of our lyric poetry who should omit them from his collection would pay dearly for his indiscretion, and yet he could argue fairly that they are rather idylls than true lyrics, as Wordsworth did long since. if they are, in fact, a series of little pictures, sometimes so loosely joined or so hastily sketched as to puzzle the careful critic,1 these have been so fused into one organic whole by the delicate, evanescent sentiment that pervades each poem that even the purist will be willing to admit them to be lyrics of marvellous beauty and power, coming from the heart of the poet and going straight to the hearts of his readers. But With Milton's most popular poems it is convenient to group three short pieces that are little known. They are those entitled "At a 1 There are three or four passages in the poems rendered very obscure by a looseness of syntax unusual with Milton. See 'L'Allegro," ll. 45–48, 103-106, and "Il Penseroso," ll. 147–150. 66 Solemn Music," "On Time," and "Upon the Circumcision." The end of 1633 and the beginning of 1634 may be assigned as the probable period of composition, for reasons that need not be detailed here. The first poem seems reminiscential of a sacred concert, the second was intended as an inscription for a clock-face, the third forms, with the "Nativity Ode" and the stanzas on "The Passion," a somewhat belated member of a religious trilogy. All three pieces are very elaborate in style and are nearer to “Arcades," "Comus," and "Lycidas" than to "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso." All are full of high solemnity and of that mighty vision of eternal things that makes "Paradise Lost" so supreme in the world's poetry. The following lines from the first will illustrate the quality of the trio better than any description: "Where the bright Seraphim in burning row With those just spirits that wear victorious palms, Singing everlastingly." |