in one of his prophetical books, says that Milton's house in the Spiritual Kingdom is Palladian, not Gothic. Palladian it is, and in this century we have dwelt by preference in the Gothic house of mind, loving the wayward humor of its adornment, the mysticism and confusion of its design. But from time to time we must purify our vision with the more ample and august lines of the house which Milton has builded. ON PARADISE LOST [PREFIXED TO THE SECOND EDITION] WHEN I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold, In slender book his vast design unfold Messiah crowned, God's reconciled decree, Rebelling Angels, the Forbidden Tree, Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All — the ar gument Held me a while misdoubting his intent, That he would ruin (for I saw him strong) The sacred truths to fable and old song (So Samison groped the temple's posts in spite), The world o'erwhelming to revenge his sight. Yet, as I read, soon growing less severe, I liked his project, the success did fear Through that wide field how he his way should find O'er which lame Faith leads Understanding blind; Lest he perplexed the things he would explain, And what was easy he should render vain. Or, if a work so infinite he spanned, Jealous I was that some less skilful hand (Such as disquiet always what is well, And by ill-imitating would excel,) Might hence presume the whole Creation's day To change in scenes, and show it in a play. Pardon me, mighty Poet; nor despise My causeless, yet not impious, surmise. But I am now convinced, and none will dare Within thy labours to pretend a share. As them preserves, and thee, inviolate. Where could'st thou words of such a compass find? Whence furnish such a vast expense of mind? Just Heaven, thee like Tiresias to requite, Rewards with prophecy thy loss of sight. Well might'st thou scorn thy readers to allure With tinkling rime, of thy own sense se cure; While the Town-Bayes writes all the while and spells, And, like a pack-horse, tires without his bells. Their fancies like our bushy points appear; Thy verse, created, like thy theme sublime, In number, weight, and measure, needs not rime. ANDREW MARVELL THE VERSE The measure is English heroic verse without rime, as that of Homer in Greek, and of Virgil in Latin-rime being no necessary adjunct or true ornament of poem or good verse, in longer works especially, but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame metre; graced indeed since by the use of some famous modern poets, carried away by custom, but much to their own vexation, hindrance, and constraint to express many things otherwise, and for the most part worse, than else they would have expressed them. Not without cause therefore some both Italian and Spanish poets of prime note have rejected rime both in longer and shorter works, as have also long since our best English tragedies, as a thing of itself, to all judicious ears, trivial and of no true musical delight; which consists only in apt numbers, fit quantity of syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one verse into another, not in the jingling sound of like endings a fault avoided by the learned ancients both in poetry and all good oratory. This neglect then of rime so little is to be taken for a defect, though it may seem so perhaps to vulgar readers, that it rather is to be esteemed an example set, the first in English, of ancient liberty recovered to heroic poem from the troublesome and modern bondage of riming. BOOK I THE ARGUMENT This First Book proposes, first in brief, the whole subject - Man's disobedience, and the loss thereupon of Paradise, wherein he was placed: then touches the prime cause of his fall-the Serpent, or rather Satan in the Serpent; who, revolting from God, and drawing to his side many legions of Angels, was, by the command of God, driven out of Heaven, with all his crew, into the great Deep. Which action passed over, the Poem hastes into the midst of things; presenting Satan, with his Angels, now fallen into Hell-described here not in the Centre (for heaven and earth may be supposed as yet not made, certainly not yet accursed), but in a place of utter darkness, fitliest called Chaos. Here Satan, with his Angels lying on the burning lake, thunderstruck and astonished, after a certain space recovers, as from confusion; calls up him who, next in order and dignity, lay by him: they confer of their miserable fall. Satan awakens all his legions, who lay till then in the same manner confounded. They rise: their numbers; array of battle; their chief leaders named, according to the idols known afterwards in Canaan and the countries adjoining. To these Satan directs his speech; comforts them with hope yet of regaining Heaven; but tells them, lastly, of a new world and new kind of creature to be created, according to an ancient prophecy, or report, in Heaven - for that Angels were long before this visible creation was the opinion of many ancient Fathers. To find out the truth of this prophecy, and what to determine thereon, he refers to a full council. What his associates thence attempt. Pandemonium, the palace of Satan, rises, Buddenly built out of the Deep: the infernal Peers there sit in council. OF Man's first disobedience, and the fruit With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire Here swallowed up in endless misery. now Of force believe almighty, since no less Than such could have o'erpowered such force as ours) Have left us this our spirit and strength entire, Strongly to suffer and support our pains, Whereto with speedy words the Arch- 160 "Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable, But see! the angry Victor hath recalled rous hail, Prone on the flood, extended long and large, Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge As whom the fables name of monstrous size, Titanian or Earth-born, that warred on Jove, Briareos or Typhon, whom the den By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast 200 Leviathan, which God of all his works Created hugest that swim the ocean-stream. Hin, haply slumbering on the Norway foam, The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff, Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence 210 |