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“Why slee'pest thou, Eve'? Now is the pleasant time, “ The coʻol, the silent, (save where silence yields “ To the night-warbling-b'ird, th'at/ no'w aw'ake “ Tunes swee'test his lo've-la'boured-song) now reigns “ Full-orbed the mo'on, an'd/ with more pleasing ligh't/ “ Sha'dowy sets o'ff/ the face of things'; in vai'n, “ If none resgard : Heaven w'akes with all his e'yes ; “ Wh‘om to behold buît the'e, N'ature's desire ? “ In whose sigʻht/ all things jo'y, deli'ghted, “ Attra'cted by thy b'eauty/ still to ga'ze.” I rose as at thỹ-call, but fou’nd-thee no't: To find th'ee/ I directed then my

wal'k : And o'n (metho'ught) alone I passed through wa'ys/ That bro'ught-me on a sud'den/ to the tre'e Of interdi'cted kno'wledge : fai'r it sesemed, (Much fairer to my fan cy/ than by day :) And/ as I wondering loʻoked, beside it sto'od One sha'ped and win ged/ like on'e of those from he’aven By u's/ oft see'n ; his dewy locks dist’illed Ambros'ia ; on thaît tr'ee, hoe a'lso gaz'ed ; And, “O fair plant," (said he,) “with fruit surch'arged, “ Deigns non'e/ to e'ase thy loa'd, and tas'te thy swe'et, “ Nor God, nor m'an ? Is knowledge so desp'ised ? “Or en“vy, or wha't-reserve/ forbi’ds to tas'te ? “ Forbi'd who wi'll, non'e/ shall from mạe withh'old “ Longer thy offered g'ood; why el'se set her'e ?" This s'aid, he pa'used not, but/ with venturous ar'm/ He plu'cked, he taʻsted: me/ damp horror chilled At such bold wor'ds, (vou'ched with a deed so b’old.) But h'e! thus overjoyed : “O fruit divi'ne, “Sweet of thyse'lf, but much mor'e-sweet/ thus croʻpped ; 6 Forbidden her'e, it seems, as only fit “ For go'ds, yet able to make go'ds of m'en: “ And why not go`ds of moen, since gʻood, (the more “ Comm'unicated,) more abu'ndant gro'ws, “ The author not imp'aired, but hoʻnoured mo're ?

Here, ha'ppy-creature, fa'ir/ ange'lic E've,
“ Partake thoʻu also ; happy though thou a'rt,

H‘appier thou ma’yst be, worothier/ can’st-not-be :
“ Taste thi's, and be hencefor'th/ among the gʻods
“ Thyself a god'dess ; not to earth confi'ned,
“ But sometimes in the ai'r, as we ; sometimes

“ Ascend to h'eaven, (by merit th’ine,) and see
“What life the goods live the’re, and 's'uch/ live thoîu.”
So sayi'ng, he drew ni'gh, and to me h'eld,
(Even to my mo"uth) of that same fruit held pa'rt/
Which he had plu'cked : the plea'sant/ sa'voury smell
So quic'kened appetite, that I' (metho'ught)
Could n'ot/ but tas'te. Forthwith up to the clouds/
With him I fi'ew, a'nd/ underneath/ beheld
The earth outstretched i'mmense, a prospect wi'de
And va'rious : wondering at my fli'ght/ and cha'nge
To this high exaltation ; suddenly
My gu'ide was go'ne, and I' (metho'ught) sunk do'wn,
And fell aslee'p: but, O' ! how glad I wa'ked,
To fi'nd this, but a dreîam !

Concluding

voice.

MILTON'S INTELLECTUAL POWERS.

DR. CHANNING. In speaking of the intellectual qua'lities of M'ilton,* we may begin with obser'ving, that the very splendour of his poetic fam'e/ has tended to obsc'ure or conceal the extent of his mind, and the vari'ety of its e'nergies and attai'nments. To ma'ny/ he seems only a po'et, when/ in truth/ he was a profound sch“olar, a man of vast compass of thou’ght, imb'ued thoroughly/ with all an cient and mo'dern-learning, and able to ma'ster, to moʻuld, to impreîgnate/ with his own intellectual po'wer, his great and various-acquisitions. He had not learned the superficial doctrine of a la ter d'ay, - that p'oetry/ flourishes mo'st/ in an uncu'ltivated s'oil, and that ima'gination, shapes its brig'htest-visions/ from the mists of a superstitious a'ge; and he had no dread of accumulating know'ledge, lest it should oppress and smo'ther his ge'nius. He was conscious of th`at/t

* It may be considered as a general rule that the concluding word of a portion of a sentence commencing with a preposition, in, on, of,”' &c., (as in the case of the adverb and conjunction) requires the rising inflection.

+ When “that” occurs as a demonstrative pronoun (as in this instance,) it uniformly requires accentual force ; when as a conjunction or relative, it requires no force,—the “a” being merged almost into the sound of u : _Example, " I recollect that (1) the same circumstance that(") occurred to me, occurred also to that individual.”

(1) Pronounced nearly as if spelt thut.

E

with'in him, which could quicken a'll kno'wledge, and wie'ld-it with ea'se and mi’ght; which could give fres'hness to old tru'ths, and har'mony to discordant thou'ghts; which could bind tog'ether (by living ties and mysterious affi'nities*) the most remote disc'overies; and rear fabrics of glo‘ry and be’auty/ from the rude materials/ which other mi’nds/ had collected. Milton had that universa'lity/ which marks the hi'ghest-order of intellect. Though accu'stomed (almost from i’nfancy) to drink at the fountains of classical li'terature, he had nothing of the p'edantry and fasti'diousness, which disda'in all other dra’ughts. His' healthy mi'nd/ delig'hted in ge'nius, on whatever so'il or in whatever a'ge-it-burst-forth/ and poured o'ut its fu'lness. He' understood/ too well/ the ri'ghts and dignity, and pri'de of creative imagin’ation, to lay on it the laws of the Greek or Roman-school. Parnassus/ was not/ to hiệm the o'nly, ho'ly ground of gʻenius. He felt that p'oetry/ was as a universal pre'sence.

Great minds were everywhere hi's kindred. He felt the ench'antment of Oriental fic'tion, surrendered himself to the strange creations of “ A'raby the Ble'st,” and delighted still more in the romantic spi'rit of ch'ivalry, and in the tales of wo'nder/ in whic'h/ it was embodied. Accordingly/ hi's po'etry/ remi'nds us of the o'cean, which a'dds/ to its own boʻundlessness contributions from all r'egions under hea'ven. Nor was it only in the department of imagina tion that his acquisitions were v'ast. He travelled over the who'le-field of kno'wledge, (as far as it had then been explored). His various philological attai'nments were used to put him in possession of the wi’sdom/ stored in all coʻuntries where the i'ntellect/ had been cu'ltivated. The natural philo'sophy, metaph'ysics, e'thics, his'tory, theo'logy, and political s'cience of his ow'n and foʻrmer-times, were fami'liar-to-him. Never was there a more unconfined mi'nd, and we could cite Mi'lton) as practical example of the benefits of that universal cu'lture of in'tellect, which forms on'e distinction of our ti'mes, but which so'me dread/ as unfrie'ndly to original tho'ught. Let such remem'ber, that Mi’ND is) in its own n’ature diffu'sive. Its

a

* Let me here repeat, for the subject is of paramount importance, that every portion of a sentence in the form of a simile or comparison,-every illustrative adverbial phrase, and every clause directly or collaterally descriptive, or explanatory, may be read parenthetically with great advantage.

object is the u'niverse, which is strictly oʻne, (or bound together by infinite conn'ections and corresp'ondencies); and accordingly/ its natural progress is from o'ne/ to anoạther-field of thou’ght; and/ wherever original po'wer (creative gʻenius) ex'ists, the mi’nd (far from being distra'cted or oppre'ssed by the var'iety of its acquis'itions) will see more and more co'mmon be'arings/ and hidden and beautiful an'alogies in all the o'bjects of kno'wledge—will see mutual lig'ht/ shed from tru'th to tr'uth, and will compel-us (with a kin gly-power, whatever it understands,) to yield some tribute of pro'of, or illustration, or spleîndour, to whatever toʻpic, it would unfo'ld.

ESTIMATE OF POETRY-MILTON'S OPINION.

DR. CHANNING. OF a'll God's gifts of i'ntellect, Milton esteemed poșeticalgenius the m'ost transce'ndent. He esteeʼmed it/ in himse'lf/ as a kind of inspir'ation, and wrote his great works/ with something of the conscious digʻnity of a pro^phet. We agree with M'ilton/ in his e'stimate of poetry. It seems to us the divi'nest of all a'rts, fo'r/ it is the brea'thing or expres'sion of that principle or se'ntiment, which is de'epest and sublimest in human n’ature; we me'an of that thi’rst or aspira'tion, to which no mind is whoʻlly a stra'nger, for something pu’rer and lo'velier, something more po'werful, lo'fty, and thr'illing, than ordinary and real-life affo'rds. No doctrine is more com’mon/ among Chr'istians than that of ma'n's immortality, but/ it is not so generally understood, that the ger’ms or prin ciples of his whole f'uture-being/ are now' wrapped up in his s'oul, (as the ru'diments of the future plant in the se'ed.) As a necessary resu'lt of this constit’ution, the soʻul (possessed and moved by these migʻhty/ though i'nfant e'nergies) is perpetually stretching beyo’nd/ what is pre'sent and v'isible, struggling against the bounds of its earthly prison-h'ouse, and seeking relief and jo'y/ in imaginings of unse'en and ide'al-being. Thi'sview of our n'ature (which has never been fu'lly developed, and which goes further/ towards explaining the contradictions of human li'fe/ than all others) carries us to the very found'ation and so'urces-of-poetry. He who cannot inte’rpret (by his own co'nsciousness) what we have now sa'id, wants the tru'e key to woʻrks of ge'nius. He has not penetrated those sacred recesses of the soʻul, where poetry is bo‘rn and no’urished, and inhales immortal vi'gour, and wings herself for her ze’avenward-flight. In an intelle'ctual na'ture, (framed for rogress and for hig'her-modes of b'eing,) there must be creative e'nergies, powers of ori'ginal and e'ver-growing tho’ught; and po^etry is the foʻrm/ in which these energies are chiefly ma'nifested. It is the glorious prerogative of this ar't, that it “makes all things ne'w,” for the gratification of a di'vine ins'tinct. It inde'ed finds its e'lements/ in what it actually se'es and expe'riences, (in the worlds of ma'tter and mi'nd:) but/ it comb'ines and blen'ds-these/ into new forms/ and according to n'ew a'ffinities; breaks do'wn (if we may so s'ay) the distin'ctions and bou'nds of n'ature ; imparts to material oʻbjects life, and se'ntiment, and emo'tion, and invests the mind with the po'wers and splen'dours-of the ouîtward cre'ation; descri'bes the surrounding u'niverse in the co'lours/* which the passions throw o'ver it, and depicts the mind/'in those modes of repo'se or agitation, of ten derness or sublime em'otion, which manifests its thi'rst/ for a more po'werful and jo'yful exi'stence. To a man of a listeral and prosaic ch'aracter, the mind may seem law'less/ in these wo'rkings; but/ it observes hig'her-laws/ than it transgresses, (the law's of the immortal in'tellect ;) it is trying and deve'loping its best fa'culties; a'nd/ in the oʻbjects/ which it describes, or in the emo'tions/ which it aw'akens, anticipates those states of progressive po'wer, sple'ndour, bea'uty and happiness, for whi'ch/ it was crea'ted.

We accordingly believe that p'oetry (far from injuring soc'iety) is one of the great instruments of its refi'nement and exalta'tion. It lifts the mind above o'rdinary-life, gives it a res'pite from pressing ca'res, and awakens the consciousness of its affi'nity, with what is p'ure and no'ble. In its legi'timate and hi^ghest e'fforts, it has the same t'endency and ai'm/ with Christia"nity; that is, to spir’itualize our na'ture. Tru'e ; poetry has been made the instrument of v'ice, the pan der of ba'd-passions ; b’ut/ when genius thus stoʻops/, it dim's its fi'res, and parts with mu'ch of its po'wer; and/ even when poetry is enslaved to lice'ntiousness or misan'thropy, she cannot whoʻlly forget her

* The relative pronouns, in whatever case they occur, require a paus before them, except when preceded by of; as “ of whom," " of which,” &c

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