main channel, but rather diminish their volume before they reach their destiny.*

The longest of these narrations is Raphael's, who relates to Adam the stormy warfare of Satan prior to his fall, when he assembled before the palace of the great Lucifer

An host,

Innumerable as the stars of night,

Or (stars of morning) dewdrops, which the sun
Impearls on every leaf and every flower-

and inspired them to revolt;, but Michael and Gabriel led against them the legions of heaven, and the peals of doubtful warfare resounded through the empyrean heights, and the chance of battle wavered, until the Messiah routed the proud enemies of the Omnipotent, and hurled them into the bottomless pit, while eternal wrath burned after them, and Chaos felt tenfold confusion through his wild anarchy.

Satan's character stands alone amongst poetical creations. It is a defined but mysterious conception, massive, yet of the world of spirits, burning with the heat of lofty passions, yet calm in its pride. It has sufficient human sympathies to command our interest, it has sufficient spiritual attributes to lift it far above the level of

* See note at the end of the volume.

humanity, its features are marked and bold, but they are features that mortal eye cannot scan undazzled. It is a mind of awful grasp racked by its own restlessness, with ambition too vehement for fear, too excited for inactivity, too powerful for despair, with a confidence that cannot quail, a spirit that, if it cannot hope, has never trembled. It is not a personification of mere pride-pride with all its haughty coldness-but of the passions of a noble nature, that have brooded and burned and expanded from their own intensity; and the ruins of what was holy in its origin are grand and gloomy in its decay. The conception of a character naturally evil was one of easy apprehension, the conception of one rendered corrupt by overwrought passion and the too keen sensibility of its nature, was bold and difficult of execution; the former would be but a disgusting personation of vice, the latter a terrible example of the power of moral guilt: the one would have too much grotesque hideousness to attract the grossest, the other might win its dominion over the affections of men, rouse them into morbid vehemence, and overcome even the callous by the cool sternness of its looks, covering a fevered bosom, like the incrustment on lava. We are lost in the contemplation of the towering majesty of the leader of the rebel spirits. The picture of passion is too deep and true to be either overcolored or exaggerated, it is concentrated not distorted. The being is too lofty to dwell among the creatures with whom he communes, but too wily and wise to despise their empire. He has shape, and form, and majesty, he has

the essence of all he was in his purity, debased but not destroyed, yet although he have visible features and members he is still incomprehensible, though indeed with imperial stature, there is a misty medium between man and him. He is too shadowy to make the earth his only habitation, but he towers in solemn grandeur, like a mountainous mass of purple cloud, that looks dark and solid yet is not a thing of substance, and though the sunbeams play around it and gild its silent folds, they cannot dissipate its shade, nor pierce the frowning gloom upon which they smile.

The spirits of Dante are elevations of human nature, beings with some predominant passion distinctly individualized; those of Milton are etherial, and of purely celestial existence, they ride upon the wings of seraphs, they have the shape and attributes of glorious angels, and their forms, like their souls, speak of their bright birthplace. Through the whole range of his spiritual characters there is not one that could degenerate into mortal; from the grim and terrible shapes that guarded the infernal doors, to the delicate Uriel gliding on his sunbeam-from Moloch, smeared with the blood of human sacrifice, to Raphael, who stood like Maia's son, and as he shook his plumes filled the air with fragrance.

If we descend to the mortal heroes of the poem, there is much to sustain the sublime impression we had previously received, in the simple dignities and pure

natures of the parents of the world. On them, and the Paradise they inhabited, the poet has lavished his most florid verse; Eden again blooms before us, and man is free from taint and deformity.

His fair large front, and eye sublime, declar'd
Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks
Round from his parted forelock manly hung
Clust'ring, but not beneath his shoulders broad:
She, as a veil, down to the slender waist
Her unadorned golden tresses wore,
Dishevell'd, but in wanton ringlets wav'd,
As the vine curls her tendrils, which implied
Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway,
And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd;
Yielded with coy submission, modest pride,
And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.

I will not enter at length into the debateable ground of the merits of Paradise Regained, nor expatiate upon the injudicious contrast that has been so frequently drawn to its disparagement between that poem and Paradise Lost. The latter opened a wide and untrodden sphere, and to a mind that could soar beyond the clouds, and discourse of the vast intellects and angelic multitudes that inhabit the realms of space, presented a full and noble subject, to which there was no limit but the imagination of the poet. In Paradise Regained there was less scope for the creative powers. It is grand, it is lofty, it is full of rich poetry and fine pathos; but it wants the unbounded expanse, the massive chiaro scuro, the breadth and the character of Paradise Lost. It was no degradation of the lofty mind that conceived the one to pen the other, and if when placed

broad muscle

The Paradise

together the one appear less masculine in feature, it is only by comparison; but who could compare the expressive dignity of the Apollo with the and sinew of the Farnese Hercules! Regained has been damaged only by the connection in which it has been placed, until it is almost necessary to speak with an apology of a poem that has never been equalled by any but its author. That it should have found especial favor from Milton was natural from his fervor and zeal, and the labor and polish with which the work was wrought; but it was worthy both of that labor and that esteem, and will remain fresh and sublime as long as our language and literature, or even our common faith shall endure. I will not attempt a hurried analysis of the poem, which would fail to give an idea of its singular beauties; but there are many parts of such loftiness and truth, that there is little difficulty in selecting an extract which will exhibit the style and construction of the verse. "Look" exclaims the Tempter, as he directs the gaze of the Messiah to the temples and schools of Athens,

Look once more, 'ere we leave this specular mount,
Westward, much nearer by south-west, behold
Where on the Egean shore a city stands,

Built nobly, pure the air, and light the soil,

Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts

And eloquence, native to famous wits,

Or hospitable, in her sweet recess,

City or suburban, studious walks and shades;
See there the olive grove of Academe,

Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird

K