The verdurous wall of Paradise up sprung;
Which to our general sire gave prospect large
Into his nether empire neighboring round.
And higher than that wall, a circling row
Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit,
Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue
Appear'd, with gay enamel'd colors mix't:
On which the sun more glad, impress'd his beams,
Than on fair evening cloud, or humid bow,

When God hath shower'd the earth; so lovely seem'd
That landscape: and of pure, now purer air

Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires
Vernal delight and joy, able to drive
All sadness but despair: Now gentle gales
Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense
Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole
Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail
Beyond the cape of Hope, and now are pass'd
Mozambic, off at sea, north-east winds blow
Sabean odors from the spicy shore

Of Araby the bless'd with such delay;

Well pleased, they slack their course, and many a league Cheer'd with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles:Here are fresh fountains, that run nectar,

Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold;

and groves, whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm; flowers of all hue; purple grapes, crystal streams, songs of birds, and vernal airs. The field of Enna, where Proserpine gathered flowers, nor that sweeet grove of Daphne, by Orantes and the inspired Castalian spring could not compare with this paradise of Eden. This is painted with exquisite taste, and with an affluence of fancy surpassing any thing that Spenser

ever wrote.

It is remarked, somewhere, by Mr. Stewart, that it is not more the office of language to convey knowledge from one mind to another, than to bring mind into contact with mind; to bring two minds into the same train of thinking, and confine them to the same track; and the mechanism of language is not more wonderful, than the process it puts in action behind the scene. This is peculiarly the case with some of Milton's poetry. There is often an extreme remoteness in the associations by which he acts upon the mind of the reader; and it is therefore said of him that he "electrifies the mind by conductors :" but in these passages, and in all his small poems, there is a simplicity, a mellow richness, so to speak, and a vividness, unsurpassed by any writer in the language; and hence Dr. Channing has observed of his poetry, that it "breathes a sensibility and tenderness allied to its sublimity."

COMUS, A MASK.

Comus is one of the most finished poems in the language, it is a suite of speeches, observes Mr. Warton, not interesting by discrimination of character, not conveying variety of incidents, nor gradually exciting curiosity; but perpetually attracting attention by sublime sentiment, and fanciful imagery of the richest vein, by an exuberance of picturesque description, poetical allusion, and ornamental expression. This poem has all the sweetness of the sweetest; it possesses a subdued calmness in the expression of the most tender sensibility; it has the richest structure of versification and the finest fancy, though it does not deviate into all

the wildness of romantic fable, only because it is guarded and subdued by a chaste and elegant taste.

THE ATTENDANT SPIRIT.

The first scene discovers a wild wood.

Two brothers, with their sister, stray from her in a wood, and she is conducted by a sorcerer into a stately palace, set out with all manner of deliciousness, soft music, tables spread with all dainties, where she is set in an enchanted chair. The Attendant Spirit conducts the brothers thither, who rush in with swords drawn. The enchanter escapes, and leaves the lady fixed in the chair; she is freed by Sabrina, who, invok'd in song, rises from her coral hall.

Before the starry threshold of Jove's court
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes
Of bright aerial spirits live inspher'd

In regions mild of calm and serene air,
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot,

Which men call Earth; and with low-thoughted care
Confin'd and pester'd in this pinfold here,
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,
Unmindful of the crown that virtue gives,
After this mortal change, to her true servants
Amongst the enthron'd Gods on sainted seats.
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; and but for such,
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds
With the rank vapors of this sin worn-mould.

Therefore, when any favor'd of high Jove
Chances to pass through this adventurous glade,
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star

I shoot from heaven, to give him safe convoy,
As now I do; but first I must put off

These my sky robes, spun out of Iris' woof,

And take the weeds and likeness of a swain,
That to the service of this house belongs,
Who with his soft pipe, and smooth-dittied song,
Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar,
And hush the waving woods; nor of less faith
And in this office of his mountain watch,
Likeliest, and nearnest to the present aid
Of this occasion. But I hear the tread

Of hateful steps; I must be viewless now.

COMUS enters with a charming rod in one hand, his glass in the other, with him a rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel glistening; they come in making a riotous and unruly noise with torches in their hands..

Comus. The star that bids the shepherd fold,

Now the top of heaven doth hold ;

And the gilded car of day

His glowing axle doth allay
In the steep Atlantic stream;

And the slope sun his upward beam
Shoots against the dusky pole,

Pacing toward the other goal

Of his chamber in the east.

Meanwhile, welcome Joy, and Feast,
Midnight Shout and Revelry,

Tipsy Dance and Jollity.

Braid your locks with rosy twine,
Dropping odors, dropping wine.

Rigor now is gone to bed,

And Advice with scrup'lous head,

Strict Age and sour Severity,

With their grave saws in slumber lie.

We that are of purer fire

Imitate the starry quire,

Who in their nightly watchful spheres,

Lead in swift round the months and years.

*

THE MEASURE.

Break off, break off, I feel the different pace
Of some chaste footing near about this ground.
Run to your shrouds, within these brakes and trees;
Our number may affright: Some virgin sore
(For so I can distinguish by mine art)
Benighted in the woods. Now to my charms,
And to my wily trains; I shall ere long
Be well-stock'd with as fair a herd as grazed
About my mother Circe, Thus I burl
My dazzling spells into the spungy air,
Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,
And give it false presentments, lest the place,
And my quaint habits, breed astonishment
And put the damsel to suspicious flight,
Which must not be, for that's against my course:
I, under fair pretence of friendly ends,
And well-placed words of glozing courtesy,
Baited with reasons not implausible,

Wind me into the easy-hearted man
And hug him into snares. When once her eye
Hath met the virtue of his magic dust

I shall appear some harmless villager
Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear.
But here she comes; I fairly step aside,

And hearken, if I may, her business here.

[The Lady enters.

This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,
My best guide now; methought it was the sound
Of riot, and ill-manag'd merriment,
Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe
Stirs up among the loose unletter'd hinds,
When for their teeming flocks, and granges full,
In wanton dance, they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the god's amiss. I should be loath
To meet the rudeness and swill'd insolence