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Sunk though he be beneath the watʼry floor;
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,

And yet anon repairs his drooping head,

And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:

So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,

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Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves, Where other groves and other streams along,

With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,

And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,

166. —is not dead, &c.] See Ode on the Death of a fair Infant, v. 29. note. E.

168. So sinks the day-star] The thought of a star's being washed in the ocean, and thence shining brighter, is frequent among the ancient poets: and at the first reading I conceived that Milton meant the morning star, alluding to Virgil, Æn. viii. 589.

Qualis ubi oceani perfusus Lucifer unda &c.

but upon farther consideration I rather think that he means the sun, whom in the same manner he calls the diurnal star in the Paradise Lost, x. 1069: and Homer, if the hymn to Apollo be his, compares Apollo to a star in mid-day, ver. 441.

Αστερι ειδόμενος μέσῳ ηματι.
168. Compare Gray's Bard.
-Hath quench'd the orb of day?
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood.
Ť. Warton.

172. Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves,] A designation of our Saviour by a miracle which bears an imme

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diate reference to the subject of the poem. T. Warton.

174. Where other groves and other streams along,] Virgil, Æn. vi. 641.

-solemque suum, sua sidera norunt. And Ariosto, cant. xxxiv. st. 72.

There other rivers stream, smile other fields

Than here with us, and other plains are stretch'd,

Sink other valleys, other mountains rise. &c.

175. With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,] Like Apollo in Horace, Od. iii. iv. 61.

Qui rore puro Castaliæ lavit
Crines solutos.

176. And hears the unexpressive it was at first List'ning the unexnuptial song,] In the Manuscript pressive &c. This is the song in the Revelation, which no man could learn but they who were not defiled with women, and were virgins: Rev. xiv. 3, 4. The author had used the word unexpressive in the same manner before in his Hymn on the Nativity, st. 11.

Harping in loud and solemn quire With unexpressive notes to heav'n's new-born heir.

In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and singing in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.
Thus

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sang the uncouth swain to th' oaks and rills,

Nor are parallel instances wanting in Shakespeare. As you like it, act iii. s. 2.

The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.

And in like manner insuppressive is used for not to be suppressed. Julius Cæsar, act ii. s. 2.

Nor th' insuppressive mettle of our spirits.

176. So in the Latin poem, Ad Patrem, v. 37.

Immortale melos, et inenarrabile car

men.

T. Warton.

177. In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.] That is, in the blest kingdoms of meek joy and love; a transposition of the adjective, which we meet with also in the Paradise Lost, ix. 318.

So spake domestic Adam in his care, in which verse domestic is without doubt to be joined to care, and not to Adam, as the common opinion is. So also in the same book, ver. 225.

-and th' hour of supper comes unearn'd. Thyer.

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While the still morn went out with sandals gray,
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:

And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills, 190

188. He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,] By stops he means not such stops as belong to the organ, but what we now call the holes of any species of pipe or flute. Thus Browne, Britan. Past. b. ii. s. 3.

What musicke is there in a shepherd's quill,

If but a stop or two therein we spie? And Drayton, Mus. Elys.

Teaching every stop and kay,

To those that on the pipe do play.

So in Hamlet, where the Players

enter with the Recorders, "Govern "these ventages with your finger "and thumb:-look you, these are the stops." T. Warton.

189. With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:] He calls it Doric lay, because it imitates Theocritus and other pastoral poets, who wrote in the Doric dialect. Though Milton calls himself as yet uncouth, he warbles with eager thought his Doric lay; earnest of the poet he was to be, at least; as he promises in the motto to these juvenile poems of edit. 1645.

-baccare frontem

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Cingite, ne vati noceat mala lingua Virgil's is an admirable descrip

futuro.

This looks very modest, but see what he insinuates. The first part of Virgil's verse is,

Aut si ulira placitum laudarit baccare frontem &c.

Richardson.

See note on v. 2. This is a Doric lay, because Theocritus

tion of a rural evening, but I know not whether Milton's is not better, as it represents the sun setting so by degrees,

And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills,

And now was dropp'd into the western bay: though it must be said that the image of the smoke ascending

And now was dropp'd into the western bay; At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue: To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

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Mr. Richardson conceives, that by this last verse the poet says (pastorally) that he is hastening to, and eager on new works: but I rather believe that it was said in allusion to his travels into Italy, which he was now meditating, and on which he set out the spring following. I will conclude my remarks upon this poem with the just observation of Mr. Thyer. The particular beauties of this charming pastoral are too striking to need much descanting upon; but what gives the greatest grace to the whole is that natural and agreeable wildness and irregularity which runs quite through it, than which nothing could be better suited

to express the warm affection which Milton had for his friend, and the extreme grief he was in for the loss of him. Grief is eloquent, but not formal.

It must be owned, however, that grief is not so learned as is this poem, nor does it incline the heart to bitter sarcasms upon persons little, if at all, connected with the subject of sorrow. E.

I see no extraordinary wildness and irregularity, according to Dr. Newton, in the conduct of this little poem. It is true there is a very original air in it, although it be full of classical imitations: but this, I think, is owing, not to any disorder in the plan, nor entirely to the vigour and lustre of the expression, but, in a good degree, to the looseness and variety of the metre. Milton's ear was a good second to his imagination. Hurd.

Addison says, that he who desires to know whether he has a true taste for history or not, should consider, whether he is pleased with Livy's manner of telling a story; so, perhaps, it may be said, that he who wishes to know whether he has a true taste for poetry or not, should consider whether he is highly delighted or not with the perusal of Milton's Lycidas. If I might venture to place Milton's Works, according to their degrees of poetic excellence, it should be perhaps in the following order; Paradise Lost, Comus, Samson Agonistes, Lycidas, L'Allegro, Il Penseroso. The three last are

in such an exquisite strain, says Fenton, that though he had left no other monuments of his genius behind him, his name had been immortal. Dr. J. Warton. [Mr. Dunster hopes that Paradise Regained "slipped accidentally out of this list." Mr. Todd gives a note of Dr. Warton's on P. R. i. 44. which shews at least that he rated the Par. Reg. very highly. E.]

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Doctor Johnson observes, that Lycidas is filled with the heathen deities; and a long train of mythological imagery, such as a College easily supplies. But it is such also, as even the Court itself could now have easily supplied. The public diversions, and books of all sorts and from all sorts of writers, more especially compositions in poetry, were at this time overrun with classical pedantries. But what writer, of the same period, has made these obsolete fictions the vehicle of so much fancy and poetical description? How beautifully has he applied this sort of allusion, to the Druidical rocks of Denbighshire, to Mona, and the fabulous banks of Deva! It is objected, that its pastoral form is disgusting. But this was the age of pastoral: and yet Lycidas has but little of the bucolic cant, now so fashionable. The Satyrs and Fauns are but just mentioned. If any trite rural topics occur, how are they heightened!

Together both, ere the high lawns

appear'd

Under the opening eyelids of the morn,
We drove afield, and both together

heard

What time the gray-fly winds her

sultry horn,

Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night.

Here the day-break is described by the faint appearance of the upland lawns under the first gleams of light: the sun-set by the buzzing of the chaffer: and the night sheds her fresh dews on their flocks. We cannot blame pastoral imagery, and pastoral allegory, which carry with them so much natural painting. In this piece there is perhaps more poetry than sorrow. But let us read it for its poetry. It is true, that passion plucks no berries from the myrtle and ivy, nor calls upon Arethuse and Mincius, nor tells of rough Satyrs with cloven heel. But poetry does this; and in the hands of Milton, does it with a peculiar and irresistible charm. Subordinate poets exercise no invention, when they tell how a shepherd has lost his companion, and must feed his flocks alone, without any judge of his skill in piping: but Milton dignifies and adorns these common artificial incidents with unexpected touches of picturesque beauty, with the graces of sentiment, and with the novelties of original genius. It is objected" here is no art, for there "is nothing new." To say nothing that there may be art without novelty, as well as novelty without art, I must reply, that this objection will vanish, if we consider the imagery which Milton has raised from local circumstances. Not to repeat the use he has made of the mountains of Wales, the isle of Man, and the river Dee, near which Lycidas was shipwrecked; let us recollect the introduction of

the romantic superstition of St. Michael's Mount in Cornwall, which overlooks the Irish seas,

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