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"Because they circulate nothing but lies and falsehoods in the world. Most of the poets are ignorant of real life, and put in its place their fanciful dreams and the deceptive creations of their imagination. Their mind calls up before their readers nothing but dissolving views, which, on closer contemplation and examination, turn out to be empty vagaries. Especially injurious is the influence of poetry to young persons, because it misleads the reason, shows every thing in a false light, and fills the heart and the head with fanciful ideas and feelings. Like the divine Plato, I should exile the poets from the state."

lady, and I envy the young gentlemen who | Does it not elevate the soul by the consciouswere fortunate enough to render you so chival- ness of its relationship to all that is divine, rous a service. The author of 'The Arcades,' pure, and noble? When soaring to its full for I am happy to recognize him, in my opinion height, it is fused into religion, into Christiancannot make a better use of his talents than ity itself, for, like it, it spiritualizes man and to dedicate charming verse to beauty and in- nature. I grant that poetry sometimes serves nocence. This is the only place I assign to vice and appears in the company of evil paspoetry; otherwise I think very little of it." sions; but genius even then preserves its di"And may I inquire how the Muses have in- vine nature, and poetry, even in the service of curred your aversion?" asked Alice, displeased voluptuousness or hatred, cannot entirely deny with the sneering tone of the guest. its sublime origin. Traces of pure sentiments, traits full of delicacy, pictures of innocent happiness, sympathy with the sufferings of virtue, burst from the dark cloud of wrath, from the night of despair; passages full of a lofty spirit of morality may be found even in every immoral work; and they prove, in the most striking manner, how difficult it is for a poetical mind to prove recreant to its inborn excellency; for poetry is the constant ally of our best sentiments. It delights in the beauty and grandeur both of nature and the human soul. Indeed, it depicts with terrible truthfulness the errors of passion, but only such as bear witness to a powerful nature, a strength calculated to inspire terror, and yet filling us with profound, shuddering compassion. Its principal aspiration and greatest task is to carry the mind beyond the beaten, dusty, and muddy paths of every-day life, and elevate it to purer heights, where it may breathe in an atmosphere full of noble and lofty sentiments. It reveals to us the full beauty and loveliness of nature, restores to us the freshness of youthful sensations, vivifies the joy felt in simple pleasures, and fans and preserves the sacred flame of enthusiasm, which warms the spring of our life, ennobles the love of the two sexes, excites our sympathy for all human relations and all classes of society, and, by prophetic forebodings, lays the foundations of our blissful belief in a future life."

Milton had listened to this unjustifiable attack with flushed cheeks and eyes flashing with indignation. His pride rebelled against the reviler of poetry, which he valued highest among all arts. To him the Muse was not a mere pastime, not an earthly servant, destined only for pleasure and enjoyment. A poet, in his eyes, was equivalent to a prophet; hence, he could not suffer such scornful allusions to his calling, and least of all in the presence of his beloved. He had suddenly lost his former bashfulness; he had jumped up from his seat, and now stood in the full ardor of his enthusiasm in front of the reviler of poetry.

"No matter what Plato says!" he exclaimed indignantly. "I believe that poetry is one of the greatest blessings vouchsafed to mankind What! poetry, the greatest benefactor to mankind, be injurious to the state and to society.

"Splendid!" replied Sir Kenelm Digby, sardonically. "You defend your own cause with

a great display of mind and imagination. But, like a true poet, you avoid my charge, and confine yourself to an encomium of poetry. You have not by any means refuted what I said against it.",

"I shall do so now. You charge poetry with spreading erroneous views and false expectations of real life, filling the mind with fantastic illusions, and building up air-castles on the ruins of wisdom. I do not deny, indeed, that it combats that kind of wisdom which is exclusively based on material views, considers physical pleasures and enjoyments the highest human blessings, and accumulation of means the only task of life; yea, I do not deny it, and praise this circumstance as not the meanest service which poetry is rendering to mankind, in delivering us from the thraldom of this earth-born and worldly prudence. But I prefer not to enter into this point, and will prove only that all the charges of falsehood and deception, raised against poets, are utterly unfounded. In many poems there is more truth than is to be found in history itself, and in philosophical systems. The creations of genius are often revelations of the highest truth; they disclose to us unknown regions of thought, and shed a new light on the mysteries of life. The word itself sometimes appears false in poetry, while the spirit is imbued with the highest truth. And if truth thus lives even in the boldest flights of poetry, how much more will this be the case when the poet portrays real life; for our present life is only, as it were, the primary school of the immortal spirit, and indescribably rich in poetical elements. It is the sublime task of the bard to draw these divine elements from the coarse dross covering and surrounding them. Life is not by any means so prosy, sober, and trivial, as people generally believe. An open eye sees at once that it teems with poetry. The sentiments which it awakens in our own hearts, and scatters as seeds for the future; the powers of

omnipotent passion, which seem to arm the soul with superhuman energy; the innocent and ever-new joys of youth, the blissful transports of the heart, succumbing for the first time to the sweet charms of love, and dreaming of a happiness too sublime for this world; woman with her beauty and grace, her irresistible amiability and boundless devotion; the blush of innocence, the tone, the glance of which only a mother is capable: all this is poetry. It is false to say that the poet depicts a life that does not exist in reality. He distils and concentrates the heavenly essence of life, preserves and secures its volatile aroma, unites the severed and mutilated parts of its beauty, and imparts a longer existence to its, alas! too rapidly withering blossoms. And in doing this, he is a benefactor, for it is a blessing for us to be reminded that life does not belong exclusively to the painful satisfaction of our earthly wants, but admits also of sentiments and feelings that fill us with unutterable bliss, and are worthy of a better world. This power of poetry to refine and purify our views of life and happiness should be the more carefully fostered, and is the more necessary to us, the greater the progress of society. It is necessary to us, in order to meet the arrogant assumptions of our heartless and artificial relations, which, brought about by civilization, make the world appear to us so desolate and uninteresting. It is necessary to us, in order to combat the onesided aspirations of science, which is no longer, as formerly, taught for its own sake, but from vile covetousness and for the sake of the advantages which it holds out to greedy men. Hence, poetry must prevent men from sinking and perishing under the burden of this worldly life of the present time, which attaches the highest importance to sensual pleasures."

At the conclusion of his speech, there was in the room so profound a silence, that it almost frightened him. Enthusiasm had carried him so far away, that he forgot all his sur

the lord president, will be celebrated this month. We have resolved to present some mask or other play on this occasion, and were just going to request the poet to lend us his most valuable assistance."

"My feeble ability is at your service, gracious countess; I will assist you with all my heart," replied Milton.

roundings, the place where he was standing, | Mr. Milton from serving the Muses. We have and the persons whom he was addressing. need of him. The birthday of my husband, Coloring and awaking as if from a dream, he looked at his audience, which seemed fascinated by the spell of his words. Alice had dropped her needlework on her knees, and sat in a reverential attitude, her hands clasped as if in prayer. A blissful smile played round her lips, and in her pure heart resounded yet the echoes of the words she had just heard. They had expressed her own thoughts and feelings, but had clad them in more beautiful language, and had been more profound than she had ever thought or felt them. The enthusiastic musician had risen from his feet and gratefully shook hands with the blushing poet. Even the sneering courtier dropped his sarcastic tone, and contented himself with cloaking the evident defeat which he had sustained, by adroitly extolling first of all the able manner in which, he said, the poet had defended his

cause.

"You have conducted your defence so well, that I am almost obliged to admit that I am vanquished. You are not only a poet, but also a most skilful advocate. Being possessed of such talents, you may obtain the highest distinctions and honors, if you know how to profit by your accomplishments. I will not recur to our controversy, else I should advise you to give up poetry, which rewards its votaries only with crowns of thorns. The laurel always has been, and always will be, unfruitful."

"For this reason, he is the symbol of the highest glory. He who strives for the divine renounces any earthly gain."

"But as we live on earth, you would do well to turn your talents to account, and profit by them as much as possible. The civil service open to you, and a young man of your ability will be able to reach the most eminent positions, if he is determined to do so."

is

"Just now, however," interposed the Countess of Bridgewater, "you must not dissuade

"And I will furnish the music," said Henry Lawes. "I am already proud of the beautiful poem which you will write for me."

"You are doing me a great deal of honor," replied the poet; "but I am really at a loss to decide what subject would be most suitable to the occasion."

"Oh, let me help you to choose an excellent subject," exclaimed the musician. "You may kill two birds with one stone. What do you think of selecting the adventure in Haywood Forest as the subject of the mask? You might add the most charming scenes and changes to it. The persons appearing in the mask may be depicted as they really are-our gracious Lady Alice, the two brothers, and Comus, the foolish vagabond. This will save you half the trouble, and I will compose for it melodies which will delight the angels in heaven."

"The only question is," objected Milton, "whether Lady Alice and her brothers consent to be brought upon the stage in this manAnd then I do not feel equal to such a

ner.

task."

Oh, pray try it," said Alice. "You have my consent, which I grant with the greatest readiness, and my brothers will have no objections either. I impose, however, the condition that you must not idealize us too much, nor treat us with too great poetical license. You yourself said just now that poetry is destined to serve truth, and I take you at your word."

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"You need not be afraid, for I shall take | ties. Of all the Olympic gods, friend Comus, the god of laughter and jollity always pleased me best, and I shall take pains to do honor to him, provided you and the poet do not object to it. I am sure Mr. Milton will not treat friend Comus with a niggardly hand, but be stow a good share of wit and humor on him, In this case, I will allow him even to encroach a little upon truth, and not represent the awkward, sneering fellow entirely in accordance with nature. On the other hand, he must not be entirely destitute of malice and irony; for they impart the real zest to life, and will add to the attractions of the mask."

good care not to falsify my own words. Reality in this case is full of poetry. I shall go to work immediately, and Lawes shall receive in a few days the first verses, which he will compose"

"I thank you for your great kindness," said the countess. "And that we may represent truth as faithfully as possible, Alice and her brothers shall themselves perform on the stage the adventure which occurred to them."

"That is splendid!" exclaimed the musician, jubilantly. "The persons interested in the adventure will thus pass through it a second time."

"For the other rôles which you intend to add to the mask," continued the countess, "I believe we shall likewise find suitable performers. Of course, I count in the first place upon you and your friend Mr. King. As saviors of my daughter, you must, of course, appear in the mask."

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Pray do not insist on it, so far as I am concerned," said Milton, beseechingly. "I myself do not possess any theatrical talents whatever. Whenever I am to speak in public, my tongue seems paralyzed, and I am unable to utter a word. I should, therefore, play but a sorry part on such an occasion. Moreover, the honor of the rescue, if it may be called so, is due exclusively to the bravery and courage of my friend. Hence, it will be sufficient if he performs this role in the mask which is now forming in my mind."

"But who will represent the god Comus ? "

asked Alice.

"I am obliged to you for this hint," replied the poet, "and shall profit by it to the best of my ability. You will have no cause to complain of me; I shall certainly follow your suggestions."

"But what is to be the name of the mask?" asked the musician.

"Alice; or, Rescued Innocence,” replied Edward King, who had hitherto been silent, absorbed in thinking only of the lovely girl.

"You do me too much honor," objected Alice. "Let the name of the mask rather be 'Comus.'

"Your request is equivalent to an order," replied the poet; "I myself like this title best, and will go to work immediately. I hope to finish the mask in the course of a few days.”

"And I shall be on hand in time," said Sir Kenelm Digby, "and learn and play my part conscientiously."

"We will take you at your word," replied the countess. "Of course you will all promise

"I will, if you permit me," replied Sir Ken- to keep the matter secret, as it is to be a sur

elm Digby.

"What? You will do it?" exclaimed the

Countess, wonderingly.

"I should like to contribute my mite to the festival, and as Nature has given me a prosy character, let me, in God's name, take upon myself the rôle most suitable to my peculiari

prise for my husband."

The conversation soon took a more general direction. Sir Kenelm Digby was requested to speak of his travels, and he did so in a manner which delighted his hearers. He had seen the greater part of Europe, under the most peculiar and brilliant circumstances. He knew

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how to describe life at the courts of France | step; you fancy you hear the arrows rattle in and Spain in the most interesting and amusing her quiver, and wish secretly to be kissed in manner. Owing to his personal acquaintance your sleep, like Endymion, by these sweet with the most eminent persons, he was able | virgin lips. Leaning against the tree stands to impart a peculiar zest to his descriptions. Apollo, the god of music and poetry, and the Thus he traced a lifelike portrait of Cardinal prototype of manly beauty. His head seems Richelieu, whom he pronounced the greatest surrounded with beams of light; ambrosial statesman in the world. He interwove his hair flows from his radiant forehead; genernarrative with numerous witty allusions and ous pride and inspiration swells his beautiful piquant anecdotes, and did not forget to ex- mouth and his royal nostrils. And as if these patiate on the love of the cardinal for Queen witnesses of past splendor and glory were inAnne, of Austria, and her aversion to the all- sufficient, new wonders emerge every day from powerful minister. He dwelt longest upon the bowels of the earth, which faithfully conthe wonders and beauties of Italy. Here he cealed such treasures from the hordes of the became himself almost a poet, and in praising barbarians, and restore them to a better and the marvels of Venice, the charms of Florence, more civilized era which knows how to appreand the sublime grandeur of Rome, he was ciate them. These relics of antiquity rekindled carried away by his enthusiasm, and forgot the love of art in Italy. It was not in vain his habitual irony. that Raphael feasted his eyes on these sublime works of art, and that Michael Angelo's piercing glance penetrated the simplicity and grandeur of the world of the ancients; both created works striving not only to equal, but to surpass their models. The lovely splendor of colors has taken the place of the cold marble. Christianity displays treasures not less precious than pagan antiquity. How much more beautiful are these Madonnas, these saints, painted by the master-hand of a Raphael, who knows how to surround mortal loveliness with the halo of divine glory, than all those goddesses of love; how much more sublime is Michael Angelo's 'Last Judgment,' than the 'Struggle of the Titans!' And all this is surrounded by a charming wreath of villas and gardens, where the laurel grows on ruins, the vine loaded with grapes encircles the slender poplar, and the dark cypress reminds us with warning finger that every thing is perishable, and yet invites us to enjoy the delights of life."

"Yes, you must go to Rome," he said, turning to the poet. "A new life will dawn upon you there. No city on earth combines in the same degree the wonders of ancient and modern times. Wherever you tread, the ground is hallowed. Here rises the Colosseum, the very ruins of which make an overwhelming impression on the mind; here you behold the majestic front and sublime dome of St. Peter's. Devout awe fills the heart in such gigantic surroundings, and when the colossal organ and the enchanting choir accompany high mass, every one bends his knees involuntarily. Temples and palaces are to be seen in endless procession, and the immortal creations of art beam in eternal beauty from their walls and in their niches. All Olympus descends to you, and you see the gods created by the teeming imagination of the Greeks. The large, grave face of Juno gazes at you; the goddess of love rises with a sweet smile before your eyes from the froth of the sea. The marble seems to live, and you expect that she will stretch out her longing arms toward you. The chaste Diana hastens past you with a quick

"Oh!" exclaimed Milton, carried away by the words of the speaker, "I will some day visit this wonderful country!"

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