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8. L'Allegro is called the child of Zephyr, the light morning breeze, and Aurora, the dawn; while Il Penseroso is the daughter of Saturn, father of the gods, and Vesta, the virgin goddess of fire and light. L'Allegro shows the bright, sunshiny side of Nature: early morning with the lark's song, the crowing of the cock, the sound of hound and horn following the hunt, the blithe whistle of the ploughman, the milkmaid's merry note, and later on the merry church chimes, the glad greeting of friends, the dance, the telling of fairy stories, until bed-time ends the merry day.

9. The time most befitting the thoughtful mood is the calm of evening. The sounds are the song of the nightingale and the tolling of the curfew. As night draws on, the poet pictures the thoughtful mood, finding pleasure in solitary study, watching the stars, or reading Plato or the old Greek poets, or Chaucer's tales, or with Spenser wandering through—

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The morning dawns in harmony with the mood-the sky wrapped in clouds, a gentle rain falling; or if the sun shine out, the man of thought seeks the shade of the solemn pinewood, or takes refuge within the studious cloister's pale. The music of the merry mood is

"Soft Lydian airs...... Of linked sweetness long drawn out,

With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,

The melting voice through mazes running."

Better suited to the serious, thoughtful mood is the music of church and organ

"In service high, and anthems clear,

As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies,

And bring all Heaven before mine eyes."

10. The two masks, Arcades and Comus, were written for the children of the Earl of Bridgewater, a near neighbour of the Miltons at Horton. The first consisted chiefly of a few songs, which were set to music by Milton's friend Henry Lawes.

The children acted the mask in the garden in honour of their grandmother, the Countess of Derby, to whom, long before, Spenser had dedicated one of his poems. Comus was a much longer mask. It was acted at Ludlow Castle, the new home of the Earl of Bridgewater, who had been made President of Wales, as part of a great state festival given to all the country round the castle. Though the mask is bright and lively, being intended to be acted by children, it is also meant to teach a lesson of purity and temperance to the people before whom it was performed; for at that time it was the fashion to think it manly to drink too much wine. But others besides the Cavalier guests needed the lesson-the servants at the castle, who had got into bad, unruly ways.

11. The play shows the Lady Alice, the Earl of Bridgewater's daughter, and her two brothers wandering through a forest on their way to their father's home. The sister gets separated from her brothers, and falls into the hands of the reveller Comus, son of Bacchus the wine-god, and the enchantress Circe. Comus carries her off to his palace, and tries to tempt her to drink the enchanted cup, and so become like himself and his monster-followers. But Lady Alice will not be tempted either by that or by the other good things which Comus offers her, saying that this is not from ingratitude to God for these his gifts, but because she thinks "God would be better praised and thanked for all his gifts if each man had his proper share of them instead of a few having them all, and often never dreaming of thanking God for them.”

12. Meanwhile the brothers are wandering in the forest, looking in vain for their sister. The elder is sure no harm can come to one so pure and good as his sister, and calms his younger brother's fears. Then the guardian angel appears and takes them to the palace of Comus, which they enter safe with the herb Christianity, just as Comus is again trying to make the Lady Alice drink from the enchanted glass. Rushing on Comus they drive him and his monsters from the palace, but cannot release the Lady Alice from the chain to which she is held by a magic spell. The guardian spirit says the brothers

should rather have bound Comus and seized his rod, which would have freed their sister; but instead, by a song, he summons the water-nymph Sabrina, the spirit of the Severn. nymph appears singing—

"By the rushy-fringed bank,

Where grows the willow and the osier dank,

My sliding chariot stays;

Thick set with agate, and the azurn sheen
Of turkois blue, and emerald green
That in the channel strays;

Whilst from off the waters fleet,
Thus I set my printless feet

O'er the cowslip's velvet head,
That bends not as I tread;
Gentle swain, at thy request
I am here."

The

By sprinkling water on the Lady Alice's breast and lips and hands, the nymph revives her; and the spirit guides the children to their parents, who await them in the castle. The mask ends with a stately, graceful dance, very different from the wild gambols of Comus and his crew.

13. Just as Milton was setting out on his foreign travel, he heard of the death of his college friend, Edward King, who was drowned on his way from Chester to Ireland. Some of King's old college companions proposed to write a volume of verses about him, and though Milton had meant to write no more at that time, he could not refuse to perform the sad task. And so, in one of the most beautiful laments ever written, he describes his grief at the death of his friend. His poem is what is called a pastoral—that is, one in which the characters are represented as shepherds. He speaks of his dead friend

as a shepherd Lycidas. The thoughts and language of the poem are very beautiful. Here is one part where the poet bids the earth bring flowers and scatter them on the watery grave of Lycidas:

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With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears:
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,

And daffodillies fill their cups with tears."

closes with a picture of his friend's life in heaven :

"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."

14. In 1638 Milton went abroad and travelled for more than a year, chiefly in Italy. He spent much of his time in Florence and Rome, both cities most interesting to a poet and student. It was at Florence that the great Italian poets Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio had lived; and both it and Rome are full of fine old buildings, beautiful pictures, and interesting associations with ancient history. Milton had meant to stay abroad much longer; but just as he was starting for Greece, looking forward to seeing the places he had read so much about in Greek authors, he heard that the Civil War had broken out in England, and like a true patriot he hurried home. "For," he says, “I thought it base to be travelling for amusement abroad while my fellow-citizens were fighting for liberty at home." So Milton gave up his visit to Greece, and coming back to England, waited for a chance of helping on the side that he thought was right— that of Cromwell and the Parliament.

15. While he had been away his Italian friend, Charles Diodati, had died, and Milton never again found so good a friend. At home, too, things were changed. His father had given up his home at Horton, and had gone to live at Reading with his younger son. His sister, whom he had left a widow, had married a second time. The poet, wishing to be near the other friends of the Parliament, went to London, and took a "pretty garden house." Here he had a number of pupils, two of them being his sister's boys. For a time Milton laid aside his idea of writing a great poem, and took up his pen in the cause of Parliament and freedom of religion, freedom in printing, and such questions as education and marriage. These

prose works gave Milton's honest opinions on these matters; for though he was a Puritan and sided with the Parliament, he was not afraid to speak out his true opinions even when they were different from those of his party.

16. The poet's brother sided with the king, and when Reading fell into the hands of the Parliament, his home was broken up, and Milton's father came to London to live with his poetson. Thus there was a large household of men with only servants to look after them, and a mistress was needed. Near Oxford there lived a Royalist gentleman named Mr. Powell, whose house Milton had often visited in his young days, joining in the fun which always reigned in that merry, hospitable family. It was to this house that he went in search of a wife, and he chose the daughter Mary, a young girl of eighteen. After her father's lively home, the girl-wife found her husband's quiet busy life and the household of students dull indeed; and soon after the marriage, going home on a visit, she fell into the old merry life again, and refused to return to her husband. But when the king's cause failed, and old Mr. Powell was nearly ruined, the cheerful home was broken up; and one night when Milton visited a friend, to his great surprise his wife appeared before him, asking him to forgive her and take her back to him. He took not only his wife but her parents to his home, and they seem to have lived very happily together until his wife died.

17. Meanwhile the struggle between the king and Parliament had ended in the execution of Charles the First. A very learned Frenchman wrote a book accusing the English people of murdering their king, and summoned the nation to answer the charge before the people of Europe. At that time Milton was in ill-health. His eyes had always been weak, and he had not spared them in study. He had completely lost the sight of one. But when the Council of State came and asked him to write their defence, he did not refuse, though the doctor told him the work would cost him the sight of the other eye. And it did. But the Defence was a brave piece of work, written entirely in Latin. Some people said that Milton's blindness was a judgment on him for defending a murder; but Milton

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