He seems to have forgotten that the precise measurements of Dante were not prosaic, but absolutely demanded by the nature of his poem.
He is describing an actual journey, and his exactness makes a part of the verisimilitude.
We read the Paradise Lost as a poem, the Commedia as a record of fact; and no one can read Dante without believing his story, for it is plain that he believed it himself.
It is false aesthetics to confound the grandiose with the imaginative.
Milton's angels are not Its inmates meet you in the street every day.
Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place; for where we are is hell, And where hell is there we must ever be. Marlowe's Faustus.
Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell. （Paradise Lost, IV. 75.) In the same way,
ogni dove in cielo ZZZe Paradiso. (Paradiso, III. 88, 89.)
It is our own sensual eye that gives evil the appearance of good, and out of a crooked hag makes a bewitching siren.
The reason enlightened by the
e was the eye, which was gray and full of spiritual light.
Leigh Hunt says: I never beheld eyes that looked so inspired, so supernatural.
They were like fires, half burning, half smouldering, with a sort of acrid fixture of regard.
One might imagine Ezekiel or Isaiah to have had such eyes.
Southey tells us that he had no sense of smell, and Haydon that he had none of form.
The best likeness of him, in De Quincey's judgment, is the portrait of Milton prefixed to Richardson's notes on Paradise Lost.
He was active in his habits, composing in the open air, and generally dictating his poems.
His daily life was regular, simple, and frugal; his manners were dignified and kindly; and in his letters and recorded conversations it is remarkable how little that was personal entered into his judgment of contemporaries.
The true rank of Wordsworth among poets is, perhaps, not even yet to be fairly estimated, so hard is it to escape into the quiet hall of judgment uninflamed by the tumult
ore nor less than two or three passages in Paradise Lost, of which I shall quote only so much as iscur in any form in Milton's poetry before Paradise Lost, and that it is exactly so with the word nd Serpent should occur very frequently in Paradise Lost?
Would it not rather have been surprisingmeaning is implied in the spelling bearth (Paradise Lost, IX. 624), which he interprets as collectialmost in the very terms of the preface to Paradise Lost. of his opponent, Bishop Hall,
Teach et should be at the same angle.
In reading Paradise Lost one has a feeling of vastness.
You float far away; but it reaches its climax in the Paradise Lost.
He produces his effects by dilating our way. And though, in the didactic parts of Paradise Lost, the wind dies away sometimes, there is a age in which they seem to occur.
Thus, in Paradise Lost, XI. 520, 521,
Therefore so abject is gives almost as many proofs of it in his Paradise Lost as there are lines in the poem.
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I never saw the poet Keats but once, but he then read some lines from (I think) the Bristowe tragedy with an enthusiasm of admiration such as could be felt only by a poet, and which true poetry only could have excited.—J. H. C., in Notes & Queries, 4th s. x. 157.
Before long we find him studying Chaucer, then Shakespeare, and afterward Milton.
But Chapman's translations had a more abiding influence on his style both for good and evil.
That he read wisely, his comments on the Paradise Lost are enough to prove.
He now also commenced poet himself, but does not appear to have neglected the study of his profession.
He was a youth of energy and purpose, and though he no doubt penned many a stanza when he should have been anatomizing, and walked the hospitals accompanied by the early gods, nevertheless passed a very creditable examination in 1817.
In the spring of this year, also, he prepared to take his first degree as poet, and accordingly published a small volume containin