Spenser then was essentially a sacred poet; but the delicacy and insinuating gentleness of his disposition were better fitted to the veiled than the direct mode of instruction. His was a mind which would have shrunk more from the chance of debasing a sacred subject by unhandsome treatment, than of incurring ridicule by what would be called unseasonable attempts to hallow things merely secular. It was natural therefore for him to choose not a scriptural story, but a tale of chivalry and romance; and the popular literature, and, in no small measure the pageantry and manners of his time, would join to attract his efforts that way. In this way too he was enabled, with more propriety and grace, to introduce allusions, political or courtly, to subjects with which his readers were familiar; thus agreeably diversifying his allegory, and gratifying his affection for his friends and patrons, without the coarseness of direct compliment. In Milton, most evidently, a great difference was to be expected: both from his own character and from that of the times in which he lived. Religion was in those days the favourite topic of discussion; and it is indeed painful to reflect, how sadly it was polluted by intermixture with earthly passions: the most awful turns and most surprizing miracles of the Jewish history being made to serve the base purposes of persons, of whom it is hard to say whether they were more successful in misleading others, or in deceiving themselves. It was an effort worthy of a manly and devout spirit to rescue religion from such degradation, by chusing. a subject, which, being scriptural, would suit the habit of the times, yet, from its universal and eternal importance, would give least opportunity for debasing temporary application. Then it was the temper of the man always to speak out. He carried it to a faulty excess, as his prose works too amply demonstrate. The more unfashionable his moral was, the more he would have disdained to veil it: neither had he the shrinking delicacy of Spenser to keep him back, through fear of profaning things hallowed by an unworthy touch. Thus the great epic poem of our language came to be, avowedly, a sacred poem. One hardly dares to wish any thing other than it is in such a composition; yet it may be useful to point out, in what respects the moral infirmity of the times, or of the author, has affected the work; so that we are occasionally tempted to regret even Milton's choice. But as the leading error of his mind appears to have been intellectual pride, and as the leading fault of the generation with which he acted was unquestionably spiritual pride, so the main defects of his poetry may probably be attributed to the same causes. There is a studious undervaluing of the female character, which may may be most distinctly perceived by comparing the character of Eve with that of the Lady in Comus: the latter conceived, as we imagine, before the mind of the poet had become so deeply tainted with the fault here imputed to him. A remarkable instance of it is his describing Eve as unwilling, or unworthy, to discourse herself with the angel. 'Such pleasure she reserved, Adam relating, she sole auditress.' The sentiment may be natural enough, since the primæval.curse upon women: but does it not argue rather too strong a sense of her original inferiority, to put it into her mind before the fall? What again can be said for the reproachful and insulting tone; in which, more than once, the good angels are made to address the bad ones? or of the too attractive colours, in which, perhaps unconsciously, the poet has clothed the Author of Evil himself? It is a well-known complaint among many of the readers of Paradise Lost, that they can hardly keep themselves from sympathizing, in some sort, with Satan, as the hero of the poem. The most probable account of which surely is, that the author himself partook largely of the haughty and vindictive republican spirit, which he has assigned to the character, and consequently, though perhaps unconsciously, drew the portrait with a peculiar zest. These blemishes are in part attributable to the times in which he lived: but there is another now to be mentioned, which cannot be so accounted for: we mean a want of purity and spirituality in his conceptions of Heaven and heavenly joys. His Paradise is a vision not to be surpassed; but his attempts to soar higher are embarrassed with too much of earth still clinging as it were to his wings. Remarks of this kind are in general best understood by comparison, and we invite our readers to compare Milton with Dante, in their descriptions of Heaven. The one as simple as possible in his imagery, producing intense effect by little more than various combinations of three leading ideas-light, motion, and music-as if he feared to introduce any thing more gross and earthly, and would rather be censured, as doubtless he often is, for coldness and poverty of invention. Whereas Milton, with very little selection or refinement, transfers to the immediate neighbourhood of God's throne, the imagery of Paradise and Earth. Indeed he seems himself to have been aware of something unsatisfactory in this, and has inserted into the mouth of an angel, a kind of apology for it. 'Though what if earth Be but the shadow of heav'n, and things therein These are blemishes, and sometimes almost tempt us to wish, that even Milton had taken some subject not so immediately and avowedly connected with religion. But they do not affect his claim to be considered as the very lodestar and pattern of that elass of sacred poets in England. As such we have here considered him next to Spenser; not that there were wanting others of the same order before him. In fact, most of the distinguished names in the poetical annals of Elizabeth, James I. and Charles I., might be included in the list. It may be enough just to recollect Drayton and Cowley, Herbert, Crashaw and Quarles. The mention of these latter names suggests the remark, how very desirable it is to encourage as indulgent and, if we may so term it, catholic a spirit as may be, in poetical criticism. From having been over-praised in their own days, they are come now to be as much undervalued; yet their quaintness of manner and constrained imagery, adopted perhaps in compliance with the taste of their age, should hardly suffice to overbalance their sterling merits. We speak especially of Crashaw and Quarles: for Herbert is a name too venerable to be more than mentioned in our present discussion." After Milton, sacred poetry seems to have greatly declined, both in the number and merit of those who cultivated it. No other could be expected from the conflicting evils of those times: in which one party was used to brand every thing sacred with the uame of Puritanism, and the other to suspect every thing poetical of being contrary to morality and religion. Yet most of the great names of that age, especially among the Romanists, as Dryden, Pope, and before them Habington, continued to dedicate some of their poetry to religion. By their faith they were remote from the controversies which agitated the established church, and their devotion might indulge itself without incurring the suspicion of a fanatical spirit. Then the solemnity of their worship is fitted to inspire splendid and gorgeous strains, such as Dryden's paraphrase of the Veni Creator; and their own fallen fortunes in England, no less naturally, would fill them with a sense of decay very favourable to the plaintive tenderness of Habington and Crashaw. A feeling of this kind, joined to the effect of distressing languor and sickness, may be discerned, occasionally, in the writings of Bishop Kenn; though he was far indeed from being, a Romanist. We shall hardly find, in all ecclesiastical history, a greener spot than the later years of this courageous and affectionate pastor; persecuted alternately by both parties, and driven from his station in his declining age; yet singing on, with unabated cheerfulness, to His poems are not popular, nor, probably, ever will be. for for reasons already touched upon; but whoever in earnest loves his three well-known hymns, and knows how to value such unaffected strains of poetical devotion, will find his account, in turning over his four volumes, half narrative and half lyric, and all avowedly on sacred subjects; the narrative often cumbrous, and the lyric verse not seldom languid and redundant: yet all breathing such an angelic spirit, interspersed with such pure and bright touches of poetry, that such a reader as we have supposed will scarcely find it in his heart to criticise them. Between that time and ours, the form of sacred poetry which has succeeded best in attracting public attention, is the didactic': of which Davies in Queen Elizabeth's reign, Sir Richard Blackmore in King William's, Young in the middle, and Cowper in the close, of the last century, may fairly be taken as specimens, differing from each other according to the differences of their re spective literary æras. Davies, with his Lucretian majesty, (although he wants the moral pathos of the Roman poet,) representing aptly enough the age of Elizabeth; Blackmore, with his easy paragraphs, the careless style of King Charles's days; Young. with his pointed sentences, transferring to graver subjects a good deal of the manner of Pope; and Cowper, with his agreeable but too unsparing descriptions, coming nearer to the present day; which appears, both in manners and in scenery, to delight in Dutch painting, rather than in what is more delicately classical., With regard to the indirect, and, perhaps, more effective, species of sacred poetry, we fear it must be acknowledged, to the shame of the last century, that there is hardly a single specimen of it (excepting, perhaps, Gray's Elegy, and possibly some of the most perfect of Collins's poems) which has obtained any celebrity. We except the writers of our own times, who do not fall within the scope of this inquiry. To Spenser therefore, upon the whole, the English reader must revert, as being, pre-eminently, the sacred poet of his country: as most likely, in every way, to auswer the purposes of his art; especially in an age of excitation and refinement, in which the gentler and more homely beauties, both of character and of scenery, are too apt to be despised: with passion and interest enough to attract the most ardent, and grace enough to win the most polished; yet by a silent preference every where inculcating the love of better and more enduring things; aud so most exactly fulfilling what he has himself declared to be the general end of all his book' to fashion a gentleman, or noble person, in virtuous and gentle discipline': and going the straight way to the accomplishment of his own high-minded prayer: T That with the glory of so goodly sight, Of those fair forms, may lift themselves up higher, Th' eternal fountain of that heavenly beauty.' ART. X.-The History of Ancient and Modern Wines. By A. Henderson, M.D. 4to. 1825. IN N noticing Dr. Henderson's volume, we have little inclination to follow him through his historical account of the mere process of wine-making in different ages, or even to accompany him in his inquiries into the chemical theory of the subject. Not that we are by any means disposed to undervalue the importance of these researches; for as long as man is a wine-drinking animal, it behoves him to be grateful to those whose labours are directed to improve the quality of his potations. But on such voluntary guardians of the public weal, scientific and practical, must the lieges in general, however bibacious, be contented to repose themselves for the conservance of their health and the delectation of their palates. To as little purpose might the man of ordinary avocations seek to controul his destiny, as trouble himself to inquire in what proportion Catalonian is mingled in his claret, or how much brandy he is doomed to swallow in his port. In such matters, ignorance is bliss; and we have reason to envy the octogenarian consumer, who is gathered to his fathers, profoundly unconscious to his latest hour, that he has been through all his long life under the active operation of the most deleterious poisons. There is one point of view, however, in which the history of wines will possess a pleasant interest for the man of literary taste, though he be careless of chemical affinities, or but indifferently versed in the gastronomy of flavours. There is, of course, an intimate connection between the drinking habits and the general manners of nations: in their private society and convivial meetings, in the festival and the sacrifice, the banquet and the minstrelsy. The history of wines and inquiries into manners are therefore fraught with reciprocal illustration; if, indeed, the use of wine afford not itself a prominent chapter in the history of manners, and, we may add, of literature. Poets of all ages and climes have sung with common consent the joys of love and wine;' many passages of glowing inspiration must appear tame, many |