Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake Blind mouths,-that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learned aught else the least And when they list, their lean and flashy songs But, swoll'n with wind and the rank mist they draw, 1 The Church of Rome; with special reference doubtless to the Romanising tendencies of Laud's party. There has been much discussion as to the meaning of this phrase (see Masson's "Milton," iii. 154-156). The probable reference is to Rev. ii. 12, and iii. 20. With this reference to the river-god who loved Arethusa, Milton brings his poem back most skilfully to its proper subject. • Sirius, the dog-star. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise ; seas Wash far away, 4 Weep no more, woeful Shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the wat'ry floor; And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore The sea-depths inhabited by monsters. St. Michael's Mount, Cornwall, was anciently called Bellerium ; and from this Milton coins the name Bellerus. St. Michael's Mount. St. Michael is said to have appeared as a "vision" on this Mount, which was therefore named after him. • On the coast of Gallicia, or Northern Spain. Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves; Where, other groves, and other streams along, Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; Thus sang the uncouth swain to th' oaks and While the still Morn went out with sandals gray; With this great elegy we reach the close of Milton's first period of poetic production. Let the reader now look back and consider how the writings of these six quiet years at Horton provide a record of intellectual growth, of deepening moral fervour, of a steady change in the poet's whole temper and attitude to life. Step by step, as I have tried to show, we can trace in them the gradual movement of his mind toward the Puritanism with which henceforth he was to be so intimately associated. As Mr. Stopford Brooke, reversing the order of our own study, has said, "The Milton of 'Lycidas' is not the Milton of 'Comus.' The Milton of 'Comus' is not the Milton of the Penseroso,' still less of the Allegro ""; while, again, to push the analysis a stage further back, "The Milton of the 'Penseroso' is not the Milton of the 'Ode to the Nativity.' Nothing of the Renaissance is left now but its learning and its art." Yet, as the last sentence should remind us, Milton's progressive Puritanism did not involve the repudiation of the classic culture in which he had been bred. If at the age of thirty nothing of the Renaissance was left to him but its learning and its art, we must never forget that at least these were left. Had they not been left," Paradise Lost "' would have been an impossibility. The great fact upon which we have to fix our attention is that Milton became a Puritan without ceasing to be a humanist; only, from this time onward, the art and the learning of the Renaissance were not to be cultivated for their own sakes; they were to be employed in the service of those religious and moral truths which had now become the dominant factors in his life. M IV ILTON did not at once carry out his plan of settling in in London. He resolved instead upon a Continental tour. He had become, in his own words, "anxious to visit foreign parts, and particularly Italy." His craving for Italy, the centre and home of Renaissance culture, shows the continued strength of the humanist and the artist in him. Accordingly he left London in May 1638, well provided with letters of introduction which assured his admission to the best literary circles of the Continent, and designing to spend at least three years abroad. He went first to Paris, where he met the celebrated Dutch philosopher and theologian, Grotius. Thence he made his way to Nice, where he took ship for Genoa, and passing on through Leghorn and Pisa, reached Florence in August. In Florence, which he had "always more particularly esteemed for the elegance of its dialect, its genius, and its taste," he lingered about two months, living on terms of intimacy "with many persons of rank and learning," and regularly frequenting the "literary parties," or clubs of dilettanti, which he notes as a delightful feature in the life of the Tuscan capital. In Rome, which was the next place on his itinerary, he spent nearly three months, immersed in the antiquities of the Eternal City, and again finding a warm welcome from men |