The poet meets her near a secluded oak or in the woods, where all is silence beneath the wandering moon, except for the song of Philomel, Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, In stormy weather the poet seeks Melancholy in the still, removed nook beside the fireplace, 'far from all resort of mirth,' or with solitary lamp at midnight he would be found in a high lonely tower deep in philosophy or poetry. When morning comes he retires into the woods, beyond the reach of woodman: There, in close covert, by some brook, Often he would walk in the secluded cloister or steal into the retirement of a great church. At last in old age his refuge becomes the mossy cell of the hermit, where he may attain a ripeness of knowledge like very prophecy. A second characteristic of Vesta is that of fixity or constancy, as opposed to instability, or by Milton to fickleness or instability of mind.' The idea appears at the very beginning of the poem, where the poet, addressing the joys of Mirth, exclaims: How little you bested, Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toys! He compares them also to 'hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.' But Melancholy, steadfast and demure, is to come in different manner, keeping her wonted dignity, 'with even step and musing gait.' Forgetting herself to marble, she fixes her eyes constantly upon the earth with sad, leaden, downward cast. Throughout the poem the thought of permanence 1 This is illustrated by the passage from the Phædrus of Plato, quoted in part on p. xi, where Hestia, or Vesta, remains seated in heaven while the other gods move to and fro. and stately dignity is present in the references to tragedy, philosophy, and great poetry, and in all the suggestions of movement and music and architecture.' A third characteristic of the classical Vesta was her virgin purity.' This, however, has been extended by Milton to apply not only to moral purity, but also to the general idea of abstinence as an indispensable condition of highest meditation and poetic utterance. In 1 This is especially true in 31-44, 85-102, 135 (where the poet mentions the shadows of pine or monumental oak), 157-174. "This trait is emphasized in the Homeric Hymns, especially in the hymn to Aphrodite, 21 ff. 3 This thought, so important to Milton, must constantly be kept in mind in an intelligent reading of his poetry. Besides its beautiful elaboration in the present poem (cf. esp. 45-48) it is set forth in a wonderful passage of the Sixth Latin Elegy, which for its noble loveliness I cannot refrain from quoting at length. To his friend Diodati, who is enjoying the festivities of Christmas with friends near Chester, he admits that convivial pleasures find a certain place in poetry, though not a noble one : Namque Elegia levis multorum cura deorum est, Et vocat ad numeros quemlibet illa suos; Liber adest elegis, Eratoque, Ceresque, Venusque, Sæpius et veteri commaduisse mero. At qui bella refert, et adulto sub Jove cælum, Et nunc sancta canit superûm consulta deorum, Additur huic scelerisque vacans et casta juventus, Qualis veste nitens sacra, et lustralibus undis, Surgis ad infensos augur iture Deos. Hoc ritu vixisse ferunt post rapta sagacem Perque tuas, rex ime, domos, ubi sanguine nigro so doing he includes with the ancient and more limited conception a modern adaptation or corollary of it, by which the word 'vestal,' originally the vowed purity of the pagan priestess, becomes nearly synonymous Paciferum canimus cælesti semine regem, Faustaque sacratis sæcula pacta libris; Qui suprema suo cum patre regna colit; Stelliparumque polum, modulantesque æthere turmas, Et subito elisos ad sua fana Deos, Dona quidem dedimus Christi natalibus illa; Illa sub auroram lux mihi prima tulit. The following translation of these lines is taken from the Cambridge edition of Milton's poems: 'For light elegy is the care of many gods, and calls to its numbers whom it will; Erato, Ceres, Venus, all gladly come, and tender stripling Love with his rosy mother. But the poet who will tell of wars, and of Heaven under adult Jove, and of pious heroes, and leaders half-divine, singing now the holy counsels of the gods above, and now the realms profound where Cerberus howls,-such a poet must live sparely, after the manner of Pythagoras, the Samian teacher. Herbs must furnish him his innocent food; clear water in a beechen cup, sober draughts from the pure spring, must be his drink. His youth must be chaste and void of offence; his manners strict, his hands without stain. He shall be like a priest shining in sacred vestment, washed with lustral waters, who goes up to make augury before the jealous gods. Thus righteously, they say, wise Tiresias lived, after his eyes were darkened; and Linus, and Calchas, who fled from his doomed hearth, and Orpheus, roaming in old age through lonely caverns, quelling the wild beasts with his music. So, a spare eater and a drinker of water, Homer carried Odysseus through the long straits, through the monster-haunted hall of Circe, and the shoals where the sirens made insidious music; and through thy realms, nethermost king, where they say he held with a spell of black blood the troops of the shades. Yea, for the bard is sacred to the god; he is their priest; mysteriously from his lips and his breast he breathes Jove. But if you will know what I am doing, I will tell you, if indeed you think my doings worth your concern. I am singing the King of Heaven, bringer of peace, and the fortunate days promised by the holy book; the wanderings of God, and the stabling under a poor roof of Him who rules with his father the realms above; the star that led the wizards, the hymning of angels in the air, and the gods flying to their endangered fanes. This poem I made as a birthday gift for Christ; the first light of Christmas dawn brought me the theme.' The reference to the Nativity Hymn, in view of the sublimity of that poem, seems like an unconscious proof of the poet's statement. The same thought occurs in Comus 453-463: So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, See also P. L. 7. 30-39; cf. C. 702-705, 784-787. with the word 'nun' and its connotation of a temperate or abstemious life, devoted to truth and goodness. A somewhat similar idea appears in Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis: Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,1 and in Pericles: A vestal livery will I take me to, And never more have joy.' In Milton, the invocation of Melancholy reflects the same association of ideas: Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure. It is continued in the lines, Come; but keep thy wonted state, With even step, and musing gait. Melancholy is again addressed as 'sad Virgin, sage and holy,' and is represented as hidden from profane eyes. The idea of holy retirement is continued in the reference to the cloister and the cathedral, and receives its highest and broadest expression in the closing lines, And may at last my weary age To something like prophetic strain. In addition to these leading mythological ideas of Il Penseroso there may also be another. Vesta was primarily the goddess of fire, with which element her name is thought to be etymologically connected. Under 1 752. 3. 4. 10; cf. 4. 5. 7; R. and J. 2. 2. 8; 3. 3. 38. neath Milton's poem a sort of dazzling brightness or fire appears to smolder, which here and there breaks through into sight, and is again covered. Thus Melancholy is a celestial being at first: But, hail! thou Goddess sage and holy! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue. So Melancholy is brought from the glory of her heavenly abode into the lower life of men. There is a touch of light in the mention of bright-haired Vesta,' and again in those · looks commercing with the skies, Dying out with Melancholy's 'sad, leaden, downward cast,' it reappears in the lines, But, first and chiefest, with thee bring There is another suggestion of it in the glowing embers on the retired hearth, and in the far-reaching gleam of the lamp at midnight from the high, lonely tower, and possibly in the suggestion of rich, burning colors of cathedral windows. It is difficult to explain the meaning of this fiery element. It would seem, however, to signify the burning enthusiasm of true and lofty genius, or perhaps the flame of pure truth-the flame that fires genius in a contact effected only by temperance and retirement. The course pursued by our analysis has of necessity been intersected by its own line more than once. This, however, is simply a proof of Milton's great artistic |