Chapter 10

‘Let there be Light!’ said God; and forthwith LightEthereal, first of things, quintessence pure,Sprung from the Deep; and from her native eastTo journey through the aëry gloom began,Sphered in a radiant cloud; for yet the SunWas not; she in a cloudy tabernacleSojourned the while. God saw the light was good;And light from darkness by the hemisphereDivided; light the day, and darkness nightHe named. Thus was the first day even and morn:Nor passed uncelebrated, nor unsungBy the celestial quires, when orient lightExhaling first from darkness they beheld;Birthday of Heaven and Earth; with joy and shoutThe hollow universal orb they filled,And touched their golden harps, and hymning praisedGod and his works: Creator Him they sung,Both when first evening was, and when first morn.—vii. 243-60.

The appearance of Light, which sprung into existence at the fiat of the Creator, was the next great event witnessed by beholding angels—birthday of Heaven and Earth, first morning and first evening, which the celestial choirs celebrated withpraise and shouts of joy. The creation of the firmament was the great work of the second day.

Again God said, ‘Let there be firmamentAmid the waters, and let it divideThe waters from the waters!’ And God madeThe firmament, expanse of liquid, pure,Transparent, elemental air, diffusedIn circuit to the uttermost convexOf this great round—partition firm and sure,The waters underneath from those aboveDividing; for as the Earth, so He the WorldBuilt on circumfluous waters calm, in wideCrystalline ocean, and the loud misruleOf Chaos far removed, lest fierce extremesContiguous might distemper the whole frame:And Heaven he named the Firmament. So evenAnd morning chorus sung the second day.—vii. 261-275.

After describing the gathering of the waters off the face of the globe into seas, causing the dry land to appear, which at the word of God became clothed with vegetation, rendering the Earth a habitable abode, Milton proceeds to describe the creation of the heavenly bodies—

Again the Almighty spake: ‘Let there be LightsHigh in the expanse of Heaven, to divideThe day from night; and let them be for signs,For seasons, and for days, and circling years;And let them be for lights, as I ordainTheir office in the firmament of Heaven,To give light on the Earth!’ and it was so.And God made two great Lights, great for their useTo Man, the greater to have rule by day,The less by night, altern; and made the Stars,And set them in the firmament of HeavenTo illuminate the Earth, and rule the dayIn their vicissitude, and rule the night,And light from darkness to divide. God saw,Surveying his great work, that it was good:For, of celestial bodies, first, the Sun,A mighty sphere He framed, unlightsome first,Though of ethereal mould; then formed the MoonGlobose, and every magnitude of Stars,And sowed with stars the Heaven thick as a field.Of light by far the greater part he took,Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and placedIn the Sun’s orb, made porous to receiveAnd drink the liquid light; firm to retainHer gathered beams, great palace now of Light.Hither, as to their fountain, other starsRepairing, in their golden urns draw light,And hence the morning planet gilds her horns;By tincture or reflection they augmentTheir small peculiar, though, from human sightSo far remote, with diminution seen.First in his east the glorious lamp was seen,Regent of day, and all the horizon roundInvested with bright rays, jocund to runHis longitude through Heaven’s high road; the greyDawn, and the Pleiades before him danced,Shedding sweet influence. Less bright the Moon,But opposite in levelled west was setHis mirror, with full face borrowing her lightFrom him; for other light she needed noneIn that aspect, and still that distance keepsTill night; then in the east her turn she shines,Revolved on Heaven’s great axle, and her reignWith thousand lesser lights dividual holds,With thousand thousand stars that then appearedSpangling the hemisphere. Then first adornedWith their bright luminaries, that set and rose,Glad evening and glad morn crowned the fourth day.—vii. 339-86.

The first creation was Light, and Milton, according to Scriptural testimony, ascribes its origin to the bidding of the Creator. ‘God said, Let there be light; and there was light!’ The Sunhe describes as a mighty sphere, but at first non-luminous. There was light, but no sun. The reason usually given in explanation of this phenomenon is, that the heavenly bodies were created at the same time as the Earth, but were rendered invisible by a canopy of vapour and cloud which enveloped the newly-formed globe; and that afterwards, when it dispersed, they appeared in the firmament, shining in all their pristine splendour. Milton does not, however, adhere to this view of things, but says that light for the first three days sojourned in a cloudy shrine or tabernacle, and was afterwards transplanted in the Sun, which became a great palace of light.

He expresses himself in a somewhat similar manner in Book III., which opens with an address to Light—one of the most beautiful passages in the poem, in which he alludes to his blindness when expressing his thoughts and sentiments with regard to this ethereal medium, which conveys to us the pleasurable sensation of vision—

Hail, holy Light! offspring of Heaven first-born!Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam,May I express thee unblamed? since God is light,And never but in unapproached lightDwelt from eternity—dwelt then in thee,Bright effluence of bright essence increate!Or hear’st thou rather, pure Ethereal stream,Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the Sun,Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voiceOf God, as with a mantle, didst investThe rising world of waters dark and deep,Won from the void and formless Infinite.—iii. 1-12.

The Sun having become a lucent orb, Milton poetically describes how the planets repair to him as to a fountain, and in their golden urns draw light; and how the morning planet Venus gilds her horns illumined by his rays. The poet associates joyous ideas with the new-born universe. The Sun, now the glorious regent of day, begins his journey in the east, lighting up the horizon with his beams; whilst before him danced the grey dawn, and the Pleiades shedding sweet influences. There existed an ancient belief that the Earth was created in the spring, and in April the Sun is in the zodiacal constellation Taurus, in which are also situated the Pleiades; they rise a little before the orb, and precede him in his path through the heavens. The stars of this group have always been regarded with a peculiar sacredness, and their rays, mingling with those of the Sun, were believed to shed sweet influences upon the Earth. The Moon, less bright, with borrowed light, in her turn shines in the east, and, with the thousand thousand luminaries that spangle the firmament, reigns over the night.

We learn in Book III. that the archangel Uriel, who was beguiled by Satan, witnessed the Creation, and described how the heavenly bodies were brought into existence, he having perceived what we should call the gaseous elements of matter rolled into whorls and vortices which became condensed into suns and systems of worlds. This mighty angel says:—

I saw when, at his word the formless mass,This World’s material mould, came to a heap:Confusion heard his voice, and wild UproarStood ruled, stood vast Infinitude confined;Till at his second bidding darkness fled,Light shone, and order from disorder sprung.Swift to their several quarters hasted thenThe cumbrous elements, Earth, Flood, Air, Fire;And this ethereal quintessence of HeavenFlew upward, spirited with various forms,That rolled orbicular, and turned to starsNumberless, as thou seest, and how they move;Each had his place appointed, each his course;The rest in circuit walls this Universe.—iii. 708-21.

In his sublime description of the Creation Milton has adhered with marked fidelity to the Mosaic version, as narrated in the first two chapters of Genesis, when God, by specific acts in certain stated periods of time, created the visible universe and all that it contains.

The successive acts of creation are described in words almost identical with those of Scripture, embellished and adorned with all the wealth of expression which our language is capable of affording. The several scenes presented to the imagination, and witnessed by hosts of admiring angels as each portion of the magnificent work was accomplished, are full of a grandeur and majesty worthy of the loftiest conceivable effort of Divine power and might.

The return of the Creator after the completion of His great work is described by Milton in a manner worthy of the progress of Deity through the celestial regions. The whole creation rangwith jubilant delight, and the bright throng which witnessed the wonders of His might followed Him with acclamation, ascending by the glorified path of the Milky Way up to His high abode—the Heaven of Heavens—

Here finished He, and all that He had madeViewed, and behold! all was entirely good.So even and morn accomplished the sixth day:Yet not till the Creator from his workDesisting, though unwearied, up returned,Up to the Heaven of Heavens, His high abode,Thence to behold this new created World,The addition of his empire, how it showedIn prospect from His throne, how good, how fair,Answering his great idea. Up He rode,Followed with acclamation, and the soundSymphonious of ten thousand harps, that tunedAngelic harmonies: The Earth, the AirResounded (thou remember’st, for thou heard’st)The Heavens and all the constellations rung,The planets in their stations listening stood,While the bright pomp ascended jubilant.‘Open ye everlasting gates!’ they sung;‘Open ye Heavens! your living doors; let inThe great Creator, from his work returnedMagnificent, his six days’ work, a World;Open, and henceforth oft; for God will deignTo visit oft the dwellings of just men,Delighted; and with frequent intercourseThither will send his winged messengersOn errands of supernal grace.’ So sungThe glorious train ascending: He through Heaven,That opened wide her blazing portals, ledTo God’s eternal house direct the way—A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold,And pavement stars, as stars to thee appearSeen in the Galaxy, that Milky WayWhich nightly as a circling zone thou seestPowdered with stars.—vii. 548-81.

Milton, throughout his description of the Creation, sustains with lofty eloquence his sublime conception of this latest display of almighty power; and invests with becoming majesty all the acts of the Creator, who, when He finished His great work, saw that all was entirely good.

Shortly after the creation of the new universe, Satan, having escaped from Hell, plunged into the abyss of Chaos, and, after a long and arduous journey upwards, in which he had to fight his way through the surging elements that raged around him like a tempestuous sea, he reached the upper confines of this region where less confusion prevailed, and where a glimmering dawn of light penetrated its darkness and gloom, indicating that the limit of the empire of Chaos and ancient Night had been reached by the adventurous fiend. Pursuing his way with greater ease, he leisurely beholds the sight which is opening to his eyes—a sight rendered more glorious by his long sojourn in darkness. He sees:—

Far off the empyreal Heaven, extended wideIn circuit, undetermined square or round,With opal towers and battlements adornedOf living sapphire, once his native seat,And, fast by, hanging in a golden chain,This pendent World, in bigness as a starOf smallest magnitude close by the Moon.—ii. 1047-53.

He gazes upon his native Heaven where once he dwelt, and observes the pendent world in quest of which he journeyed hither—hung by a goldenchain from the Empyrean and no larger than a star of the smallest magnitude when close by the Moon. In this passage Milton does not allude to the Earth, which was invisible, but to the entire starry heavens—the newly created universe reclaimed from Chaos, which, when contrasted with the Empyrean, appeared in size no larger than the minutest star when compared with the full moon. Pursuing his journey, the new universe as it is approached expands into a globe of vast dimensions; its convex surface—round which the chaotic elements in stormy aspect lowered—seemed a boundless continent, dark, desolate, and starless, except on the side next to the wall of Heaven, which though far-distant afforded it some illumination by its reflected light. Satan, having alighted on this convex shell which enclosed the universe, wandered long over its bleak and dismal surface, until his attention was attracted by a gleam of light which appeared through an opening at its zenith right underneath the Empyrean. Thither he directed his steps, and perceived a structure resembling a staircase, or ladder, which formed the only means of communication between Heaven and the new creation, and upon which angels descended and ascended—

Far distant he descries,Ascending by degrees magnificentUp to the wall of Heaven, a structure high;At top whereof, but far more rich, appearedThe work as of a kingly palace gate,With frontispiece of diamond and goldEmbellished; thick with sparkling orient gemsThe portal shone, inimitable on EarthBy model, or by shading pencil drawn.The stairs were such as whereon Jacob sawAngels ascending and descending, bandsOf Guardians bright, when he from Esau fledTo Padan Aram, in the field of LuzDreaming by night under the open sky,And waking cried, ‘This is the gate of Heaven.’—iii. 501-15.

Sometimes this mysterious structure was drawn up to Heaven and invisible. At the time that Satan reached the opening, the stairs were lowered, and standing at their base he looked down with wonder upon the entire starry universe—

Such wonder seized, though after Heaven seen,The Spirit malign, but much more envy seized,At sight of all this World beheld so fair,Round he surveys (and well might, where he stoodSo high above the circling canopyOf night’s extended shade) from eastern pointOf Libra to the fleecy star that bearsAndromeda far off Atlantic seasBeyond the horizon; then from pole to poleHe views in breadth, and without longer pause,Down right into the World’s first region throwsHis flight precipitant, and winds with easeThrough the pure marble air his oblique wayAmongst innumerable stars, that shoneStars distant, but nigh hand seemed other worlds,Or other worlds they seemed, or happy isles,Like those Hesperian Gardens famed of old,Fortunate fields, and groves, and flowery vales;Thrice happy isles! But who dwelt happy thereHe staid not to inquire: above them allThe golden Sun, in splendour likest HeavenAllured his eye: thither his course he bendsThrough the calm firmament, (but up or downBy centre or eccentric hard to tellOr longitude) where the great luminary,Aloof the vulgar constellations thick,That from his lordly eye keep distance due,Dispenses light from far. They, as they moveTheir starry dance in numbers that computeDays, months, and years, towards his all-cheering lampTurn swift their various motions, or are turnedBy his magnetic beam, that gently warmsThe Universe, and to each inward partWith gentle penetration, though unseen,Shoots invisible virtue even to the Deep;So wondrously was set his station bright.—iii. 552-87.

The Ptolemaic cosmology having been adopted by Milton in the elaboration of his poem, he describes the universe in conformity with the doctrines associated with this form of astronomical belief. To each of the first seven spheres which revolved round the steadfast Earth there was attached a heavenly body; the eighth sphere embraced all the fixed stars, a countless multitude; the ninth the crystalline; and enclosing all the other spheres as if in a shell was the tenth sphere, or Primum Mobile, which in its diurnal revolution carried round with it all the other spheres. The nine inner spheres were transparent, but the tenth was an opaque solid shell-like structure, which enclosed the new universe and constituted the boundary between it and Chaos underneath and the Empyrean above. It was on the surface of this sphere that Satan wandered until he discovered the opening at its zenith, where, by meansof a staircase or ladder, communication was maintained with the Empyrean. Standing on the lower steps of this structure he paused for a moment to look down into the glorious universe which lay beneath him—

another HeavenFrom Heaven-gate not far, founded in viewOn the clear hyaline the glassy sea.—vii. 617-19.

He beholds it in all its dimensions, from pole to pole, and longitudinally from Libra to Aries, then without hesitation precipitates himself down into the world’s first region, and winds his way with ease among the fixed stars. Around him he sees innumerable shining worlds, sparkling and glittering in endless profusion over the circumscribed immensity of space—mighty constellations that shone from afar; clustering aggregations of stars; floating islands of light; twinkling systems rising out of depths still more profound, and a zone luminous with the light of myriads of lucid orbs verging on the confines of the universe. All these worlds the fiend passed unheeded, nor stayed he to inquire who dwelt happy there. In splendour above them all the Sun attracted his attention and, directing his course towards the great luminary of our system, he alights on the surface of the orb.

Milton now makes a digression in order to describe what Satan observed in the Sun after having landed there. The poet embraces an opportunity for exercising his imaginative and descriptive powers by giving an ideal description of what,judging from the appearance of the orb, might be the natural condition of things existing on his surface—

There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perhapsAstronomer in the Sun’s lucent orbThrough his glazed optic tube, yet never saw.The place he found beyond expression bright,Compared with aught on Earth, metal or stone;Not all parts like, but all alike informedWith radiant light, as glowing iron with fire;If metal, part seemed gold, part silver clear;If stone, carbuncle most or chrysolite,Ruby or topaz, to the twelve that shoneIn Aaron’s breastplate, and a stone besides,Imagined rather oft than elsewhere seen;That stone, or like to that, which here belowPhilosophers in vain so long have sought,In vain, though by their powerful art they bindVolatile Hermes, and call up unboundIn various shapes old Proteus from the sea,Drained through a limbec to his native form.What wonder then if fields and regions hereBreathe forth elixir pure, and rivers runPotable gold, when, with one virtuous touch,The arch-chemic Sun, so far from us remote,Produces, with terrestrial humour mixed,Here in the dark so many precious thingsOf colour glorious, and effect so rare?Here matter new to gaze the Devil metUndazzled; far and wide his eye commands;For sight no obstacle found here, nor shade,But all sunshine, as when his beams at noonCulminate from the equator, as they nowShot upward still direct, whence no way roundShadow from body opaque can fall; and the air,Nowhere so clear sharpened his visual rayTo objects distant far, whereby he soonSaw within here a glorious Angel stand.—iii. 588-622.

The physical structure of the interior of theSun is unknown; all that we see of the orb is the photosphere—the dazzling luminous envelope which indicates to the eye the boundary of the solar disc, and which is the source of light and heat. Milton, in his imaginative and beautifully poetical description of the Sun, is not more fanciful in his conception of the nature of the refulgent orb than a renowned astronomer (Sir William Herschel) who writes in the following strain: ‘A cool, dark, solid globe, its surface diversified with mountains and valleys, clothed in luxuriant vegetation and richly stored with inhabitants, protected by a heavy cloud-canopy from the intolerable glare of the upper luminous region, where the dazzling coruscations of a solar aurora some thousands of miles in depth evolved the stores of light and heat which vivify our world.’ Satan, disguised as a cherub, makes himself known to Uriel, Regent of the Sun. The upright Seraph in response to his request directs him to the Earth, the abode of Man—

Look downward on that Globe, whose hither sideWith light from hence, though but reflected, shines,That place is Earth, the seat of Man; that lightHis day, which else, as the other hemisphere,Night would invade; but there neighbouring Moon(So call that opposite fair star) her aidTimely interposes, and her monthly roundStill ending, still renewing, through mid-Heaven,With borrowed light her countenance triformHence fills and empties, to enlighten the Earth,And in her pale dominion checks the night.—iii. 722-32.

It would be impossible not to feel impressedwith the accuracy and comprehensiveness of Milton’s astronomical knowledge; and how he has united in charming poetic expression the dry details of science with the divine inspiration of the heavenly muse. The distinctive appearances of the Sun, Moon, planets, and stars; their functional importance as regards this terrestrial sphere; the splendour and lustre peculiar to each; and the glory displayed in the entire created heavens, are portrayed with a skill indicative of a masterly knowledge of the science of astronomy.

Descendfrom Heaven, Urania, by that nameIf rightly thou art called, whose voice divineFollowing, above the Olympian hill I soar,Above the flight of Pegasean wing!The meaning, not the name, I call; for thouNor of the Muses nine, nor on the topOf old Olympus dwell’st; but heavenly-born,Before the hills appeared or fountain flowed,Thou with Eternal Wisdom didst converse,Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst playIn presence of the Almighty Father, pleasedWith thy celestial song. Up led by thee,Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed,An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air,Thy tempering. With like safety guided down,Return me to my native element;Lest, from this flying steed unreined, (as onceBelerophon, though from a lower clime)Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall,Erroneous there to wander, and forlorn.Half yet remains unsung, but narrower boundWithin the visible diurnal sphere.Standing on Earth, not rapt above the pole,More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchangedTo hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days,On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues,In darkness, and with dangers compassed round,And solitude; yet not alone, while thouVisit’st my slumbers nightly, or when mornPurples the east. Still govern thou my song,Urania, and fit audience find though few.—vii. 1-32.

The Muses were Greek mythological divinities who possessed the power of inspiring song, and were the patrons of poets and musicians. According to Hesiod they were nine in number and presided over the arts. Urania was the Goddess of Astronomy, and Calliope the Goddess of Epic Poetry. They are described as the daughters of Zeus, and Homer alludes to them as the goddesses of song who dwelt on the summit of Mount Olympus. They were the companions of Apollo, and accompanied with song his playing on the lyre at the banquets of the Immortals. Milton does not invoke the mythological goddess, but Urania the Heavenly Muse, whose aid he also implores at the commencement of his poem prior to his flight above the Aonian Mount. Under her divine guidance he ascended to the Heaven of Heavens and breathed empyreal air, her tempering; in like manner he requests her to lead him down to his native element lest he should meet with a fate similar to what befell Bellerophon. Half his task he has completed, the other half, confined to narrower bounds within the visible diurnal sphere, remains unsung, and in its fulfilment he still implores his celestial patroness to govern his song.

The natural phenomena which occur as a consequence of the motions of the heavenly bodies and the diurnal rotation of the Earth on her axis, are accompanied by agreeable alternations in the aspect of nature with which every one is familiar. The rosy footsteps of morn; the solar splendour of noonday; the fading hues of even; and night with her jewelled courts and streams of molten stars, have been sung with rapturous admiration by poets of every nation and in every age. They, as ardent lovers of nature, have described in choicest language the pleasing vicissitudes brought about by the real and apparent motions of the celestial orbs.

In this respect Milton is unsurpassed by any poet in ancient or in modern times. The occasions on which he describes the heavenly bodies, or alludes to them in association with other phenomena, testify to the felicity of his thoughts and to the greatness of his poetic genius. Surely no poet has ever given us a lovelier description of evening, or has added more to its exquisite beauty by his allusion to the celestial orbs, than Milton when he describes the first evening in Paradise—

Now came still Evening on, and Twilight grayHad in her sober livery all things clad;Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,They to their grassy couch, these to their nestsWere slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.She all night long her amorous descant sung;Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmamentWith living sapphires: Hesperus that ledThe starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon,Rising in clouded majesty, at lengthApparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,And o’er the dark her silver mantle threw.—iv. 598-609.

In the avowal of her conjugal love, Eve, with charming expression, associates the orbs of the firmament with the delightful appearances of nature which presented themselves to her observation after she awoke to the consciousness of intelligent existence.

Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet,With charm of earliest birds: pleasant the Sun,When first on this delightful land he spreadsHis orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile EarthAfter soft showers; and sweet the coming onOf grateful Evening mild; then silent Night,With this her solemn bird, and this fair Moon,And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train:But neither breath of Morn, when she ascendsWith charm of earliest birds; nor rising SunOn this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower,Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers;Nor grateful Evening mild; nor silent Night,With this her solemn bird; nor walk by Moon,Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet.But wherefore all night long shine these? for whomThis glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?—iv. 641-58.

One of the charms of Milton’s verse is the devoutly poetical sentiment which pervades it. His thoughts, though serious, are not austere or gloomy, and it is in his loftiest musings that his reverence becomes most apparent. This feeling isconspicuous in Adam’s reply to the inquiry addressed to him by Eve—

Daughter of God and Man, accomplished Eve,These have their course to finish round the EarthBy morrow evening, and from land to landIn order, though to nations yet unborn,Ministering light prepared, they set and rise;Lest total Darkness should by night regainHer old possession, and extinguish lifeIn Nature and all things; which these soft firesNot only enlighten, but with kindly heatOf various influence foment and warm,Temper or nourish, or in part shed downTheir stellar virtue on all kinds that growOn Earth, made hereby apter to receivePerfection from the Sun’s more potent ray.These, then, though unbeheld in deep of night,Shine not in vain; nor think, though men were none,That Heaven would want spectators, God want praise:Millions of spiritual creatures walk the EarthUnseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep:All these with ceaseless praise his works beholdBoth day and night. How often from the steepOf echoing hill or thicket, have we heardCelestial voices to the midnight air,Sole, or responsive each to other’s noteSinging their Great Creator! Oft in bandsWhile they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk,With heavenly touch of instrumental soundsIn full harmonic number joined, their songsDivide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven.—iv. 660-88.

The Morning Hymn of Praise which Adam and Eve offer up in concert to their Maker contains their loftiest thoughts and most reverent sentiments, expressed in melodiously flowing verse. In their solemn invocations they call upon the orbs of thefirmament to join in praising and extolling the Creator, and in their devout enthusiasm and adoration address by name those that are most conspicuous. Hesperus, ‘fairest of stars,’ is asked to praise Him in her sphere. The Sun, great image of his Maker, is told to acknowledge Him his greater, and to sound His praise in his eternal course. The Moon, the fixed stars, and the planets are called upon to resound the praise of the Creator, whose glory is declared in the Heavens—

Fairest of Stars, last in the train of night,If better thou belong not to the dawn,Sure pledge of day, that crown’st the smiling mornWith thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphereWhile day arises, that sweet hour of prime.Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul,Acknowledge Him thy greater; sound his praiseIn thy eternal course, both when thou climb’st,And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall’st.Moon, that now meet’st the orient Sun, now fliestWith the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies;And ye five other wandering Fires, that moveIn mystic dance, not without song, resoundHis praise, who out of darkness called up Light.—v. 166-79.

Milton’s conception of celestial distances, and of the vast regions of interstellar space, is finely described in the following lines:—

Down thither prone in flightHe speeds, and through the vast ethereal skySails between worlds and worlds, with steady wingNow on the polar winds; then with quick fanWinnows the buxom air, till, within soarOf towering eagles.—v. 266-71.

As in their morning, so in their evening devotions, our first parents never fail to introduce a reference to the celestial orbs as indicating the power and goodness of the Creator, made manifest in the beauty and greatness of His works—

Thus, at their shady lodge arrived, both stood,Both turned, and under open sky adoredThe God that made both Sky, Air, Earth and HeavenWhich they beheld; the Moon’s resplendent globe,And starry pole.—iv. 720-24.

The numerous extracts contained in this volume impress upon one’s mind how largely astronomy enters into the composition of ‘Paradise Lost,’ and of how much assistance the knowledge of this science was to Milton in the elaboration of his poem. Indeed, it would be hard to imagine how such a work could have been written except by a poet who possessed a proficient and comprehensive knowledge of astronomy. The chief characteristic of Milton’s poetry is its sublimity, which is the natural outcome of the magnificence of his conceptions and of his own pure imaginative genius. Among all the fields of literature, science, and philosophy explored by him, he found none more congenial to his tastes, or that afforded his imagination more freedom for its loftiest flights, than the sublimest of sciences—astronomy. Whether we admire most the accuracy of his astronomical knowledge, or the wonderful creations of his poetic fancy, or his beautiful descriptions of the celestial orbs, it is apparent that in this domain of science,as a poet, he stands alone and without a rival. In his choice of the Ptolemaic cosmology Milton adopted a system with which he had been familiar from his youth—the same which his favourite poet Dante introduced into his poem, ‘The Divina Commedia,’ and which was well adapted for poetic description. The picturesque conception of ten revolving spheres, carrying along with them the orbs assigned to each, which, by their revolution round the steadfast Earth, brought about with unfailing regularity the successive alternation of day and night, and in every twenty-four hours exhibited the pleasing vicissitudes of dawn, of sunshine, of twilight, and of darkness, relieved by the soft effulgence of the nocturnal sky, afforded Milton a favourable basis upon which to construct a cosmical epic. The Copernican theory—with which he was equally conversant, and in the accuracy and truthfulness of which he believed—though less complicated than the Ptolemaic in its details, did not possess the same attractiveness for poetic description that belonged to the older system. According to this theory there is, surrounding us on all sides, a boundless uncircumscribed ocean of space, to which it is impossible to assign any conceivable limit; in every effort to comprehend its dimensions or fathom its depths, the mind recoils upon itself, baffled and discomfited, with a conscious feeling that there can be no nearer approach to the end when end there is none that can be conceived of. Interspersed throughout the regions ofthis azure vast of space is the stellar universe, which to our comprehension is as infinite as the abyss in which it exists. The solar system, though of magnificent dimensions, is but a unit in the astronomical whole, in which are embraced millions of other similar units—other solar systems, perhaps differing in construction from that of ours, with billions of miles of interstellar space intervening between each; yet so vast are the dimensions of the celestial sphere that those distances when measured upon it sink into utter insignificance. As the receding depths of space are penetrated by powerful telescopes, they are found to be pervaded with stars and starry archipelagoes, distributed in profusion over the circular immensity and extending away into abysmal depths, beyond the reach of visibility by any optical means which we possess. To the universe there is no known end—nowhere in imagination can its boundary be reached! This bewildering conception of the cosmos did not trouble the minds of pre-Copernican thinkers. They regarded the steadfast Earth as the most important body in the universe; nor were the celestial orbs which circled round it believed to be very far distant. Tycho Brahé imagined that the stars were not much more remote than the planets. Epicurus thought the stars were small crystal mirrors in the sky which reflected the solar rays, and the Venerable Bede remarked that they needed assistance from the Sun’s light in order to render them more luminous.

The adoption of the Ptolemaic system by Milton afforded greater scope for the exercise of his imaginative powers, and enabled him to bring within the mental grasp of his readers a conception of the universe which was not lost in the immensity associated with the Copernican view of things. Besides, it also furnished him with a distinctly defined basis upon which to erect the superstructure of his poem. Above the circumscribed universe was Heaven or the Empyrean; underneath it was Chaos, from which it had been reclaimed, and in the lowest depth of which Milton located the infernal world called Hell. These four regions embraced universal space; and in the elaboration of his great epic Milton relied upon his imaginative genius, his brilliant scholarship, his vast erudition, and the divine inspiration of the heavenly muse. With these, aided by the power and vigour of his intellect, he was enabled to produce a cosmical epic that surpassed all previous efforts of a similar kind, and which still remains without a parallel.

One of the distinguishing features of Milton’s mind was his wonderful imagination, and in its exercise he beheld those sublime celestial and terrestrial visions on which he reared fabrics of splendour and beauty, described in harmonious numbers with the fervid eloquence and charm of a true poet. An example of the loftiness and originality of his imagination is afforded us in his description of the Creation, the main facts of which he derived from the first two chapters of Genesis, and upon thesehe elaborated in full and striking detail his magnificent conception of the efforts of Divine Might, which in six successive creative acts called into existence the universe and all that it contains. The rising of the Earth out of Chaos; the creation of light and of the orbs of the firmament; the joyfulness associated with the onward career of the new-born Sun; the subdued illumination of the full-orbed Moon, and the thousand thousand stars that spangle the nocturnal sky—all these afforded Milton a rich field in which his imagination luxuriated, and in the description of which he found subject-matter worthy of his gifted intellect.

Milton gives an ampler and more detailed description of the new universe in his narration of Satan’s journey through space in search of this world, and brings more vividly before the imagination of his readers the glories of the celestial regions. The fiend, having emerged from the dark abyss of Chaos into a region of light, first beheld the new creation from such a distance that to his view it appeared as a star suspended by a golden chain from the Empyrean. This stellar conception of the poet’s harmonised with the views of the Ptolemaists, who believed that the universe was of limited extent, and though its dimensions were vast beyond comprehension, it was, nevertheless, enclosed by the tenth sphere or Primum Mobile. It was on the surface of this sphere that Satan alighted, and over which he wandered, until attracted by a beam of light that appeared throughan opening at its zenith, where, by means of a stair or ladder, communication was maintained between the new universe and Heaven above. Hither the undaunted fiend hied, and, standing on the lower steps of this structure, momentarily paused to gaze upon the glorious sight which burst upon his view before directing his flight down into the newly created universe. Milton then describes his progress through the stellar regions, his landing in the Sun and what he saw there, and the termination of his journey when he descends from the ecliptic down to the Earth. In doing so the poet gives a wonderfully beautiful description of the starry universe, of the Sun, Moon, and Earth (Book III. 540-742), enhanced and adorned with his own poetic imaginings derived from fable, philosophy, and science.

Milton makes more frequent allusion to the Sun than to any of the other orbs of the firmament. This we should expect: the poet always gives the orb the precedence which is his due, and never fails, when the occasion requires it, to surround him with the ‘surpassing glory’ which marks his pre-eminence above all other occupants of the sky. The Moon, his consort—peerless in the subdued effulgence of her borrowed light; the beautiful star of evening, Hesperus; the sidereal heavens with their untold glories; the Galaxy, overpowering in the magnificence of its clouds and streams of stars—all these have their beauties and charms mirrored in the pages of this remarkable poem.

That the observation of the celestial orbs, their phases, and the varied phenomena which occur as a consequence of their motions, were to Milton an unfailing source of enjoyment and of meditative delight, is evident from the frequency with which he alludes to them. The following lines also testify to this:—

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