as left very vivid and infinitely diversified pictures
of all the passions and affections, public and private, incident to human
nature,--the relations of son, of brother, parent, friend, citizen, and
many others. Longinus preferred the Iliad to the Odyssey, on account of
the greater number of battles it contains; but I can neither agree to his
criticism, nor assent to the present objection. It is true, there is
little action in this part of Milton's poem; but there is much repose, and
more enjoyment. There are none of the every-day occurrences, contentions,
disputes, wars, fightings, feuds, jealousies, trades, professions,
liveries, and common handicrafts of life; "no kind of traffic; letters are
not known; no use of service, of riches, poverty, contract, succession,
bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard none; no occupation, no treason,
felony, sword, pike, knife, gun, nor need of any engine." So much the
better; thank Heaven, all these were yet to come. But still the die was
cast, and in them our doom was sealed. In them

"The generations were prepared; the pangs,
The internal pangs, were ready, the dread strife
Of poor humanity's afflicted will,
Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny."

In their first false step we trace all our future woe, with loss of Eden.
But there was a short and precious interval between, like the first blush
of morning before the day is overcast with tempest, the dawn of the world,
the birth of nature from "the unapparent deep," with its first dews and
freshness on its cheek, breathing odours. Theirs was the first delicious
taste of life, and on them depended all that was to come of it. In them
hung trembling all our hopes and fears. They were as yet alone in the
world, in the eye of nature, wondering at their new being, full of
enjoyment and enraptured with one another, with the voice of their Maker
walking in the garden, and ministering angels attendant on their steps,
winged messengers from heaven like rosy clouds descending in their sight.
Nature played around them her virgin fancies wild; and spread for them a
repast where no crude surfeit reigned. Was there nothing in this scene,
which God and nature alone witnessed, to interest a modern critic? What
need was there of action, where the heart was full of bliss and innocence
without it! They had nothing to do but feel their own happiness, and "know
to know no more." "They toiled not, neither did they spin; yet Solomon in
all h