EDITOR'S PREFACE. xxvii 'Sir Henry Lee, who had expected some effusion very different from those classical and beautiful lines, soon changed the scornful expression of his countenance, relaxed his contorted upper lip, and, stroking down his beard with his left hand, rested the forefinger of the right upon his eyebrow, in sign of profound attention. After Everard had ceased speaking, the old man sighed as at the end of a strain of sweet music. He then spoke in a gentler manner than formerly. "Cousin Markham," he said, "these verses flow sweetly, and sound in my ears like the well-touched warbling of a lute. But thou knowest I am something slow of apprehending the full meaning of that which I hear for the first time. Repeat me these verses again slowly and deliberately; for I always love to hear poetry twice, the first time for sound, and the latter time for sense." 'Thus encouraged, Everard recited again the lines with more hardihood and better effect; the knight distinctly understanding, and, from his looks and motions, highly applauding them. "Yes!" he broke out, when Everard was again silent; "Yes, I do call that poetry, though it were even written by a Presbyterian, or an Anabaptist either. Ay, there were good and righteous people to be found even amongst the offending towns which were destroyed by fire. And certainly I have heard, though with little credence, (begging your pardon, cousin Everard,) that there are men among you who have seen the error of their ways in rebelling against the best and kindest of masters, and bringing it to that pass that he was murdered by a gang yet fiercer than themselves. Ay, doubtless the gentleness of spirit, and the purity of mind, which dictated those beautiful lines, has long ago taught a man so amiable to say, I have sinned, I have sinned. Yes, I doubt not so sweet a harp has been broken, even in remorse, for the crimes he was witness to; and now he sits drooping for the shame and sorrow of England, all his noble rhymes, as Will says,' 1 Hamlet, act iii. s. I. EDITOR'S PREFACE. 'Like sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh.' Dost thou not think so, Master Kerneguy?" xxix "Not I, Sir Henry," answered the page, some what maliciously. ""What! dost not believe the author of these lines must needs be of the better file, and leaning to our persuasion?" "I think, Sir Henry, that the poetry qualifies the author to write a play on the subject of Dame Potiphar and her recusant lover; and as for his calling, that last metaphor of the cloud in a black coat or cloak, with silver lining, would have dubbed him a tailor with me, only that I happen to know that he is a schoolmaster by profession, and by political opinions qualified to be Poet Laureate to Cromwell; for what Colonel Everard has repeated with such unction, is the production of no less celebrated a person than John Milton." "John Milton!" exclaimed Sir Henry in astonishment-"What! John Milton, the blasphemous and bloody-minded author of the Defensio Populi Anglicani !'-the advocate of the infernal High Court of Fiends!-the creature and parasite of that grand impostor, that loathsome hypocrite, that detestable monster, that prodigy of the universe, that disgrace of mankind, that landscape of iniquity, that sink of sin, that compendium of baseness, Oliver Cromwell!" "Even the same John Milton," answered Charles; "schoolmaster to little boys, and tailor to the clouds, which he furnishes with suits of black, lined with silver, at no other expense than that of common sense." "Markham Everard," said the old knight, "I will never forgive thee-never, never. Thou hast made me speak words of praise respecting one whose offal should fatten the region-kites. Speak not to me, sir, but begone! Am I, your kinsman and benefactor, a fit person to be juggled out of my commendation and eulogy, and brought to bedaub such a whitened sepulchre as the sophist Milton?" EDITOR'S PREFACE. xxxi "I profess," said Everard, "this is hard measure, Sir Henry. You pressed me, you defied me, to produce poetry as good as Shakspeare's. I only thought of the verses, not of the politics of Milton." This passage, with its exquisite touches of nature, proves that Sir Walter had a just appreciation of the real merits both of Milton's poetry and prose-that this is to be attained by keeping distinct his politics and his genius-and that Scott would have been the very person to have written his Life. A combination of the principles and spirit which animated both uncle and nephew can alone lead us to a correct view of the manysided and much misunderstood character of John Milton. life in his own words, speaking for himself in the apologia pro vitâ suâ, in the authoris pro se defensio which characterises almost all his works, must be the most satisfactory basis on which to found our judgment as to what Milton really was and thought and felt. On evil days and evil tongues' And to hear him tell the story of his |