It
would be unfair to send it into the world without saying something of
the nature of its composition. It is unlike the Arcadia of sir Philip
Sidney, and unlike, what I have just taken the trouble of running over,
the Daphnis of Gessner. It neither on the one hand leaves behind it the
laws of criticism, and mixes together the different stages of
civilization; nor on the other will it perhaps be found frigid,
uninteresting, and insipid. The prevailing opinion of Pastoral seems to
have been, that it is a species of composition admirably fitted for the
size of an eclogue, but that either its nature will not be preserved, or
its simplicity will become surfeiting in a longer performance. And
accordingly, the Pastoral Dramas of Tasso, Guarini, and Fletcher,
however they may have been commended by the critics, and admired by that
credulous train who clap and stare whenever they are bid, have when the
recommendation of novelty has subsided been little attended to and
little read. But the great Milton has proved that this objection is not
insuperable. His Comus is a master-piece of poetical composition. It is
at least equal in its kind even to the Paradise Lost. It is interesting,
descriptive and pathetic. Its fame is continually increasing, and it
will be admired wherever the name of Britain is repeated, and the
language of Britain is understood.
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