Nor second he, that rode sublime
Upon the seraph wings of ecstacy
The secrets of the abyss to spy.
He passed the flaming bounds of place and time,
The living throne, the sapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,
He saw; but blasted with excess of light
Closed his eyes in endless night.
Gray’s method is nowhere better exemplified than in this resplendent tribute to Milton. The very terms in which he glorifies his subject are with fine adaptation borrowed from that subject himself. The coincidence upon which here we chance is too good to be disregarded. Let us digress enough to bring in Gray’s sympathetically varied characterization of Dryden which immediately follows in the text of the ode:
Behold where Dryden’s less presumptuous care