“Are you at all acquainted with Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’?” inquired Sidney of Miss Boast.
“I have read a little of it, but it is not my favourite book,” she replied.
“But it is an admirable book,” said Sidney; “I have read it again and again. Why, I know it almost line by line. It is a grand poem, of course of the tragic style, full of strong sentiment and bold figure. Milton, you know, wrote that poem in German. The translation into English is a good one—incomparably good. I forget who the translator was. Do you not remember those exquisitely fine lines which run thus,—
‘Ah, mighty Love——’
Why, now, it is strange I should forget them. Let me see (with his hand to his forehead). Now I have them,
‘Ah, mighty Love, that it were inward heat
Which made this precious limbeck sweet!
But what, alas! ah, what does it avail!’
I need not repeat any more. This will give you an idea of the style and sentiment of that wonderful poem.”
“It is certainly very fine,” said the young lady, innocently. “Did you not hear those beautiful lines, Arthur, which Sidney has just quoted from Milton?” asked Miss Boast.
“Yes, I heard them.”
“Are they not fine?” said Sidney to Arthur.