Hence Erasmus, Lib. Adag. tells us, that ‘reddere Harpocratem,' is the same as 'mutum reddere.' So Catullus in another place:

Patruum reddidit Harpocratem.

Ovid describes him in the same manner, without taking notice of his name, amongst the attendants of Isis:

Quique premit vocem, digitoque silentia suadet.
Metam. Lib. ix.

This description entirely agrees with the several medals and statues of Harpocrates, which the learned antiquary Gisb. Cuperus exhibits in his laborious Dissertation on that subject, printed with Monumenta Antiqua.

But upon another account likewise, Harpocrates may justly be appointed to attend upon the Sick; for he is numbered amongst the salutary gods, who assisted in extreme dangers: as appears from Artemidorus, Oneir. l. ii. c. 44. where, after having mentioned Serapis, Isis, Anubis, and Harpocrates, he goes on thus: 'Semper enim servatores crediti sunt hi dii, eorum qui per omnia exercitati sunt, et ad extremum periculum pervenerunt,' &c. Kircher also, in his dip. Egyp. p. 2. vol. ii. p. 315, amongst others to the same purpose, has these remarkable words: 'Reverebantur Ægypti, præter cætera numina maximè Isin et Osirin, ac horum sive Harpocratem, tanquam Iatricos genios.'

THE

PALACE OF DISEASE.

Diseases dire, of which a monstrous crew
Before thee shall appear.

MILTON.

27

The Argument.

Reflections. Invocation of the Genius of Spenser. Apostrophe to the Duchess of Somerset. The Palace of Disease. War. Intemperance. Melancholy. Fever. Consumption. Smallpox. Complaint on the death of Lord Beauchamp.

BOOK II.

DEATH was not man's inheritance but Life
Immortal, but a paradise of bliss,
Unfading beauty, and eternal spring;
(The cloudless blaze of Innocence's reign)
The gifts of God's right hand! till monstrous Sin,
The motley child of Satan and of Hell,

Invited dire Disease into the world,

And her distorted brood of ugly shapes,

Echidna's brood! and fix'd their cursed abode

On earth, invisible to human sight,

The portion and the scourge of mortal man.
Yet though to human sight invisible,
If she, whom I implore, Urania, deign
With euphrasy to purge away the mists

Which, humid, dim the mirror of the mind
(As Venus gave Æneas to behold

The angry gods with flame o'erwhelming Troy,
Neptune and Pallas), not in vain, I'll sing
The mystic terrors of this gloomy reign:
And, led by her, with dangerous courage press
Through dreary paths, and haunts by mortal foot
Rare visited; unless by Thee, I ween,
Father of Fancy, of descriptive verse,
And shadowy beings, gentle Edmund hight,
Spenser! the sweetest of the tuneful throng,
Or recent, or of eld1. Creative bard,
Thy springs unlock, expand thy fairy scenes,
Thy unexhausted stores of fancy spread,
And with thy images enrich my song.

[safe

Come Hertford'! with the Muse,a while, vouch(The softer virtues melting in thy breast, The tender graces glowing in thy form), Vouchsafe, in all the beauty of distress, To take a silent walk among the tombs: There lend a charm to Sorrow, smooth her brow, And sparkle through her tears, in shining woe. As when the dove 3 (thy emblem, matchless Dame! For beauty, innocence, and truth are thine) Spread all its colours o'er the boundless deep (Empyreal radiance quivering round the gloom), Chaos reform'd, and bade Distraction smile! Deep in a desert vale, a palace frowns Sublimely mournful: to the eye it seems The mansion of Despair, or ancient Night.

1 Old.

2 Afterwards Duchess of Somerset.

3 The Platonists suppose that Love, or the celestial Venus (of whom the dove is likewise an emblem) created the world out of chaos.

The Graces of the Seasons never knew

To shed their bounty here, or, smiling, bless,.
With hospitable foot, its bleak domain,
Uncultivated. Nor the various robe

Of flushing Spring, with purple gay, invests
Its blighted plains; nor Summer's radiant hand
Profusive scatters o'er its baleful fields
The rich abundance of her glorious days;
And golden Autumn here forgets to reign.
Here only hemlock, and whatever weeds
Medea gather'd, or Canidia brew'd,

Wet with Avernus' waves, or Pontus yields,
Or Colchos, or Thessalia, taint the winds,
And choke the ground unhallow'd. But the soil
Refuses to embrace the kindly seeds

Of healing vegetation, sage, and rue,
Dittany, and amello, blooming still

In Virgil's rural page. The bitter yew, [arms,
The churchyard's shade! and cypress' wither'd
In formidable ranks surround its courts
With umbrage dun; administering a roof
To birds of ominous portent; the bat,
The raven boding death, the screaming owl
Of heavy wing; while serpents, rustling, hiss;
And croaking toads the odious concert aid.

The peevish east, the rheumy south, the north
Pregnant with storms, are all the winds that blow :
While, distant far, the pure Etesian gales,
And western breezes, fan the spicy beds
Of Araby the bless'd, or shake their balm
O'er fair Britannia's plains, and wake her flowers.
Eternal damps, and deadly humours, drawn
In poisonous exhalations from the deep,
Conglomerated into solid night,

D

And darkness, almost to be felt, forbid
The sun, with cheerful beams, to purge the air,
But roll their suffocating horrors round
Incessant, banishing the blooming train
Of Health and Joy for ever from the dome.
In sad magnificence the palace rears
Its mouldering columns; from thy quarries, Nile,
Of sable marble, and Egyptian mines
Embowel'd. Nor Corinthian pillars, gay
With foliaged capitals and figured prize,
Nor feminine Ionique, nor, though grave,
The fluted Doric, and the Tuscan plain,
In just proportions rise: but Gothic, rude,
Irreconciled in ruinous design:

Save in the centre, in relievo high,
And swelling emblematically bold,

In gold the apple rose+, 'whose mortal taste
Brought Death into the world, and all our woe.'
Malignantly delighted, dire Disease

Surveys the glittering pest, and grimly smiles
With hellish glee. Beneath, totters her throne,
Of jarring elements; earth, water, fire;
Where hot and cold, and moist and dry; maintain
Unnatural war. Shapeless her frightful form
(A chaos of distemper'd limbs in one),
Huge as Megæra, cruel as the grave;

Her eyes, two comets; and her breath, a storm.
High in her wither'd arms she wields her rod,
With adders curl'd, and dropping gore; and points
To the dead walls, besmear'd with cursed tales
Of Plagues red-spotted, of blue Pestilence,
Walking in darkness; Havoc at their heels;
Lean Famine, gnawing in despite her arm:
4 Milton's Paradise Lost, Book I.