MILTON’S MINOR POEMS.

This is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heaven’s eternal King, Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did sing, 5 That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

That glorious form, that light unsufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of majesty, Wherewith he wont at Heaven’s high council-table 10 To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside, and, here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 15 Afford a present to the Infant God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, [2] To welcome him to this his new abode, Now while the heaven, by the Sun’s team untrod, Hath took no print of the approaching light, 20 And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

See how from far upon the eastern road The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet! Oh! run; prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; 25 Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the Angel Quire, From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire.

It was the winter wild, While the heaven-born child 30 All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Nature, in awe to him, Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her 35 To wanton with the Sun, her lusty paramour.

Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, And on her naked shame, 40 Pollute with sinful blame, [3] The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; Confounded, that her Maker’s eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

But he, her fears to cease, 45 Sent down the meek-eyed Peace: She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; 50 And, waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

No war, or battle’s sound, Was heard the world around; The idle spear and shield were high uphung; 55 The hooked chariot stood, Unstained with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. 60

But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began. The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kissed, 65 Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean, [4] Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

The stars, with deep amaze, Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, 70 Bending one way their precious influence, And will not take their flight, For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warned them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, 75 Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

And, though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, 80 As his inferior flame The new-enlightened world no more should need: He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear.

The shepherds on the lawn, 85 Or ere the point of dawn, Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they than That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below: 90 Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. [5]

When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortal finger strook, 95 Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took: The air, such pleasure loth to lose, 99 With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.

Nature, that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia’s seat the Airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, 105 And that her reign had here its last fulfilling: She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union.

At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, 110 That with long beams the shamefaced Night arrayed; The helmed cherubim And sworded seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, Harping in loud and solemn quire, 115 With unexpressive notes, to Heaven’s new-born Heir.

Such music (as ’tis said) Before was never made, But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, While the Creator great 120 His constellations set, And the well-balanced World on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.

Ring out, ye crystal spheres! 125 Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time; And let the bass of heaven’s deep organ blow; 130 And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.

For, if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold; 135 And speckled Vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 140

Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Throned in celestial sheen, 145 With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall.

But wisest Fate says No, This must not yet be so; 150 The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss, So both himself and us to glorify: Yet first, to those ychained in sleep, 155 The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep.

With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang, While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake: The aged Earth, aghast 160 With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake, When, at the world’s last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.

And then at last our bliss 165 Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day The Old Dragon under ground, In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway, 170 [8] And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.

The Oracles are dumb; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. 175 Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. 180

The lonely mountains o’er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring, and dale Edged with poplar pale, 185 The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, 190 The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, 195 While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. [9]

Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-battered god of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, 200 Heaven’s queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine: The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn; In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.

And sullen Moloch, fled, 205 Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals’ ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue; 210 The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.

Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, 214 Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud; 215 Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain, with timbrelled anthems dark, The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark. 220 [10]

He feels from Juda’s land The dreaded Infant’s hand; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, 225 Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew.

So, when the sun in bed, Curtained with cloudy red, 230 Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave, And the yellow-skirted fays 235 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.

But see! the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven’s youngest-teemed star 240 Hath fixed her polished car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable.

What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones The labor of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, 5 What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument. For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavoring art Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart 10 Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble with too much conceiving, And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie 15 That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn ’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell, 5 Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 10 But come, thou Goddess fair and free, In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, And by men heart-easing Mirth; Whom lovely Venus, at a birth, With two sister Graces more, 15 To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore: Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic wind that breathes the spring, Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As he met her once a-Maying, 20 There, on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, Filled her with thee, a daughter fair, So buxom, blithe, and debonair. Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee 25 Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles, Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; 30 [13] Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come, and trip it, as you go, On the light fantastic toe; And in thy right hand lead with thee 35 The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty; And, if I give thee honor due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her, and live with thee, In unreproved pleasures free; 40 To hear the lark begin his flight, And, singing, startle the dull night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, 45 And at my window bid good-morrow, Through the sweet-briar or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine; While the cock, with lively din, Scatters the rear of darkness thin; 50 And to the stack, or the barn-door, Stoutly struts his dames before: Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar hill, 55 Through the high wood echoing shrill: Sometime walking, not unseen, By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green, Right against the eastern gate Where the great Sun begins his state, 60 Robed in flames and amber light, [14] The clouds in thousand liveries dight; While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o’er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 65 And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, Whilst the landskip round it measures: 70 Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray; Mountains on whose barren breast The laboring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim, with daisies pied; 75 Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; Towers and battlements it sees Bosomed high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighboring eyes. 80 Hard by a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis met Are at their savory dinner set Of herbs and other country messes, 85 Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses; And then in haste her bower she leaves, With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; Or, if the earlier season lead, To the tanned haycock in the mead. 90 Sometimes, with secure delight, The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid 95 Dancing in the chequered shade, [15] And young and old come forth to play On a sunshine holiday, Till the livelong daylight fail: Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 100 With stories told of many a feat, How Faery Mab the junkets eat. She was pinched and pulled, she said; And he, by Friar’s lantern led, Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 105 To earn his cream-bowl duly set, When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-laborers could not end; Then lies him down, the lubber fiend, 110 And, stretched out all the chimney’s length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 115 By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. Towered cities please us then, And the busy hum of men, Where throngs of knights and barons bold, In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold, 120 With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace whom all commend. There let Hymen oft appear 125 In saffron robe, with taper clear, And pomp, and feast, and revelry, [16] With mask and antique pageantry; Such sights as youthful poets dream, On summer eves by haunted stream. 130 Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson’s learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, 135 Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out 140 With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus’ self may heave his head 145 From golden slumber on a bed Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto to have quite set free His half-regained Eurydice. 150 These delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

Hence, vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred! How little you bested, Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain, 5 And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus’ train. 10 But, hail! thou Goddess sage and holy! Hail, divinest Melancholy! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view, 15 O’erlaid with black, staid Wisdom’s hue; Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon’s sister might beseem, Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove To set her beauty’s praise above 20 The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended. Yet thou art higher far descended: Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore To solitary Saturn bore; His daughter she; in Saturn’s reign 25 Such mixture was not held a stain. Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida’s inmost grove, Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. 30 [18] Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train, And sable stole of cypress lawn 35 Over thy decent shoulders drawn. Come; but keep thy wonted state, With even step, and musing gait, And looks commercing with the skies Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: 40 There, held in holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble, till With a sad leaden downward cast Thou fix them on the earth as fast. And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, 45 Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove’s altar sing; And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; 50 But, first and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The Cherub Contemplation; And the mute Silence hist along, 55 ‘Less Philomel will deign a song, In her sweetest, saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o’er the accustomed oak. 60 Sweet bird, that shunn’st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! [19] Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among I woo, to hear thy even-song; And, missing thee, I walk unseen 65 On the dry smooth-shaven green, To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon, Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven’s wide pathless way, 70 And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud. Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound, Over some wide-watered shore, 75 Swinging slow with sullen roar; Or, if the air will not permit, Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, 80 Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman’s drowsy charm To bless the doors from nightly harm. Or let my lamp, at midnight hour, 85 Be seen in some high lonely tower, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or what vast regions hold 90 The immortal mind that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook; And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or underground, Whose power hath a true consent 95 With planet or with element. [20] Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops’ line, Or the tale of Troy divine, 100 Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskined stage. But, O sad Virgin! that thy power Might raise Musæus from his bower; Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 105 Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek; Or call up him that left half-told The story of Cambuscan bold, 110 Of Camball, and of Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife, That owned the virtuous ring and glass, And of the wondrous horse of brass On which the Tartar king did ride; 115 And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung, Of turneys, and of trophies hung, Of forests, and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear. 120 Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, Till civil-suited Morn appear, Not tricked and frounced, as she was wont With the Attic boy to hunt, But kerchieft in a comely cloud, 125 While rocking winds are piping loud Or ushered with a shower still, [21] When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute-drops from off the eaves. 130 And, when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, 135 Where the rude axe with heaved stroke Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. There, in close covert, by some brook, Where no profaner eye may look, 140 Hide me from day’s garish eye, While the bee with honeyed thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring, With such consort as they keep, 145 Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep. And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings, in airy stream Of lively portraiture displayed, Softly on my eyelids laid; 150 And, as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, Or the unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail 155 To walk the studious cloister’s pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy-proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. 160 There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced quire below, [22] In service high and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstasies, 165 And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell 170 Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain. These pleasures, Melancholy, give; 175 And I with thee will choose to live.

Look, Nymphs and Shepherds, look! What sudden blaze of majesty Is that which we from hence descry, Too divine to be mistook? This, this is she 5 To whom our vows and wishes bend: Here our solemn search hath end. Fame, that her high worth to raise Seemed erst so lavish and profuse, We may justly now accuse 10 Of detraction from her praise: Less than half we find expressed; Envy bid conceal the rest.

Mark what radiant state she spreads, In circle round her shining throne 15 Shooting her beams like silver threads: This, this is she alone, Sitting like a goddess bright In the centre of her light.

Might she the wise Latona be, 20 Or the towered Cybele, Mother of a hundred gods? [24] Juno dares not give her odds: Who had thought this clime had held A deity so unparalleled? 25

Gen. Stay, gentle Swains, for, though in this disguise, I see bright honor sparkle through your eyes; Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung Of that renowned flood, so often sung, Divine Alpheus, who, by secret sluice, 30 Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse; And ye, the breathing roses of the wood, Fair silver-buskined Nymphs, as great and good. I know this quest of yours and free intent Was all in honor and devotion meant 35 To the great mistress of yon princely shrine, Whom with low reverence I adore as mine, And with all helpful service will comply To further this night’s glad solemnity, And lead ye where ye may more near behold 40 What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold; Which I full oft, amidst those shades alone, Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon. For know, by lot from Jove, I am the Power Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower, 45 To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove With ringlets quaint and wanton windings wove; And all my plants I save from nightly ill Of noisome winds and blasting vapors chill; And from the boughs brush off the evil dew, 50 And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue, Or what the cross dire-looking planet smites, [25] Or hurtful worm with cankered venom bites. When evening gray doth rise, I fetch my round Over the mount, and all this hallowed ground; 55 And early, ere the odorous breath of morn Awakes the slumbering leaves, or tasselled horn Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about, Number my ranks, and visit every sprout With puissant words and murmurs made to bless. 60 But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I To the celestial Sirens’ harmony, That sit upon the nine infolded spheres, And sing to those that hold the vital shears, 65 And turn the adamantine spindle round On which the fate of gods and men is wound. Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie, To lull the daughters of Necessity, And keep unsteady Nature to her law, 70 And the low world in measured motion draw After the heavenly tune, which none can hear Of human mould with gross unpurged ear. And yet such music worthiest were to blaze The peerless height of her immortal praise 75 Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit, If my inferior hand or voice could hit Inimitable sounds. Yet, as we go, Whate’er the skill of lesser gods can show I will assay, her worth to celebrate, 80 And so attend ye toward her glittering state; Where ye may all, that are of noble stem, Approach, and kiss her sacred vesture’s hem.

O’er the smooth enamelled green, Where no print of step hath been, 85 Follow me, as I sing And touch the warbled string: Under the shady roof Of branching elm star-proof Follow me. 90 I will bring you where she sits, Clad in splendor as befits Her deity. Such a rural Queen All Arcadia hath not seen. 95

Nymphs and Shepherds, dance no more By sandy Ladon’s lilied banks; On old Lycæus, or Cyllene hoar, Trip no more in twilight ranks; Though Erymanth your loss deplore, 100 A better soil shall give ye thanks. From the stony Mænalus Bring your flocks, and live with us; Here ye shall have greater grace, To serve the Lady of this place. 105 Though Syrinx your Pan’s mistress were, Yet Syrinx well might wait on her. Such a rural Queen All Arcadia hath not seen.

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven’s joy, Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse, Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ, Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce; And to our high-raised phantasy present 5 That undisturbed song of pure concent, Aye sung before the sapphire-colored throne To Him that sits thereon, With saintly shout and solemn jubilee; Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 10 Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow, And the Cherubic host in thousand quires Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, Hymns devout and holy psalms 15 Singing everlastingly: That we on Earth, with undiscording voice, May rightly answer that melodious noise; As once we did, till disproportioned sin Jarred against nature’s chime, and with harsh din 20 Broke the fair music that all creatures made To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience, and their state of good. O, may we soon again renew that song, 25 And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long To his celestial consort us unite, To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light!

Spirit. Before the starry threshold of Jove’s court My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot 5 Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care, Confined and pestered in this pinfold here, Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being, Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives, After this mortal change, to her true servants 10 Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats. Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That opes the palace of eternity. To such my errand is; and, but for such, 15 I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds With the rank vapors of this sin-worn mould. [29] But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream Took in, by lot ’twixt high and nether Jove. 20 Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles That, like to rich and various gems, inlay The unadorned bosom of the deep; Which he, to grace his tributary gods, By course commits to several government, 25 And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns And wield their little tridents. But this Isle, The greatest and the best of all the main, He quarters to his blue-haired deities; And all this tract that fronts the falling sun 30 A noble Peer of mickle trust and power Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide An old and haughty nation, proud in arms: Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore, Are coming to attend their father’s state, 35 And new-intrusted sceptre. But their way Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood, The nodding horror of those shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger; And here their tender age might suffer peril, 40 But that, by quick command from sovran Jove, I was despatched for their defence and guard! And listen why; for I will tell you now What never yet was heard in tale or song, From old or modern bard, in hall or bower. 45 Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine, After the Tuscan mariners transformed, Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed, On Circe’s island fell. (Who knows not Circe, 50 The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup [30] Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, And downward fell into a grovelling swine?) This Nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks, With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth, 55 Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son Much like his father, but his mother more, Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus named: Who, ripe and frolic of his full-grown age, Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields, 60 At last betakes him to this ominous wood, And, in thick shelter of black shades imbowered, Excels his mother at her mighty art; Offering to every weary traveller His orient liquor in a crystal glass, 65 To quench the drouth of Phœbus; which as they taste (For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst), Soon as the potion works, their human count’nance, The express resemblance of the gods, is changed Into some brutish form of wolf or bear, 70 Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat, All other parts remaining as they were. And they, so perfect in their misery, Not once perceive their foul disfigurement, But boast themselves more comely than before, 75 And all their friends and native home forget, To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty. Therefore, when any favored of high Jove Chances to pass through this adventurous glade, Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star 80 I shoot from heaven, to give him safe convoy, As now I do. But first I must put off These my sky-robes, spun out of Iris’ woof, And take the weeds and likeness of a swain That to the service of this house belongs, 85 [31] Who, with his soft pipe and smooth-dittied song, Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar, And hush the waving woods; nor of less faith, And in this office of his mountain watch Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid 90 Of this occasion. But I hear the tread Of hateful steps; I must be viewless now.

Comus. The star that bids the shepherd fold Now the top of heaven doth hold; And the gilded car of day 95 His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream: And the slope sun his upward beam Shoots against the dusky pole, Pacing toward the other goal 100 Of his chamber in the east. Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast, Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity. Braid your locks with rosy twine, 105 Dropping odors, dropping wine. Rigor now is gone to bed; And Advice with scrupulous head, Strict Age, and sour Severity, With their grave saws, in slumber lie. 110 We, that are of purer fire, [32] Imitate the starry quire, Who, in their nightly watchful spheres, Lead in swift round the months and years. The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, 115 Now to the moon in wavering morrice move; And on the tawny sands and shelves Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves. By dimpled brook and fountain-brim, The wood-nymphs, decked with daisies trim, 120 Their merry wakes and pastimes keep: What hath night to do with sleep? Night hath better sweets to prove; Venus now wakes, and wakens Love. Come, let us our rites begin; 125 ’Tis only daylight that makes sin, Which these dun shades will ne’er report. Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport, Dark-veiled Cotytto, to whom the secret flame Of midnight torches burns! mysterious dame, 130 That ne’er art called but when the dragon womb Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom, And makes one blot of all the air! Stay thy cloudy ebon chair, Wherein thou ridest with Hecat’, and befriend 135 Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end Of all thy dues be done, and none left out Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice Morn on the Indian steep, From her cabined loop-hole peep, 140 And to the tell-tale Sun descry Our concealed solemnity. Come, knit hands, and beat the ground In a light fantastic round.

Break off, break off! I feel the different pace 145 Of some chaste footing near about this ground. Run to your shrouds within these brakes and trees; Our number may affright. Some virgin sure (For so I can distinguish by mine art) Benighted in these woods! Now to my charms, 150 And to my wily trains: I shall ere long Be well stocked with as fair a herd as grazed About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl My dazzling spells into the spongy air, Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion, 155 And give it false presentments, lest the place And my quaint habits breed astonishment, And put the damsel to suspicious flight; Which must not be, for that’s against my course. I, under fair pretence of friendly ends, 160 And well-placed words of glozing courtesy, Baited with reasons not unplausible, Wind me into the easy-hearted man, And hug him into snares. When once her eye Hath met the virtue of this magic dust 165 I shall appear some harmless villager, Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear. But here she comes; I fairly step aside, And hearken, if I may her business hear.

Lady. This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, 170 My best guide now. Methought it was the sound Of riot and ill-managed merriment, Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds, When, for their teeming flocks and granges full, 175 [34] In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan, And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence Of such late wassailers; yet, oh! where else Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 180 In the blind mazes of this tangled wood? My brothers, when they saw me wearied out With this long way, resolving here to lodge Under the spreading favor of these pines, Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket-side 185 To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit As the kind hospitable woods provide. They left me then when the gray-hooded Even, Like a sad votarist in palmer’s weed, Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phœbus’ wain. 190 But where they are, and why they came not back, Is now the labor of my thoughts. ’Tis likeliest They had engaged their wandering steps too far; And envious darkness, ere they could return, Had stole them from me. Else, O thievish Night, 195 Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end, In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars That Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps With everlasting oil, to give due light To the misled and lonely traveller? 200 This is the place, as well as I may guess, Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear; Yet nought but single darkness do I find. What might this be? A thousand fantasies 205 Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, [35] And airy tongues that syllable men’s names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses. These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 210 The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended By a strong siding champion, Conscience. O, welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings, And thou unblemished form of Chastity! 215 I see thee visibly, and now believe That He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, Would send a glistering guardian, if need were, To keep my life and honor unassailed.... 220 Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night? I did not err: there does a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night, And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. 225 I cannot hallo to my brothers, but Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest I’ll venture; for my new-enlivened spirits Prompt me, and they perhaps are not far off.

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv’st unseen 230 Within thy airy shell By slow Meander’s margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale Where the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well: 235 Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair That likest thy Narcissus are? [36] O, if thou have Hid them in some flowery cave, Tell me but where, 240 Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere! So may’st thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all Heaven’s harmonies!

Comus. Can any mortal mixture of earth’s mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? 245 Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence. How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night, 250 At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled! I have oft heard My mother Circe with the Sirens three, Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades, Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs, 255 Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul, And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept, And chid her barking waves into attention, And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause. Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense, 260 And in sweet madness robbed it of itself; But such a sacred and home-felt delight, Such sober certainty of waking bliss, I never heard till now. I’ll speak to her, And she shall be my queen.—Hail, foreign wonder! 265 Whom certain these rough shades did never breed, Unless the goddess that in rural shrine Dwell’st here with Pan or Sylvan, by blest song Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood. 270

Lady. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise That is addressed to unattending ears. Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift How to regain my severed company, Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo 275 To give me answer from her mossy couch.

Comus. What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you thus?

Lady. Dim darkness and this leavy labyrinth.

Comus. Could that divide you from near-ushering guides?

Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf. 280

Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why?

Lady. To seek i’ the valley some cool friendly spring.

Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady?

Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick return.

Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them.285

Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit!

Comus. Imports their loss, beside the present need?

Lady. No less than if I should my brothers lose.

Comus. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom?

Lady. As smooth as Hebe’s their unrazored lips. 290

Comus. Two such I saw, what time the labored ox In his loose traces from the furrow came, And the swinked hedger at his supper sat. I saw them under a green mantling vine, That crawls along the side of yon small hill, 295 Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots; Their port was more than human, as they stood. I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colors of the rainbow live, 300 And play i’ the plighted clouds. I was awe-strook, And, as I passed, I worshiped. If those you seek, [38] It were a journey like the path to Heaven To help you find them.

Lady. Gentle villager, What readiest way would bring me to that place? 305

Comus. Due west it rises from this shrubby point.

Lady. To find out that, good shepherd, I suppose, In such a scant allowance of star-light, Would overtask the best land-pilot’s art, Without the sure guess of well-practised feet. 310

Comus. I know each lane, and every alley green, Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood, And every bosky bourn from side to side, My daily walks and ancient neighborhood; And, if your stray attendance be yet lodged, 315 Or shroud within these limits, I shall know Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark From her thatched pallet rouse. If otherwise, I can conduct you, Lady, to a low But loyal cottage, where you may be safe 320 Till further quest.

Lady. Shepherd, I take thy word, And trust thy honest-offered courtesy, Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds, With smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls And courts of princes, where it first was named, 325 And yet is most pretended. In a place Less warranted than this, or less secure, I cannot be, that I should fear to change it. Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportioned strength! Shepherd, lead on.... 330

The Two Brothers.

Eld. Bro. Unmuffle, ye faint stars; and thou, fair moon, That wont’st to love the traveller’s benison, Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud, And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here In double night of darkness and of shades; 335 Or, if your influence be quite dammed up With black usurping mists, some gentle taper, Though a rush-candle from the wicker hole Of some clay habitation, visit us With thy long levelled rule of streaming light, 340 And thou shalt be our star of Arcady, Or Tyrian Cynosure.

Sec. Bro. Or, if our eyes Be barred that happiness, might we but hear The folded flocks, penned in their wattled cotes, Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops, 345 Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock Count the night-watches to his feathery dames, ’Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering, In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs. But, Oh, that hapless virgin, our lost sister! 350 Where may she wander now, whither betake her From the chill dew, amongst rude burs and thistles? Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now, Or ’gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm Leans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad fears. 355 What if in wild amazement and affright, Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp Of savage hunger, or of savage heat!

Eld. Bro. Peace, brother: be not over-exquisite To cast the fashion of uncertain evils; 360 [40] For, grant they be so, while they rest unknown, What need a man forestall his date of grief, And run to meet what he would most avoid? Or, if they be but false alarms of fear, How bitter is such self-delusion! 365 I do not think my sister so to seek, Or so unprincipled in virtue’s book, And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever, As that the single want of light and noise (Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) 370 Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts, And put them into misbecoming plight. Virtue could see to do what Virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom’s self 375 Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, That, in the various bustle of resort, Were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired. 380 He that has light within his own clear breast May sit i’ the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself is his own dungeon.

Sec. Bro. ’Tis most true 385 That musing Meditation most affects The pensive secrecy of desert cell, Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds, And sits as safe as in a senate-house; For who would rob a hermit of his weeds, 390 His few books, or his beads, or maple dish, Or do his gray hairs any violence? [41] But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard Of dragon-watch with unenchanted eye 395 To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit, From the rash hand of bold Incontinence. You may as well spread out the unsunned heaps Of miser’s treasure by an outlaw’s den, And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope 400 Danger will wink on Opportunity, And let a single helpless maiden pass Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste. Of night or loneliness it recks me not; I fear the dread events that dog them both, 405 Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person Of our unowned sister.

Eld. Bro. I do not, brother, Infer as if I thought my sister’s state Secure without all doubt or controversy; Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear 410 Does arbitrate the event, my nature is That I incline to hope rather than fear, And gladly banish squint suspicion. My sister is not so defenceless left As you imagine; she has a hidden strength, 415 Which you remember not.

Sec. Bro. What hidden strength, Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that?

Eld. Bro. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength, Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own. ’Tis chastity, my brother, chastity: 420 She that has that is clad in complete steel, And, like a quivered nymph with arrows keen, [42] May trace huge forests, and unharbored heaths, Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds; Where, through the sacred rays of chastity, 425 No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer, Will dare to soil her virgin purity. Yea, there where very desolation dwells, By grots and caverns shagged with horrid shades, She may pass on with unblenched majesty, 430 Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, 435 No goblin or swart faery of the mine, Hath hurtful power o’er true virginity. Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call Antiquity from the old schools of Greece To testify the arms of chastity? 440 Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow, Fair silver-shafted queen forever chaste, Wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness And spotted mountain-pard, but set at nought The frivolous bolt of Cupid; gods and men 445 Feared her stern frown, and she was queen o’ the woods. What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin, Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed stone, But rigid looks of chaste austerity, 450 And noble grace that dashed brute violence With sudden adoration and blank awe? So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity That, when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, 455 Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, [43] And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear; Till oft converse with heavenly habitants Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape, 460 The unpolluted temple of the mind, And turns it by degrees to the soul’s essence, Till all be made immortal. But, when lust, By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk, But most by lewd and lavish act of sin, 465 Lets in defilement to the inward parts, The soul grows clotted by contagion, Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose The divine property of her first being. Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp 470 Oft seen in charnel-vaults and sepulchres, Lingering and sitting by a new-made grave, As loth to leave the body that it loved, And linked itself by carnal sensualty To a degenerate and degraded state. 475

Sec. Bro. How charming is divine Philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo’s lute, And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets, Where no crude surfeit reigns.

Eld. Bro. List! list! I hear 480 Some far-off hallo break the silent air.

Sec. Bro. Methought so too; what should it be?

Eld. Bro. For certain, Either some one, like us, night-foundered here, Or else some neighbor woodman, or, at worst, Some roving robber calling to his fellows. 485

Sec. Bro. Heaven help my sister! Again, again, and near! Best draw, and stand upon our guard.

Eld. Bro. I’ll hallo. If he be friendly, he comes well: if not, Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us!

That hallo I should know. What are you? speak. 490 Come not too near; you fall on iron stakes else.

Spir. What voice is that? my young lord? speak again.

Sec. Bro. O brother, ’tis my father’s Shepherd, sure.

Eld. Bro. Thyrsis! whose artful strains have oft delayed The huddling brook to hear his madrigal, 495 And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale. How camest thou here, good swain? Hath any ram Slipped from the fold, or young kid lost his dam, Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook? How could’st thou find this dark sequestered nook? 500

Spir. O my loved master’s heir, and his next joy, I came not here on such a trivial toy As a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealth Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth That doth enrich these downs is worth a thought 505 To this my errand, and the care it brought. But, oh! my virgin Lady, where is she? How chance she is not in your company?

Eld. Bro. To tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without blame Or our neglect, we lost her as we came. 510

Spir. Ay me unhappy! then my fears are true.

Eld. Bro. What fears, good Thyrsis? Prithee briefly shew.

Spir. I’ll tell ye. ’Tis not vain or fabulous (Though so esteemed by shallow ignorance) What the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse, 515 Storied of old in high immortal verse Of dire Chimeras and enchanted isles, [45] And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell; For such there be, but unbelief is blind. Within the navel of this hideous wood, 520 Immured in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells, Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus, Deep skilled in all his mother’s witcheries, And here to every thirsty wanderer By sly enticement gives his baneful cup, 525 With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poison The visage quite transforms of him that drinks, And the inglorious likeness of a beast Fixes instead, unmoulding reason’s mintage Charactered in the face. This have I learnt 530 Tending my flocks hard by i’ the hilly crofts That brow this bottom glade; whence night by night He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey, Doing abhorred rites to Hecate 535 In their obscurèd haunts of inmost bowers. Yet have they many baits and guileful spells To inveigle and invite the unwary sense Of them that pass unweeting by the way. This evening late, by then the chewing flocks 540 Had ta’en their supper on the savory herb Of knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold, I sat me down to watch upon a bank With ivy canopied, and interwove With flaunting honeysuckle, and began, 545 Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy, To meditate my rural minstrelsy, Till fancy had her fill. But ere a close The wonted roar was up amidst the woods, And filled the air with barbarous dissonance; 550 [46] At which I ceased, and listened them a while, Till an unusual stop of sudden silence Gave respite to the drowsy-flighted steeds That draw the litter of close-curtained Sleep. At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound 555 Rose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes, And stole upon the air, that even Silence Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might Deny her nature, and be never more, Still to be so displaced. I was all ear, 560 And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of Death. But, oh! ere long Too well I did perceive it was the voice Of my most honored Lady, your dear sister. Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and fear; 565 And ‘O poor hapless nightingale,’ thought I, ‘How sweet thou sing’st, how near the deadly snare!’ Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste, Through paths and turnings often trod by day, Till, guided by mine ear, I found the place 570 Where that damned wizard, hid in sly disguise (For so by certain signs I knew), had met Already, ere my best speed could prevent, The aidless innocent lady, his wished prey; Who gently asked if he had seen such two, 575 Supposing him some neighbor villager. Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guessed Ye were the two she meant; with that I sprung Into swift flight, till I had found you here; But further know I not.

Sec. Bro. O night and shades, 580 How are ye joined with hell in triple knot Against the unarmed weakness of one virgin, [47] Alone and helpless! Is this the confidence You gave me, brother?

Eld. Bro. Yes, and keep it still; Lean on it safely; not a period 585 Shall be unsaid for me. Against the threats Of malice or of sorcery, or that power Which erring men call Chance, this I hold firm: Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled; 590 Yea, even that which Mischief meant most harm Shall in the happy trial prove most glory. But evil on itself shall back recoil, And mix no more with goodness, when at last, Gathered like scum, and settled to itself, 595 It shall be in eternal restless change Self-fed and self-consumed. If this fail, The pillared firmament is rottenness, And earth’s base built on stubble. But come, let’s on! Against the opposing will and arm of Heaven 600 May never this just sword be lifted up; But for that damned magician, let him be girt With all the griesly legions that troop Under the sooty flag of Acheron, Harpies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms 605 ’Twixt Africa and Ind, I’ll find him out, And force him to return his purchase back, Or drag him by the curls to a foul death, Cursed as his life.

Spir. Alas! good venturous youth, I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise; 610 But here thy sword can do thee little stead. Far other arms and other weapons must Be those that quell the might of hellish charms. [48] He with his bare wand can unthread thy joints, And crumble all thy sinews.

Eld. Bro. Why, prithee, Shepherd, 615 How durst thou then thyself approach so near As to make this relation?

Spir. Care and utmost shifts How to secure the Lady from surprisal Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad, Of small regard to see to, yet well skilled 620 In every virtuous plant and healing herb That spreads her verdant leaf to the morning ray. He loved me well, and oft would beg me sing; Which when I did, he on the tender grass Would sit, and hearken even to ecstasy, 625 And in requital ope his leathern scrip, And show me simples of a thousand names, Telling their strange and vigorous faculties. Amongst the rest a small unsightly root, But of divine effect, he culled me out. 630 The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil: Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon; 635 And yet more med’cinal is it than that Moly That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave. He called it Hæmony, and gave it me, And bade me keep it as of sovran use ’Gainst all enchantments, mildew blast, or damp, 640 Or ghastly Furies’ apparition. I pursed it up, but little reckoning made, Till now that this extremity compelled. But now I find it true; for by this means I knew the foul enchanter, though disguised, 645 [49] Entered the very lime-twigs of his spells, And yet came off. If you have this about you (As I will give you when we go) you may Boldly assault the necromancer’s hall; Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood 650 And brandished blade rush on him: break his glass, And shed the luscious liquor on the ground; But seize his wand. Though he and his curst crew Fierce sign of battle make, and menace high, Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke, 655 Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.

Eld. Bro. Thyrsis, lead on apace; I’ll follow thee; And some good angel bear a shield before us!

Comus. Nay, Lady, sit. If I but wave this wand, Your nerves are all chained up in alabaster, 660 And you a statue, or as Daphne was, Root-bound, that fled Apollo.

Lady. Fool, do not boast. Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind With all thy charms, although this corporal rind Thou hast immanacled while Heaven sees good. 665

Comus. Why are you vexed, Lady? why do you frown? Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these gates Sorrow flies far. See, here be all the pleasures That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts, When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns 670 Brisk as the April buds in primrose season. [50] And first behold this cordial julep here, That flames and dances in his crystal bounds, With spirits of balm and fragrant syrups mixed. Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone 675 In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena Is of such power to stir up joy as this, To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst. Why should you be so cruel to yourself, And to those dainty limbs, which Nature lent 680 For gentle usage and soft delicacy? But you invert the covenants of her trust, And harshly deal, like an ill borrower, With that which you received on other terms, Scorning the unexempt condition 685 By which all mortal frailty must subsist, Refreshment after toil, ease after pain, That have been tired all day without repast, And timely rest have wanted. But, fair virgin, This will restore all soon.

Lady. ’Twill not, false traitor! 690 ’Twill not restore the truth and honesty That thou hast banished from thy tongue with lies. Was this the cottage and the safe abode Thou told’st me of? What grim aspects are these, These oughly-headed monsters? Mercy guard me! 695 Hence with thy brewed enchantments, foul deceiver! Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence With vizored falsehood and base forgery? And wouldst thou seek again to trap me here With liquorish baits, fit to ensnare a brute? 700 Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets, I would not taste thy treasonous offer. None [51] But such as are good men can give good things; And that which is not good is not delicious To a well-governed and wise appetite. 705

Comus. O foolishness of men! that lend their ears To those budge doctors of the stoic fur, And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub, Praising the lean and sallow Abstinence! Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth 710 With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, Covering the earth with odors, fruits, and flocks, Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, But all to please and sate the curious taste? And set to work millions of spinning worms, 715 That in their green shops weave the smooth-haired silk, To deck her sons; and, that no corner might Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins She hutched the all-worshipped ore and precious gems, To store her children with. If all the world 720 Should, in a fit of temperance, feed on pulse, Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze, The All-giver would be unthanked, would be unpraised, Not half his riches known, and yet despised; And we should serve him as a grudging master, 725 As a penurious niggard of his wealth, And live like Nature’s bastards, not her sons, Who would be quite surcharged with her own weight, And strangled with her waste fertility: The earth cumbered, and the winged air darked with plumes, 730 The herds would over-multitude their lords; The sea o’erfraught would swell, and the unsought diamonds Would so emblaze the forehead of the deep, And so bestud with stars, that they below Would grow inured to light, and come at last 735 [52] To gaze upon the sun with shameless brows. List, Lady; be not coy, and be not cozened With that same vaunted name, Virginity. Beauty is Nature’s coin; must not be hoarded, But must be current; and the good thereof 740 Consists in mutual and partaken bliss, Unsavory in the enjoyment of itself. If you let slip time, like a neglected rose It withers on the stalk with languished head. Beauty is Nature’s brag, and must be shown 745 In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, Where most may wonder at the workmanship. It is for homely features to keep home; They had their name thence: coarse complexions And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply 750 The sampler, and to tease the huswife’s wool. What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that, Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn? There was another meaning in these gifts; Think what, and be advised; you are but young yet. 755

Lady. I had not thought to have unlocked my lips In this unhallowed air, but that this juggler Would think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes, Obtruding false rules pranked in reason’s garb. I hate when vice can bolt her arguments 760 And virtue has no tongue to check her pride. Impostor! do not charge most innocent Nature, As if she would her children should be riotous With her abundance. She, good cateress, Means her provision only to the good, 765 That live according to her sober laws, And holy dictate of spare Temperance. [53] If every just man that now pines with want Had but a moderate and beseeming share Of that which lewdly-pampered Luxury 770 Now heaps upon some few with vast excess, Nature’s full blessings would be well-dispensed In unsuperfluous even proportion, And she no whit encumbered with her store; And then the Giver would be better thanked, 775 His praise due paid: for swinish gluttony Ne’er looks to Heaven amidst his gorgeous feast, But with besotted base ingratitude Crams, and blasphemes his Feeder. Shall I go on? Or have I said enow? To him that dares 780 Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words Against the sun-clad power of chastity Fain would I something say;—yet to what end? Thou hast nor ear, nor soul, to apprehend The sublime notion and high mystery 785 That must be uttered to unfold the sage And serious doctrine of Virginity; And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know More happiness than this thy present lot. Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric, 790 That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence; Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced. Yet, should I try, the uncontrolled worth Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits To such a flame of sacred vehemence 795 That dumb things would be moved to sympathize, And the brute Earth would lend her nerves, and shake, Till all thy magic structures, reared so high, Were shattered into heaps o’er thy false head.

Comus. She fables not. I feel that I do fear 800 [54] Her words set off by some superior power; And, though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering dew Dips me all o’er, as when the wrath of Jove Speaks thunder and the chains of Erebus To some of Saturn’s crew. I must dissemble, 805 And try her yet more strongly,—Come, no more! This is mere moral babble, and direct Against the canon laws of our foundation. I must not suffer this; yet ’tis but the lees And settlings of a melancholy blood. 810 But this will cure all straight; one sip of this Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste....

Spir. What! have you let the false enchanter scape? O ye mistook; ye should have snatched his wand, 815 And bound him fast. Without his rod reversed, And backward mutters of dissevering power, We cannot free the Lady that sits here In stony fetters fixed and motionless. Yet stay: be not disturbed; now I bethink me, 820 Some other means I have which may be used, Which once of Melibœus old I learnt, The soothest shepherd that e’er piped on plains. There is a gentle Nymph not far from hence, That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream: 825 Sabrina is her name: a virgin pure; Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, That had the sceptre from his father Brute. She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit Of her enraged stepdame, Guendolen, 830 [55] Commended her fair innocence to the flood That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing course. The water-nymphs, that in the bottom played, Held up their pearled wrists, and took her in, Bearing her straight to aged Nereus’ hall; 835 Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head, And gave her to his daughters to imbathe In nectared lavers strewed with asphodel, And through the porch and inlet of each sense Dropt in ambrosial oils, till she revived, 840 And underwent a quick immortal change, Made Goddess of the river. Still she retains Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve Visits the herds along the twilight meadows, Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs 845 That the shrewd meddling elf delights to make, Which she with precious vialed liquors heals: For which the shepherds, at their festivals, Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream 850 Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils. And, as the old swain said, she can unlock The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell, If she be right invoked in warbled song; For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift 855 To aid a virgin, such as was herself, In hard-besetting need. This will I try, And add the power of some adjuring verse.

Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting 860 Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, [56] In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair; Listen for dear honor’s sake, Goddess of the silver lake, 865 Listen and save!

Listen, and appear to us, In name of great Oceanus, By the earth-shaking Neptune’s mace, And Tethys’ grave majestic pace; 870 By hoary Nereus’ wrinkled look, And the Carpathian wizard’s hook; By scaly Triton’s winding shell, And old soothsaying Glaucus’ spell; By Leucothea’s lovely hands, 875 And her son that rules the strands; By Thetis’ tinsel-slippered feet, And the songs of Sirens sweet; By dead Parthenope’s dear tomb, And fair Ligea’s golden comb, 880 Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks Sleeking her soft alluring locks; By all the nymphs that nightly dance Upon thy streams with wily glance; Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head 885 From thy coral-paven bed, And bridle in thy headlong wave, Till thou our summons answered have. Listen and save!

By the rushy-fringed bank, 890 Where grow the willow and the osier dank, [57] My sliding chariot stays, Thick set with agate, and the azurn sheen Of turkis blue, and emerald green, That in the channel strays: 895 Whilst from off the waters fleet Thus I set my printless feet O’er the cowslip’s velvet head, That bends not as I tread. Gentle swain, at thy request 900 I am here!

Spir. Goddess dear, We implore thy powerful hand To undo the charmed band Of true virgin here distressed 905 Through the force and through the wile Of unblessed enchanter vile.

Sabr. Shepherd, ’tis my office best To help ensnared chastity. Brightest Lady, look on me. 910 Thus I sprinkle on thy breast Drops that from my fountain pure I have kept of precious cure; Thrice upon thy finger’s tip, Thrice upon thy rubied lip: 915 Next this marble venomed seat, Smeared with gums of glutinous heat, I touch with chaste palms moist and cold. Now the spell hath lost his hold, And I must haste ere morning hour 920 To wait in Amphitrite’s bower.

Spir. Virgin, daughter of Locrine, [58] Sprung of old Anchises’ line, May thy brimmed waves for this Their full tribute never miss 925 From a thousand petty rills, That tumble down the snowy hills: Summer drouth or singed air Never scorch thy tresses fair, Nor wet October’s torrent flood 930 Thy molten crystal fill with mud; May thy billows roll ashore The beryl and the golden ore; May thy lofty head be crowned With many a tower and terrace round, 935 And here and there thy banks upon With groves of myrrh and cinnamon. Come, Lady; while Heaven lends us grace, Let us fly this cursed place, Lest the sorcerer us entice 940 With some other new device. Not a waste or needless sound Till we come to holier ground. I shall be your faithful guide Through this gloomy covert wide; 945 And not many furlongs thence Is your Father’s residence, Where this night are met in state Many a friend to gratulate His wished presence, and beside 950 All the swains that there abide With jigs and rural dance resort. We shall catch them at their sport, And our sudden coming there Will double all their mirth and cheer. 955 [59] Come, let us haste; the stars grow high, But Night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.

Spir. Back, shepherds, back! Enough your play Till next sun-shine holiday. Here be, without duck or nod, 960 Other trippings to be trod Of lighter toes, and such court guise As Mercury did first devise With the mincing Dryades On the lawns and on the leas. 965

Noble Lord and Lady bright, I have brought ye new delight. Here behold so goodly grown Three fair branches of your own. Heaven hath timely tried their youth, 970 Their faith, their patience, and their truth, And sent them here through hard assays With a crown of deathless praise, To triumph in victorious dance O’er sensual folly and intemperance. 975

Spir. To the ocean now I fly, And those happy climes that lie [60] Where day never shuts his eye, Up in the broad fields of the sky. There I suck the liquid air, 980 All amidst the gardens fair Of Hesperus, and his daughters three That sing about the golden tree. Along the crisped shades and bowers Revels the spruce and jocund Spring; 985 The Graces and the rosy-bosomed Hours Thither all their bounties bring. There eternal Summer dwells, And west winds with musky wing About the cedarn alleys fling 990 Nard and cassia’s balmy smells. Iris there with humid bow Waters the odorous banks, that blow Flowers of more mingled hue Than her purfled scarf can shew, 995 And drenches with Elysian dew (List, mortals, if your ears be true) Beds of hyacinth and roses, Where young Adonis oft reposes, Waxing well of his deep wound, 1000 In slumbers soft, and on the ground Sadly sits the Assyrian queen. But far above, in spangled sheen, Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced Holds his dear Psyche, sweet entranced 1005 After her wandering labors long, Till free consent the gods among Make her his eternal bride, And from her fair unspotted side Two blissful twins are to be born, 1010 Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn. [61] But now my task is smoothly done: I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth’s end, Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend, 1015 And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the moon. Mortals, that would follow me, Love Virtue; she alone is free. She can teach ye how to climb 1020 Higher than the sphery chime; Or, if Virtue feeble were, Heaven itself would stoop to her.

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 5 Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew 10 Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear. Begin, then, Sisters of the sacred well 15 That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. Hence with denial vain and coy excuse: So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favor my destined urn, 20 And as he passes turn, And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud! For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill; Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 25 Under the opening eyelids of the Morn, We drove a-field, and both together heard [63] What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the star that rose at evening bright 30 Toward heaven’s descent had sloped his westering wheel. Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute; Tempered to the oaten flute Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not be absent long; 35 And old Damœtas loved to hear our song. But, oh! the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves, With wild thyme and the gadding vine o’ergrown, 40 And all their echoes, mourn. The willows, and the hazel copses green, Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the rose, 45 Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, When first the white-thorn blows; Such Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd’s ear. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep 50 Closed o’er the head of your loved Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. 55 Ay me! I fondly dream “Had ye been there,” ... for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament, 60 [64] When, by the rout that made the hideous roar, His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? Alas! what boots it with uncessant care To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd’s trade, 65 And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done, as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neæra’s hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 70 (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, 75 And slits the thin-spun life. “But not the praise,” Phœbus replied, and touched my trembling ears: “Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies, 80 But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.” O fountain Arethuse, and thou honored flood, 85 Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood. But now my oat proceeds, And listens to the Herald of the Sea, That came in Neptune’s plea. 90 He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain? [65] And questioned every gust of rugged wings That blows from off each beaked promontory. They knew not of his story; 95 And sage Hippotades their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed: The air was calm, and on the level brine Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 100 Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 105 Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. “Ah! who hath reft,” quoth he, “my dearest pledge?” Last came, and last did go, The Pilot of the Galilean Lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 110 (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake:— “How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, Enow of such as, for their bellies’ sake, Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold! 115 Of other care they little reckoning make Than how to scramble at the shearers’ feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest. Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the least 120 That to the faithful herdman’s art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 125 But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, [66] Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said. But that two-handed engine at the door 130 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.” Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is past That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. 135 Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks, Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes, That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, 140 And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, 145 The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears; Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, 150 To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. For so, to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, where’er thy bones are hurled; 155 Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world; Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, Sleep’st by the fable of Bellerus old, 160 [67] Where the great Vision of the guarded mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona’s hold. Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth: And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, 165 For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 170 Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 175 And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, 180 And wipe the tears forever from his eyes. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore, In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood. 185

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, While the still morn went out with sandals gray: He touched the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, 190 And now was dropt into the western bay. At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue; To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

O Nightingale that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover’s heart dost fill, While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, 5 First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill, Portend success in love. O, if Jove’s will Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh; 10 As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. Whether the Muse or Love called thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth 5 That I to manhood am arrived so near; And inward ripeness doth much less appear, [69] That some more timely-happy spirits endu’th. Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure even 10 To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven. All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-Master’s eye.

Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If deed of honor did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee; for he knows the charms 5 That call fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o’er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun’s bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses’ bower: The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 10 The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground; and the repeated air Of sad Electra’s poet had the power To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.

Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth Wisely hast shunned the broad way and the green, And with those few art eminently seen That labor up the hill of heavenly Truth, The better part with Mary and with Ruth 5 Chosen thou hast; and they that overween, And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen, No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth. Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, 10 And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastful friends Passes to bliss at the mid-hour of night, Hast gained thy entrance, Virgin wise, and pure.

Daughter to that good Earl, once President Of England’s Council and her Treasury, Who lived in both unstained with gold or fee, And left them both, more in himself content, Till the sad breaking of that Parliament 5 Broke him, as that dishonest victory At Chæronea, fatal to liberty, [71] Killed with report that old man eloquent, Though later born than to have known the days Wherein your father flourished, yet by you, 10 Madam, methinks I see him living yet: So well your words his noble virtues praise That all both judge you to relate them true And to possess them, honored Margaret.

Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song First taught our English music how to span Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas’ ears, committing short and long, Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, 5 With praise enough for Envy to look wan; To after age thou shalt be writ the man That with smooth air couldst humor best our tongue. Thou honor’st Verse, and Verse must send her wing To honor thee, the priest of Phœbus’ quire, 10 That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or story. Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing, Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.

Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings, Filling each mouth with envy or with praise, And all her jealous monarchs with amaze, And rumors loud that daunt remotest kings, Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings 5 Victory home, though new rebellions raise Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays Her broken league to imp their serpent wings. O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand (For what can war but endless war still breed?) 10 Till truth and right from violence be freed, And public faith cleared from the shameful brand Of public fraud. In vain doth Valor bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the land.

Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud 5 Hast reared God’s trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, [73] And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester’s laureate wreath: yet much remains To conquer still; Peace hath her victories 10 No less renowned than War: new foes arise, Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains. Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their maw.

Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old, Than whom a better senator ne’er held The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled The fierce Epirot and the African bold, Whether to settle peace, or to unfold 5 The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled; Then to advise how war may best, upheld, Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold, In all her equipage; besides, to know Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, 10 What severs each, thou hast learned, which few have done. The bounds of either sword to thee we owe: Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshiped stocks and stones, Forget not: in thy book record their groans 5 Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow 10 O’er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present 5 My true account, lest He returning chide, “Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?” [75] I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need Either man’s work or his own gifts. Who best 10 Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o’er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.”

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining? Time will run 5 On smoother, till Favonius reinspire The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise 10 To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air? He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

Cyriack, whose grandsire on the royal bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause, Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws, Which others at their bar so often wrench, To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 5 In mirth that after no repenting draws; Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, And what the Swede intend, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; 10 For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

Cyriack, this three years’ day these eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, 5 Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jot [77] Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied 10 In Liberty’s defence, my noble task, Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the world’s vain mask Content, though blind, had I no better guide.