The Annotated Read Online

Indeed, the very first poem in The Complete Poetical Works and Letters of John Keats, identified therein as “the earliest known composition of Keats,” is an “Imitation of Spenser” (1). Spenser’s tracks are all over the Keats volume, from a “Spenserian Stanza, written at the close of book v. of THE FAERIE QUEENE” (8–9), a sonnet “To Spenser” (42), and three more “Spenserian Stanzas” aimed in 1819 at Charles Armitrage Brown, in response (in Keats’ own words) to “Brown this morning…writing some Spenserian stanzas against Mrs., Miss [Fanny] Brawne and me.”

And Spenser’s reach extends, as I have indicated, a good century further. In an 1858 letter to his sister, sent from Oxford, John Addington Symonds requests that he be sent his copy of Spenser (the request placed, in sequence, between Chaucer and “the large Milton” [The Letters of John Addington Symonds, I, 167]). In another letter home the next year, he asks, “Has a small Spenser in 6 diamond volumes, come for me from Jeffries in Redcliffe Street? I ordered it when I was last in Clifton” (I, 200). Nor did Symonds’ interest flag in later years. Almost thirty years along, he writes to Edmund Gosse, 16 May 1886, from Germany, expressing genuine concern about the possible misattribution of a sixteenth-century poem the style of which “seems to me suspiciously like that of Spenser” (III, 139). Writing in 1896 from his prison cell in Reading, Oscar Wilde requested “Spenser’s Poems,” among other books (The Letters of Oscar Wilde, 405 n). And, finally, in August 1912 Edward Dowden writes that “most of my reading hours were given to Spenser, and once again I went through the ‘Faerie Queene’ (though I can’t say, as Southey did, that I have read it once a year” [Letters of Edward Dowden, 381]).

Yet Milton not only participates in a long and strong tradition, connecting to it in more ways than I can here comment upon, but he has always been, and still remains, an immensely significant, powerful contributor to that tradition. He draws upon Shakespeare (he was born eight years before Shakespeare’s death), as has everyone else. But he also adds to Shakespeare, as most others neither have done nor could do.

He scarce had ceased when the superior fiend

Was moving toward the shore, his ponderous shield,

Ethereal1 temper,2 massy, large, and round,

Behind him cast. The broad circumference

Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb

Through optic glass the Tuscan3 artist 4 views

At evening, from the top of Fesolé,

Or in Valdarno, to descry 5 new lands,

Rivers, or mountains in her spotty 6 globe.

His spear—to equal which the tallest pine

Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast

Of some great ammiral,7 were but a wand 8 —

He walked with, to support uneasy9 steps

Over the burning marl,10 not like those steps

On Heaven’s azure. And the torrid clime

Smote11 on him sore besides, vaulted 12 with fire.

PARADISE LOST, 1:284–98

The sweep and grandeur of this portrait of Satan, struggling to preserve his dignity (not to mention his power) even though newly fallen from the glories of heaven to the sulfurous and smoking fields of hell, is unmatchable in English verse. Virgil and even Homer, had they seen (or heard) Milton’s description of the “ponderous shield, / Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, / Behind him cast,” the “broad circumference” of which “Hung on his shoulders like the moon,” would have recognized and perhaps envied a colleague in and competitor for poetic glory. Milton’s uniquely majestic rhetoric, his commanding poetic “voice,” seem almost the effect of some marvelously benign Midas touch, turning even tawdriness into magnificent resonance.

It is not difficult, of course, to find this side of Milton, especially in Paradise Lost and Samson Agonistes but also, in different and younger ways, in Lycidas and, fittingly, in his quite early “On Shakespeare,” probably written when he was only twenty-two. This is the Milton of whom Douglas Bush could declare, “Whoever the third of English poets may be [Shakespeare and Chaucer being overwhelming consensus choices for numbers I and 2], Milton’s place has been next to the throne” (English Literature in the Earlier Seventeenth Century, 359). But whether writing about angels or demons, Milton’s touch can also be delicate and lyrically shimmering:

…how he fell

From Heaven they fabled,13 thrown by angry Jove

Sheer14 o’er the crystal battlements.15From morn

To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,

A summer’s day, and with the setting sun

Dropt from the zenith,16 like a falling star….

PARADISE LOST, 1:740–45

His psychological insights, as well as his sense of inner drama, exceed those of every English poet or dramatist but Shakespeare. Here is Satan, newly arrived in view of the Garden of Eden:

…Horror and doubt distract

His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir

The Hell within him, for within him Hell

He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell

One step, no more than from himself, can fly

By change of place.

PARADISE LOST, 4:18–23

This patient, careful, almost tender delineation of devilish torment is a good deal more impressive even than that offered in Marlowe’s fine play Doctor Faustus: “How comes it, then,” asks Faustus of the devil, “that thou art out of hell?” And the devil replies, “Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it” (The Works of Christopher Marlowe, ed. Brooke, 155). Marlowe gives us high drama, as does Milton. But Milton gives us more.

And who can forget, once read, the achingly stupendous close to Lycidas, composed when Milton was twenty-nine:

Thus sang the uncouth17 swain to th’ oaks and rills,18

While the still morn went out with sandals gray.

He touched the tender stops of various quills,19

With eager thought warbling his Doric 20 lay.

And now the sun had stretched out 21 all the hills,

And now was dropped into the western bay.

At last he rose and twitched 22 his mantle blue:

Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

LYCIDAS, 186–93

The very moment he heard (by e-mail) that this edition was in preparation, a friend of mine, many years away from any connection with schools or colleges, promptly wrote out from memory a remarkably accurate transcript of almost fifty lines of Lycidas. That is exactly the sort of response, and the sort of tribute, that this edition of Milton’s English poems is intended to elicit.

The principal function of the introduction to a book like this is to inform prospective readers of the editor’s goals and intentions and of the nature of the material offered in support of those goals and intentions in the pages that follow. Introductions to editions of Milton customarily explain the editor’s view of Milton’s theological concerns, usually discussing the poetry’s relationship to those concerns. Biographical information is often set out as well. (Biographical material is here offered, in capsule form, in the Chronology, which immediately follows the Contents listing above.) In this volume, however, much of the necessary theological and other informational material is spread throughout the book, being contained in the annotations (affixed to the poems for which such information is necessary), these comprising whatever value the book may possess. Those who employ this edition as a university textbook, which in all likelihood will be its chief use, will have an informed and communicative instructor to frame additionally needed contexts. And the brief list of suggested reading at the end of this volume offers, I trust, whatever further guidance may be required, at least in the initial stages of coming to know John Milton’s English poetry. Most of the items there cited, of course, contain references to still further critical and historical materials.

A PARAPHRASE ON PSALM 114

1624

When the blest seed of Terah’s faithful son23

After long toil their liberty had won,

And passed from Pharian 24

fields to Canaan land,

Led by the strength of the Almighty’s hand,

Jehovah’s wonders were in Israel shown,

His praise and glory was in Israel known.

That saw the troubled sea,25

and shivering fled,

And sought to hide his froth-becurlèd head

Low in the earth. Jordan’s clear streams recoil,

As a faint 26 host 27 that hath received the foil.28

The high, huge-bellied mountains skip like rams

Amongst their ewes, the little hills like lambs.

Why fled the oceans and why skipped the mountains?

Why turned Jordan toward his crystal fountains?

Shake earth, and at the presence be aghast

Of Him that ever was, and aye29 shall last,

That 30 glassy floods from ruggèd rocks can crush,

And make soft rills31 from fiery flint-stones gush.

PSALM 136

1624

Let us with a gladsome mind

Praise the Lord, for He is kind,

For His mercies aye endure,

Ever faithful, ever sure.

Let us blaze 32 His name abroad, 33

For of gods He is the God,

For His, etc.

O let us His praises tell,

Who doth the wrathful tyrants quell, 34

For His, etc.

That with His miracles doth make

Amazèd Heav’n and earth to shake,

For His, etc.

Who by His wisdom did create

The painted 35Heav’ns so full of state, 36

For His, etc.

Who did the solid earth ordain

To rise above the wat’ry plain,

For His, etc.

Who by His all-commanding might

Did fill the new-made world with light,

For His, etc.

And caused the golden-tressèd sun

All the day long his course to run,

For His, etc.

The hornèd moon to shine by night,

Amongst her spangled sisters bright,

For His, etc.

He with His thunder-clasping hand

Smote the first-born of Egypt land,

For His, etc.

And in despite of Pharaoh fell,37

He brought from thence His Israel,38

For His, etc.

The ruddy waves He cleft in twain,

Of the Erythraean main,39

For His, etc.

The floods stood still like walls of glass

While the Hebrew bands did pass,

For His, etc.

But full soon they did devour

The tawny 40 king with all his power,

For His, etc.

His chosen people He did bless

In the wasteful 41wilderness,

For His, etc.

In bloody battle He brought down

Kings of prowess and renown,

For His, etc.

He foiled bold Seon and his host,

That ruled the Amorrean 42coast,

For His, etc.

And large-limbed Og 43He did subdue,

With all his over-hardy 44crew,

For His, etc.

And to His servant Israel 45

He gave their land, therein to dwell,

For His, etc.

He hath with a piteous eye

Beheld us in our misery,

For His, etc.

And freed us from the slavery

Of the invading enemy,

For His, etc.

All living creatures He doth feed,

And with full hand supplies their need,

For His, etc.

Let us therefore warble 46 forth

His mighty majesty and worth,

For His, etc.

That His mansion hath on high,

Above the reach of mortal eye,

For His mercies aye endure,

Ever faithful, ever sure.

ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT DYING OF A COUGH

1625–26? 1628?

I

O fairest flower no sooner blown 47 but blasted,48

Soft silken primrose fading timelessly,

Summer’s chief honor if thou hadst outlasted

Bleak winter’s force, that made thy blossom dry,

For he being amorous on that lovely dye

That did thy cheek envermeil,49thought to kiss,

But killed, alas, and then bewailed his fatal bliss.

II

For since grim Aquilo,50his 51charioteer,

By boisterous 52rape th’ Athenian damsel53got,

He thought it touched 54his deity full near

If likewise he some fair one wedded not,55

Thereby to wipe away the infamous56blot

Of long-uncoupled bed and childless eld,57

Which ’mongst the wanton58gods a foul reproach was held.

III

So mounting up in icy-pearlèd car 59

Through middle empire of the freezing air

He wandered long, till thee he spied from far.

There ended was his quest, there ceased his care:

Down he descended from his snow-soft chair,

But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace

Unhoused thy virgin soul from her fair biding 60place.

IV

Yet art thou not inglorious 61in thy fate,

For so Apollo, with unweeting62hand,

Whilom63did slay his dearly lovèd mate,64

Young Hyacinth, born on Eurotas’ strand,65

Young Hyacinth, the pride of Spartan land,

But then transformed him to a purple flower:

Alack, that so to change thee winter had no power.

V

Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead

Or that thy corpse corrupts in earth’s dark womb,

Or that thy beauties lie in wormy bed,

Hid from the world in a low-delved66tomb.

Could Heav’n, for pity, thee so strictly doom?

Oh no! for something in thy face did shine

Above mortality that showed thou wast divine.

VI

Resolve67me, then, O soul most surely blest

(If so it be that thou these plaints68dost hear)!

Tell me, bright spirit, where’er thou hoverest,

Whether above that high, first-moving sphere

Or in the Elysian fields (if such there were),

Oh say me true if thou were mortal wight 69

And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.

VII

Were thou some star which from the ruined roof

Of shaked Olympus by mischance didst fall?

Which careful Jove in Nature’s true behoof 70

Took up, and in fit71place did reinstall?

Or did, of late, earth’s sons besiege the wall

Of shiny Heav’n, and thou some goddess fled

Amongst us here below to hide thy nectared head?

VIII

Or were thou that just maid who once before

Forsook the hated earth,72O tell me sooth,

And cam’st again to visit us once more?

Or wert thou Mercy, that sweet smiling youth?

Or that crowned matron, sage white-robèd Truth?

Or any other of that heav’nly brood

Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some good?

IX

Or wert thou of the golden-wingèd host,

Who having clad thyself in human weed 73

To earth from thy prefixèd seat didst post,74

And after short abode fly back with speed,

As if to show what creatures Heav’n doth breed,

Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire

To scorn the sordid 75world, and unto Heav’n aspire?

X

But oh, why didst thou not stay here below

To bless us with thy Heav’n-loved innocence?

To slake his wrath, whom sin hath made our foe?

To turn swift-rushing black perdition hence,

Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence?

To stand ’twixt us and our deservèd smart? 76

But thou canst best perform that office where thou art.

XI

Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child,

Her false-imagin’d loss cease to lament,

And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild.

Think what a present thou to God has sent,

And render Him with patience what he lent.

This if thou do, He will an offspring give

That till the world’s last end shall make thy name to live.

AT A VACATION EXERCISE IN THE COLLEGE, PART LATIN, PART ENGLISH

1628

The Latin speeches ended, the English thus began:

Hail, native language, that by sinews weak

Didst move my first endeavoring tongue to speak

And mad’st imperfect words with childish trips,

Half unpronounced, slide through my infant lips,

Driving dumb silence from the portal door,

Where he had mutely sat two years before!

Here I salute thee, and thy pardon ask,

That now I use thee in my later task.

Small loss it is that hence can come unto thee:

I know my tongue but little grace can do thee.

Thou needst not be ambitious to be first:

Believe me, I have thither 77packed the worst—

And, if it happen, as I did forecast,

The daintiest dishes shall be served up last.

I pray thee, then, deny me not thy aid

For this same small neglect that I have made,

But haste thee straight to do me once a pleasure,

And from thy wardrobe bring thy chiefest treasure,

Not those new-fangled toys and trimming slight

Which takes our late fantastics with delight,

But cull those richest robes and gay’st attire

Which deepest spirits and choicest wits desire.

I have some naked 78thoughts that rove about

And loudly knock to have their passage out,

And, weary of their place, do only stay

Till thou has decked them in thy best array,

That so they may without suspect 79or fears

Fly swiftly to this fair assembly’s ears.

Yet I had rather, if I were to choose,

Thy service in some graver subject use,

Such as may make thee search thy coffers80round 81

Before thou clothe my fancy in fit sound—

Such where the deep transported mind may soar

Above the wheeling poles, and at Heav’n’s door

Look in, and see each blissful deity

How he before the thunderous throne doth lie,

Listening to what unshorn Apollo sings

To the touch of golden wires, while Hebe 82brings

Immortal nectar to her kingly sire.

Then passing through the spheres of watchful fire,

And misty regions of wide air next under,

And hills of snow and lofts 83of pilèd thunder,

May tell at length how green-eyed Neptune raves,

In Heav’n’s defiance mustering all his waves.

Then sing of secret things that came to pass

When beldam 84Nature in her cradle was.

And last, of kings and queens and heroes old,

Such as the wise Demodocus85once told,

In solemn songs at king Alcinous’ feast,

While sad Ulysses’ soul and all the rest

Are held with his melodious harmony

In willing chains and sweet captivity.

But fie, my wand’ring muse! How thou dost stray!

Expectance calls thee now another way:

Thou know’st it must be now thy only bent

To keep in compass 86of thy predicament.87

Then quick, about thy purposed business come,

That to the next I may resign my room.88

Then Ens is represented as father of the [ten Aristotelian] predicaments, his ten sons, whereof the eldest stood for substance, with his canons, which Ens, thus speaking, explains:

Good luck befriend thee, son, for at thy birth

The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.

Thy drowsy nurse hath sworn she did them spy

Come tripping to the room where thou didst lie,

And sweetly singing round about thy bed

Strew all their blessings on thy sleeping head.

She heard them give thee this: that thou should’st still

From eyes of mortals walk invisible.

Yet there is something that doth force my fear,

For once it was my dismal 89hap 90to hear

A sibyl91old, bow-bent with crooked age,

That far events full wisely could presage,

And in time’s long and dark prospective glass

Foresaw what future days should bring to pass:

“Your son,” said she, “(nor can you it prevent)

Shall be subject to many an accident.

O’er all his brethren he shall reign as king,

Yet every one shall make him underling,

And those that cannot live from him asunder92

Ungratefully shall strive to keep him under.

In worth and excellence he shall out-go93them,

Yet being above them, he shall be below them.

From others he shall stand in need of nothing,

Yet on his brothers shall depend for clothing.

To find a foe it shall not be his hap,

And peace shall lull him in her flow’ry lap.

Yet shall he live in strife, and at his door

Devouring war shall never cease to roar.

Yea, it shall be his natural property94

To harbor those that are at enmity.”

What power, what force, what mighty spell, if not

Your learned hands, can loose this Gordian knot?

The next, Quantity and Quality, spoke in prose. Then Relation was called by his name:

Rivers 95arise, whether thou be the son

Of utmost 96Tweed,97or Ouse, or gulfy Dun,98

Or Trent, who like some earth-born giant spreads

His thirty99arms along the indented meads,

Or sullen Mole, that runneth underneath,

Or Severn swift, guilty of maiden’s death,100

Or rocky Avon, or of sedgy Lea,

Or coaly Tyne,101or ancient hallowed Dee,

Or Humber loud, that keeps 102the Scythian’s name,

Or Medway smooth, or royal-towered Thame.103

ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST’S NATIVITY

1629

I

This is the month, and this the happy morn

Wherein the son of Heav’n’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,

That he our deadly forfeit104should release,

And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

II

That glorious form, that light unsufferable,105

And that far-beaming blaze of majesty

Wherewith he wont,106 at Heav’n’s high council-table

To sit, the midst of Trinal Unity,

He laid aside, and here with us to be

Forsook the courts107of everlasting day,

And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

III

Say Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein108

Afford 109a present to the infant God?

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,110

To welcome him to this his new abode,

Now while the Heav’n by the sun’s team111untrod,

Hath took no print112of the approaching light

And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

IV

See how, from far, upon the eastern road

The star-led wizards 113haste, with odors sweet!

O run, prevent 114them with thy humble ode,

And lay it lowly at his blessèd feet!

Have thou the honor, first thy Lord to greet,

And join thy voice unto the Angel choir

From out his secret altar, touched with hallowed fire.

THE HYMN

I

It was the winter wild,

While the Heav’n-born child

All meanly115wrapped in the rude 116manger117lies.

Nature in awe118to him

Had doffed 119her gaudy 120trim,121

With her great master so to sympathize.

It was no season then for her

To wanton with the sun, her lusty 122paramour.

II

Only with speeches fair

She woos the gentle air

To hide her guilty front123with innocent snow,

And on her naked shame,

Pollute 124with sinful blame,

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw,

Confounded125that her Maker’s eyes

Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

III

But he, her fears to cease,

Sent down the meek-eyed Peace.

She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding

Down through the turning sphere,

His ready harbinger,126

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing,

And waving wide her myrtle wand

She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

IV

No war or battle’s sound

Was heard the world around.

The idle spear and shield were high up hung,

The hookèd 127chariot stood

Unstained with hostile blood,

The trumpet spoke not to the armèd throng,

And kings sat still, with awful128eye,

As if they surely knew their sov’reign Lord was by.

V

But peaceful was the night

Wherein the Prince of Light

His reign of peace upon the earth began.

The winds, with wonder whist,129

Smoothly the waters kissed,

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,

Who now hath quite forgot to rave,130

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave.

VI

The stars with deep amaze

Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,

Bending one way their precious influence,

And will not take their flight,

For all the morning light,

Or Lucifer 131that often warned them thence,

But in their glimmering orbs did glow,

Until their Lord himself bespoke, and bid them go.

VII

And though the shady gloom

Had given day her room,132

The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,

And hid his head for shame,

As 133his 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.

VIII

The shepherds on the lawn,

Or ere the point 134of dawn,

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row.

Full little thought they then

That the mighty Pan

Was kindly come to live with them below.

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,

Was all that did their silly 135thoughts so busy keep.

IX

When such music sweet

Their hearts and ears did greet,

As never was by mortal finger struck,

Divinely-warbled voice

Answering the stringèd noise

As all their souls in blissful rapture took.136

The air such pleasure loath to lose

With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.137

X

Nature that heard such sound

Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia’s 138seat, the airy region thrilling,

Now was almost won

To think her part was done,

And that her reign had here its last fulfilling.

She knew such harmony alone

Could hold all Heav’n and earth in happier union.

XI

At last surrounds their sight

A globe of circular light,

That with long beams the shame-faced night arrayed.139

The helmèd Cherubim

And swordèd Seraphim

Are seen in glittering ranks, with wings displayed,

Harping in loud and solemn choir,

With unexpressive 140notes to Heav’n’s new-born heir.

XII

Such music (as ’tis said)

Before was never made

But when of old the sons of morning sung,

While the Creator great

His constellations set,

And the well-balanced world on hinges hung,

And cast the dark foundations deep,

And bid the weltering141waves their oozy channel keep.

XIII

Ring out, ye crystal spheres,

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 Heav’n’s deep organ blow,

And with your ninefold harmony

Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.

XIV

For if such holy song

Enwrap our fancy long,

Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold,

And speckled 142vanity

Will sicken soon, and die,

And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould,

And Hell itself will pass away,

And leave her dolorous143mansions144to the peering day.

XV

Yea, Truth and Justice then

Will down return to men,

Orbed in a rainbow; and like145glories wearing

Mercy will sit between,

Throned in celestial sheen,

With radiant feet the tissued 146clouds down steering,

And Heav’n, as at some festival,

Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

XVI

But wisest Fate says no,

This must not yet be so,

The Babe lies yet 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

The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep

XVII

With such a horrid clang

As on Mount Sinai rang

While the red fire and smoldering clouds out-break.

The aged earth aghast

With terror of that blast

Shall from the surface to the center shake;

When at the world’s last session147

The dreadful 148Judge in middle air shall spread His throne,

XVIII

And then at last our bliss

Full and perfect is—

But now begins, for from this happy day

Th’ old dragon under ground

In straiter149limits bound

Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway,

And wroth 150to see his kingdom fail

Swinges151the scaly horror of his folded tail.

XIX

The oracles are dumb;

No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving.

Apollo from his shrine

Can no more divine,152

With hollow shriek the steep153of Delphos leaving.

No nightly trance or breathèd spell

Inspires 154the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.

XX

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 155

The parting genius 156 is with sighing sent.

With flower-inwoven tresses torn

The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

XXI

In consecrated earth,

And on the holy hearth,

The lars and lemures 157 moan with midnight plaint.

In urns and altars round,

A drear and dying sound

Affrights the flamens 158 at their service quaint,159

And the chill marble seems to sweat,

While each peculiar 160 power161 forgoes his wonted seat.

XXII

Peor162 and Baalim163

Forsake their temples dim,

With that twice-battered god of Palestine

And moonèd Ashtaroth,164

Heav’n’s queen and mother both,

Now sits not girt 165 with tapers’ holy shine.

The Libyc Hammon 166 shrinks167 his horn.

In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz168 mourn,

XXIII

And sullen Moloch,169 fled,

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 furnace170 blue.

The brutish 171 gods of Nile as fast,

Isis 172 and Orus,173 and the dog Anubis,174 haste.

XXIV

Nor is Osiris175 seen

In Memphian grove or green,

Trampling th’ unshowered grass with lowings loud,

Nor can he be at rest

Within his sacred chest:176

Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud.

In vain with timbreled 177 anthems 178 dark

The sable-stolèd179 sorcerers bear his worshipped ark.

XXV

He feels from Judah’s land

The dreaded infant’s hand,

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn.180

Nor all the gods beside

Longer dare abide,

Not Typhon181 huge, ending in snaky twine.182

Our Babe, to show his Godhead true,

Can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew.

XXVI

So when the sun in bed,

Curtained with cloudy red,

Pillows his chin upon an orient183 wave,

The flocking shadows pale

Troop to the infernal jail.

Each fettered ghost slips to his several184 grave

And the yellow-skirted fays185

Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.186

XXVII

But see, the Virgin blest

Hath laid her Babe to rest.

Time is our tedious 187 song should here have ending.

Heav’n’s youngest-teemèd 188 star

Hath fixed her polished car,

Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending,

And all about the courtly stable

Bright-harnessed189 angels sit in order serviceable.190

THE PASSION

1630: “This subject the author finding to be above the years he had when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinished.”

I

Erewhile 191 of music and ethereal mirth,

Wherewith the stage of air and earth did ring,

And joyous news of Heav’nly infant’s birth,

My muse with Angels did divide to sing.192

But headlong joy is ever on the wing,

In wintry solstice like the shortened light

Soon swallowed up in dark and long outliving night.

II

For now to sorrow must I tune my song,

And set my harp to notes of saddest woe,

Which on our dearest Lord did seize193 ere long

Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so,

Which he for us did freely undergo,

Most perfect hero, tried in heaviest 194 plight195

Of labors huge and hard, too hard for human wight.196

III

He sov’reign priest, stooping his regal head

That dropped with odorous oil down his fair eyes,

Poor fleshly tabernacle 197 entered,

His starry front low-roofed beneath the skies.

Oh what a mask was there, what a disguise!

Yet more: the stroke of death he must abide,198

Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren’s side.

IV

These latter scenes confine my roving verse;

To this horizon is my Phoebus 199 bound:

His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,

And former sufferings otherwhere are found.

Loud o’er the rest Cremona’s trump doth sound.200

Me softer airs befit,201 and softer strings

Of lute, or viol still,202 more apt for mournful things.

V

Befriend me, night, best patroness of grief,

Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw,

And work my flattered fancy to belief

That Heav’n and earth are colored with my woe,

My sorrows are too dark for day to know.

The leaves should all be black wheron I write,

And letters, where my tears have washed, a wannish white.

VI

See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels

That whirled the prophet 203 up, at Chebar flood!

My spirit some transporting Cherub feels,

To bear me where the towers of Salem204 stood,

Once glorious towers, now sunk in guiltless blood.

There doth my soul in holy vision sit,

In pensive205 trance,206 and anguish, and ecstatic fit.207

VII

Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock

That was the casket of Heav’n’s richest store,208

And here though grief my feeble hands uplock209

Yet on the softened quarry 210 would I score211

My plaining212 verse, as lively213 as before,

For sure so well instructed are my tears

That they would fitly fall in ordered characters.214

VIII

Or should I, thence hurried on viewless wing,

Take up a weeping on the mountains wild,

The gentle neighborhood of grove and spring

Would soon unbosom all their echoes mild,

And I (for grief is easily beguiled)

Might think th’ infection215 of my sorrows loud

Had got a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud.

SONG: ON MAY MORNING

1630–31

Now the bright morning star, day’s harbinger,216

Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her

The flow’ry May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.

Hail bounteous May, that dost inspire

Mirth and youth and warm desire,

Woods and groves are of thy dressing,217

Hill and dale218 doth boast thy blessing.

Thus we salute thee with our early song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

ENGLISH219 SONNETS220

SONNET 1

1628? 1630?

O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray 221

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 propitious222 May.

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill,

Portend success in love.