Rumrich, Matter of Glory: a New Preface to ‘Paradise Lost’, University of Pittsburgh Press, 1987.
——, Milton Unbound: Controversy and Reinterpretation, Cambridge University Press, 1996.
Ashraf A. Rushdy, The Empty Garden, University of Pittsburgh Press, 1992.
Regina Schwartz, Remembering and Repeating: Biblical Creation in ‘Paradise Lost’, Cambridge University Press, 1988.
John M. Steadman, Epic and Tragic Structure in ‘Paradise Lost’, University of Chicago Press, 1976.
Arnold Stein, Answerable Style: Essays on ‘Paradise Lost’, University of Minnesota Press, 1953.
Kester Svendsen, Milton and Science, Harvard University Press, 1956.
John S. Tanner, Anxiety in Eden: a Kierkegaardian Reading of ‘Paradise Lost’, Clarendon Press, 1993.
Rosemond Tuve, Images and Themes in Five Poems by Milton, Harvard University Press, 1957.
A. J. A. Waldock, ‘Paradise Lost’ and its Critics, Cambridge University Press, 1947.
R. H. West, Milton and the Angels, University of Georgia Press, 1955.
Arnold Williams, The Common Expositor: an Account of the Commentaries on Genesis 1527–1633, University of North Carolina Press, 1948.
Joseph Wittreich, Interpreting ‘Samson Agonistes’, Princeton University Press, 1986.
A. S. P. Woodhouse, ‘Theme and Pattern in Paradise Regained’, UTQ 25 (1956), 167–82.
POEMS 1645
On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity. Composed 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;
5 For so the holy sages once did sing,
That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.
II
That glorious form, that light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,
10 Wherewith he wont 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 courts of everlasting day,
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.
III
15 Say Heav’nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the infant God?
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,
To welcome him to this his new abode,
Now while the heav’n by the sun’s team untrod,
20 Hath took no print of 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 haste with odours sweet:
O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,
25 And lay it lowly at his blessèd feet;
Have thou the honour 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,
30 While the Heav’n-born-child,
All meanly wrapped in the rude manger lies;
Nature in awe to him
Had doffed her gaudy trim,
With her great Master so to sympathize:
35 It was no season then for her
To wanton with the sun her lusty paramour.
II
Only with speeches fair
She woos the gentle air
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow,
40 And on her naked shame,
Pollute with sinful blame,
The saintly veil of maiden white to throw,
Confounded, that her Maker’s eyes
Should look so near upon her foul deformities.
III
45 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,
50 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:
55 The idle spear and shield were high up hung;
The hookèd chariot stood
Unstained with hostile blood,
The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng,
And kings sat still with awful eye,
60 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,
65 Smoothly the waters kissed,
Whispering new joys to the mild Oceán,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave.
VI
The stars with deep amaze
70 Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,
Bending one way their precious influence,
And will not take their flight,
For all the morning light,
Or Lucifer that often warned them thence;
75 But in their glimmering orbs did glow,
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.
VII
And though the shady gloom
Had given day her room,
The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,
80 And hid his head for shame,
As his inferior flame,
The new-enlightened world no more should need;
He saw a greater Sun appear
Than his bright throne, or burning axle-tree could bear.
VIII
85 The shepherds on the lawn,
Or ere the point of dawn,
Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;
Full little thought they then,
That the mighty Pan
90 Was kindly come to live with them below;
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.
IX
When such music sweet
Their hearts and ears did greet,
95 As never was by mortal finger strook,
Divinely-warbled voice
Answering the stringèd noise,
As all their souls in blissful rapture took:
The air such pleasure loath to lose,
100 With thousand echoes still prolongs each Heav’nly close.
X
Nature that heard such sound
Beneath the hollow round
Of Cynthia’s seat, the airy region thrilling,
Now was almost won
105 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
110 A globe of circular light,
That with long beams the shame-faced night arrayed;
The helmèd Cherubim
And sworded Seraphim,
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed,
115 Harping in loud and solemn choir,
With unexpressive notes 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,
120 While the Creator great
His constellations set,
And the well-balanced world on hinges hung,
And cast the dark foundations deep,
And bid the welt’ring waves their oozy channel keep.
XIII
125 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;
130 And let the base of heav’n’s deep organ blow,
And with your ninefold harmony
Make up full consort to th’ angelic symphony.
XIV
For if such holy song
Enwrap our fancy long,
135 Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold,
And speckled Vanity
Will sicken soon and die,
And lep’rous Sin will melt from earthly mould,
And Hell itself will pass away,
140 And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.
XV
Yea Truth, and Justice then
Will down return to men,
Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing,
Mercy will sit between,
145 Throned in celestial sheen,
With radiant feet the tissued clouds 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,
150 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:
155 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 smould’ring clouds out brake:
160 The agèd earth aghast
With terror of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the centre shake;
When at the world’s last sessïon,
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.
XVIII
165 And then at last our bliss
Full and perfect is,
But now begins; for from this happy day
Th’ old Dragon under ground
In straiter limits bound,
170 Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway,
And wroth to see his kingdom fail,
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
XIX
The oracles are dumb,
No voice or hideous hum
175 Runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.
No nightly trance, or breathèd spell,
180 Inspires the 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
185 Edged with poplar pale.
The parting Genius is with sighing sent,
With flow’r-inwoven tresses torn
The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
XXI
In consecrated earth,
190 And on the holy hearth,
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;
195 And the chill marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.
XXII
Peor, and Baälim,
Forsake their temples dim,
With that twice-battered god of Palestine,
200 And moonèd Ashtaroth,
Heav’n’s queen and mother both,
Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine;
The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.
XXIII
205 And sullen Moloch fled,
Hath left in shadows dread,
His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In vain with cymbals’ ring,
They call the grisly king,
210 In dismal dance about the furnace blue;
The brutish gods of Nile as fast,
Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste.
XXIV
Nor is Osiris seen
In Memphian grove, or green,
215 Trampling the unshow’red grass with lowings loud:
Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest,
Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud,
In vain with timbrelled anthems dark
220 The sable-stolèd 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;
Nor all the gods beside,
225 Longer dare abide,
Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:
Our babe to show his Godhead true,
Can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew.
XXVI
So when the sun in bed,
230 Curtained with cloudy red,
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
The flocking shadows pale,
Troop to th’ infernal jail,
Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave,
235 And the yellow-skirted fays,
Fly after the Night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.
XXVII
But see the virgin blest,
Hath laid her babe to rest.
Time is our tedious song should here have ending;
240 Heav’n’s youngest teemèd star,
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.
A Paraphrase on Psalm 114
This and the following Psalm were done by the author at
fifteen years old.
When the blest seed of Terah’s faithful son,
After long toil their liberty had won,
And passed from Pharian fields to Canaan land,
Led by the strength of the Almighty’s hand,
5 Jehovah’s wonders were in Israel shown,
His praise and glory was in Israel known.
That saw the troubled sea, and shivering fled,
And sought to hide his froth-becurlèd head
Low in the earth; Jordan’s clear streams recoil,
10 As a faint host that hath received the foil.
The high, huge-bellied mountains skip like rams
Amongst their ewes, the little hills like lambs.
Why fled the ocean? And why skipped the mountains?
Why turnèd Jordan toward his crystal fountains?
15 Shake earth, and at the presence be aghast
Of him that ever was, and ay shall last,
That glassy floods from rugged rocks can crush,
And make soft rills from fiery flint-stones gush.
Psalm 136
Let us with a gladsome mind
Praise the Lord, for he is kind,
For his mercies ay endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure.
5 Let us blaze his name abroad,
For of gods he is the God;
For, &c.
O let us his praises tell,
10 That doth the wrathful tyrants quell.
For, &c.
That with his miracles doth make
Amazèd heav’n and earth to shake.
15 For, &c.
That by his wisdom did create
The painted heav’ns so full of state.
19 For, &c.
That did the solid earth ordain
To rise above the wat’ry plain.
For, &c.
25 That by his all-commanding might,
Did fill the new-made world with light.
For, &c.
And caused the golden-tressèd sun,
30 All the day long his course to run.
For, &c.
The hornèd moon to shine by night,
Amongst her spangled sisters bright.
35 For, &c.
He with his thunder-clasping hand,
Smote the first-born of Egypt land.
39 For, &c.
And in despite of Pharaoh fell,
He brought from thence his Israël.
For, &c.
45 The ruddy waves he cleft in twain,
Of the Erythraean main.
For, &c.
The floods stood still like walls of glass,
50 While the Hebrew bands did pass.
For, &c.
But full soon they did devour
The tawny king with all his power.
55 For, &c.
His chosen people he did bless
In the wasteful wilderness.
59 For, &c.
In bloody battle he brought down
Kings of prowess and renown.
For, &c.
65 He foiled bold Seon and his host,
That ruled the Amorean coast.
For, &c.
And large-limbed Og he did subdue,
70 With all his over-hardy crew.
For, &c.
And to his servant Israël
He gave their land therein to dwell.
75 For, &c.
He hath with a piteous eye
Beheld us in our misery.
79 For, &c.
And freed us from the slavery
Of the invading enemy.
For, &c.
85 All living creatures he doth feed,
And with full hand supplies their need.
For, &c.
Let us therefore warble forth
90 His mighty majesty and worth.
For, &c.
That his mansion hath on high
Above the reach of mortal eye.
95 For his mercies ay endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure.
The Passion
I
Erewhile 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;
5 But headlong joy is ever on the wing,
In wintry solstice like the shortened light
Soon swallowed up in dark and long out-living night.
II
For now to sorrow must I tune my song,
And set my harp to notes of saddest woe,
10 Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long,
Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so,
Which he for us did freely undergo.
Most perfect hero, tried in heaviest plight
Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight.
III
15 He sov’reign priest stooping his regal head
That dropped with odorous oil down his fair eyes,
Poor fleshly tabernacle enterèd,
His starry front low-roofed beneath the skies;
O what a mask was there, what a disguise!
20 Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide,
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 bound.
His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
25 And former sufferings otherwhere are found;
Loud o’er the rest Cremona’s trump doth sound;
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things.
V
Befriend me Night best patroness of grief,
30 Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw,
And work my flattered fancy to belief,
That heav’n and earth are coloured with my woe;
My sorrows are too dark for day to know:
The leaves should all be black whereon I write,
35 And letters where my tears have washed a wannish white.
VI
See see the chariot, and those rushing wheels,
That whirled the prophet up at Chebar flood;
My spirit some transporting Cherub feels,
To bear me where the towers of Salem stood,
40 Once glorious towers, now sunk in guiltless blood;
There doth my soul in holy vision sit
In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit.
VII
Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock
That was the casket of Heav’n’s richest store,
45 And here though grief my feeble hands uplock,
Yet on the softened quarry would I score
My plaining verse as lively as before;
For sure so well instructed are my tears,
That they would fitly fall in ordered characters.
VIII
50 Or should I thence hurried on viewless wing,
Take up a weeping on the mountains wild,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
Would soon unbosom all their echoes mild,
And I (for grief is easily beguiled)
55 Might think th’ infection of my sorrows loud,
Had got a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud.
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.
On Time
Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace;
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
5 Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entombed,
10 And last of all, thy greedy self consumed,
Then long eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss;
And joy shall overtake us as a flood,
When everything that is sincerely good
15 And perfectly divine,
With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine
About the súpreme throne
Of him, t’ whose happy-making sight alone,
When once our Heav’nly-guided soul shall climb,
20 Then all this earthy grossness quit,
Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.
Upon the Circumcision
Ye flaming Powers, and wingèd warriors bright,
That erst with music, and triumphant song
First heard by happy watchful shepherds’ ear,
So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along
5 Through the soft silence of the list’ning night;
Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bear
Your fiery essence can distil no tear,
Burn in your sighs, and borrow
Seas wept from our deep sorrow;
10 He who with all Heav’n’s heraldry whilere
Entered the world, now bleeds to give us ease;
Alas, how soon our sin
Sore doth begin
His infancy to seize!
15 O more exceeding love or law more just?
Just law indeed, but more exceeding love!
For we by rightful doom remédiless
Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above
High throned in secret bliss, for us frail dust
20 Emptied his glory, ev’n to nakedness;
And that great cov’nant which we still transgress
Entirely satisfied,
And the full wrath beside
Of vengeful justice bore for our excess,
25 And seals obedience first with wounding smart
This day, but O ere long,
Huge pangs and strong
Will pierce more near his heart.
At a Solemn Music
Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav’n’s joy,
Sphere-borne harmonious sisters, Voice, and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ
Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce,
5 And to our high-raised fantasy present,
That undisturbèd song of pure concent,
Ay sung before the sapphire-coloured throne
To him that sits thereon
With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee,
10 Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow,
And the Cherubic host in thousand choirs
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just spirits that wear victorious palms,
15 Hymns devout and holy psalms
Singing everlastingly;
That we on earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did, till disproportioned sin
20 Jarred against Nature’s chime, and with harsh din
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.
25 O may we soon again renew that song,
And keep in tune with Heav’n, till God ere long
To his celestial consort us unite,
To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light.
An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester
This rich marble doth inter
The honoured wife of Winchester,
A viscount’s daughter, an earl’s heir,
Besides what her virtues fair
5 Added to her noble birth,
More than she could own from earth.
Summers three times eight save one
She had told; alas too soon,
After so short time of breath,
10 To house with darkness, and with death.
Yet had the number of her days
Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and fate had had no strife
In giving limit to her life.
15 Her high birth, and her graces sweet,
Quickly found a lover meet;
The virgin choir for her request
The god that sits at marriage feast;
He at their invoking came
20 But with a scarce-well-lighted flame;
And in his garland as he stood,
Ye might discern a cypress bud.
Once had the early matrons run
To greet her of a lovely son,
25 And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throes;
But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;
And with remorseless cruelty,
30 Spoiled at once both fruit and tree:
The hapless babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,
And the languished mother’s womb
Was not long a living tomb.
35 So have I seen some tender slip
Saved with care from winter’s nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Plucked up by some unheedy swain,
Who only thought to crop the flow’r
40 New shot up from vernal show’r;
But the fair blossom hangs the head
Sideways as on a dying bed,
And those pearls of dew she wears,
Prove to be presaging tears
45 Which the sad morn had let fall
On her hast’ning funeral.
Gentle lady may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;
After this thy travail sore
50 Sweet rest seize thee evermore,
That to give the world increase,
Shortened hast thy own life’s lease;
Here, besides the sorrowing
That thy noble house doth bring,
55 Here be tears of perfect moan
Wept for thee in Helicon,
And some flowers, and some bays,
For thy hearse to strew the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
60 Devoted to thy virtuous name;
Whilst thou bright saint high sitt’st in glory,
Next her much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian shepherdess,
Who after years of barrenness,
65 The highly favoured Joseph bore
To him that served for her before,
And at her next birth much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the bosom bright
70 Of blazing majesty and light;
There with thee, new-welcome saint,
Like fortunes may her soul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No marchioness, but now a queen.
Song. On May Morning
Now the bright morning star, day’s harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
5 Hail bounteous May that dost inspire
Mirth and youth, and warm desire;
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
10 And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
On Shakespeare. 1630
What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,
The labour of an age in pilèd stones,
Or that his hallowed relics should be hid
Under a star-ypointing pyramid?
5 Dear son of Memory, great heir of fame,
What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a live-long monument.
For whilst to th’ shame of slow-endeavouring art,
10 Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart
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;
15 And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie,
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
On the University Carrier
Who sickened in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London, by reason of the plague.
Here lies old Hobson, Death hath broke his girt,
And here alas, hath laid him in the dirt;
Or else the ways being foul, twenty to one,
He’s here stuck in a slough, and overthrown.
5 ’Twas such a shifter, that if truth were known,
Death was half glad when he had got him down;
For he had any time this ten years full,
Dodged with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull.
And surely, Death could never have prevailed,
10 Had not his weekly course of carriage failed;
But lately finding him so long at home,
And thinking now his journey’s end was come,
And that he had ta’en up his latest inn,
In the kind office of a chamberlain
15 Showed him his room where he must lodge that night,
Pulled off his boots, and took away the light:
If any ask for him, it shall be said,
Hobson has supped, and ’s newly gone to bed.
Another on the Same
Here lieth one who did most truly prove,
That he could never die while he could move;
So hung his destiny never to rot
While he might still jog on and keep his trot;
5 Made of sphere-metal, never to decay
Until his revolution was at stay.
Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
’Gainst old truth) motion numbered out his time;
And like an engine moved with wheel and weight,
10 His principles being ceased, he ended straight;
Rest that gives all men life, gave him his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath;
Nor were it contradiction to affirm
Too long vacation hastened on his term.
15 Merely to drive the time away he sickened,
Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quickened;
Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretched,
If I may not carry, sure I’ll ne’er be fetched,
But vow though the cross doctors all stood hearers,
20 For one carrier put down to make six bearers.
Ease was his chief disease, and to judge right,
He died for heaviness that his cart went light,
His leisure told him that his time was come,
And lack of load, made his life burdensome,
25 That even to his last breath (there be that say’t)
As he were pressed to death, he cried more weight;
But had his doings lasted as they were,
He had been an immortal carrier.
Obedient to the moon he spent his date
30 In course reciprocal, and had his fate
Linked to the mutual flowing of the seas,
Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase:
His letters are delivered all and gone,
Only remains this superscriptïon.
L’Allegro
Hence loathèd Melancholy,
Of Cerberus, and blackest Midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn
’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy,
5 Find out some uncouth cell,
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,
10 In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come thou goddess fair and free,
In Heav’n yclept Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
15 With two sister Graces more
To ivy-crownèd Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as some sager sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,
20 As he met her once a-Maying,
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.
25 Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathèd Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek,
30 And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as ye go
On the light fantastic toe,
35 And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew
To live with her, and live with thee,
40 In unreprovèd pleasures free;
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;
45 Then to come in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine.
While the cock with lively din,
50 Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn door,
Stoutly struts his dames before,
Oft list’ning how the hounds and horn,
Cheerly rouse the slumb’ring morn,
55 From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill.
Some time walking not unseen
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
60 Where the great sun begins his state,
Robed in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight.
While the ploughman near at hand,
Whistles o’er the furrowed land,
65 And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
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
70 Whilst the landscape round it measures,
Russet lawns, and fallows grey,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest:
75 Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
Towers, and battlements it sees
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
80 The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two agèd oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savoury dinner set
85 Of herbs, and other country messes,
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
90 To the tanned haycock in the mead,
Sometimes with secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound
95 To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequered shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday,
Till the livelong daylight fail,
100 Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How faery Mab the junkets ate;
She was pinched, and pulled she said,
And he by friar’s lantern led,
105 Tells how the drudging goblin sweat,
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-labourers could not end,
110 Then lies him down the lubber fiend,
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.
115 Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.
Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold,
120 In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
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.
125 There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With masque and antique pageantry;
Such sights as youthful poets dream
130 On summer eves by haunted stream.
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.
135 And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout
140 Of linkèd sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running;
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.
145 That Orpheus’ self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heaped Elysian flow’rs, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
150 His half-regained Eurydice.
These delights, if thou canst give,
Mirth with thee, I mean to live.
Il Penseroso
Hence vain deluding joys,
The brood of Folly without father bred,
How little you bestead,
Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toys;
5 Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the sunbeams,
Or likest hovering dreams,
10 The fickle pensioners of Morpheus’ train.
But hail thou goddess, sage and holy,
Hail divinest Melancholy,
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight;
15 And therefore to our weaker view,
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
20 To set her beauty’s praise above
The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended;
Yet thou art higher far descended,
Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore,
To solitary Saturn bore;
25 His daughter she (in Saturn’s reign,
Such mixture was not held a stain).
Oft in glimmering bow’rs and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida’s inmost grove,
30 While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come pensive nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
35 And sable stole of cypress lawn,
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Come, but keep thy wonted state,
With even step, and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
40 Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
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.
45 And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring,
Ay round about Jove’s altar sing.
And add to these retired Leisure,
50 That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring,
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheelèd throne,
The Cherub Contemplatïon,
55 And the mute Silence hist along,
’Less Philomel will deign a song,
In her sweetest, saddest plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke,
60 Gently o’er th’ accustomed oak;
Sweet bird that shunn’st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!
Thee chantress oft the woods among,
I woo to hear thy even-song;
65 And missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wand’ring moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
70 Through the heav’n’s wide pathless way;
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,
75 Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar;
Or if the air will not permit,
Some still removèd place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
80 Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
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:
85 Or let my lamp at midnight hour,
Be seen in some high lonely tow’r,
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear,
With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere
The spirit of Plato to unfold
90 What worlds, or what vast regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook:
And of those daemons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
95 Whose power hath a true consent
With planet, or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops’ line,
100 Or the tale of Troy divine.
Or what (though rare) of later age,
Ennobled hath the buskined stage.
But, O sad virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musaeus from his bower,
105 Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
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
110 The story of Cambuscan bold,
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,
115 On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if aught else, great bards beside,
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of tourneys and of trophies hung;
Of forests, and enchantments drear,
120 Where more is meant than meets the ear.
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,
125 But kerchiefed in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or ushered with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,
130 With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me goddess bring
To archèd walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves
135 Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe with heavèd stroke,
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
There in close covert by some brook,
140 Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from Day’s garish eye,
While the bee with honeyed thigh,
That at her flow’ry work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring
145 With such consort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream,
Wave at his wings in airy stream,
Of lively portraiture displayed,
150 Softly on my eyelids laid.
And as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or th’ unseen Genius of the wood.
155 But let my due feet never fail,
To walk the studious cloister’s pale,
And love the high embowèd roof,
With antique pillars’ massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
160 Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced choir below,
In service high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
165 Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all Heav’n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
170 Where I may sit and rightly spell,
Of every star that heav’n doth show,
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
175 These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
Sonnet I
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;
5 Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
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
10 Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh:
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:
Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
Sonnet II
Donna leggiadra il cui bel nome onora
L’erbosa val di Reno, e il nobil varco,
Ben è colui d’ogni valore scarco
Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamora,
5 Che dolcemente mostrasi di fuora
De’ suoi atti soavi giammai parco,
E i don’, che son d’amor saette ed arco,
Là onde l’alta tua virtù s’infiora.
Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti
10 Che mover possa duro alpestre legno,
Guardi ciascun agli occhi, ed agli orecchi
L’entrata, chi di te si trova indegno,
Grazia sola di sù gli vaglia, innanti
Che’l disio amoroso al cuor s’invecchi.
Lovely lady, whose fair name1 honours the grassy Reno valley and the famous ford,2 that man must be wholly worthless who is not moved to love your gentle spirit, which sweetly reveals itself (bounteous in gracious looks and favours that are the arrows and bow of Love) there8 where your high virtue blooms. When, in your beauty, you speak, or joyously sing (which might move tough mountain trees),10 let every man who is unworthy of you guard the portals of his eyes and ears.11 Only grace from above can prevent amorous desire from becoming inveterate in his heart.
Sonnet III
Qual in colle aspro, a l’imbrunir di sera,
L’avvezza giovinetta pastorella
Va bagnando l’erbetta strana e bella
Che mal si spande a disusata spera
5 Fuor di sua natia alma primavera,
Così Amor meco insù la lingua snella
Desta il fior novo di strania favella,
Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera,
Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso,
10 E’l bel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno.
Amor lo volse, ed io a l’altrui peso
Seppi ch’Amor cosa mai volse indarno.
Deh! foss’il mio cuor lento e’l duro seno
A chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno.
As on a rugged hill at dusk, a youthful shepherdess, brought up there, waters a strange and beautiful plant which can scarcely spread its leaves in the alien clime, far from its bounteous native springtime; so Love awakens on my ready tongue the new flower of a foreign speech as I sing of you, graciously proud Lady, not understood by my own good countrymen, and exchange the fair Thames for the fair Arno.10 Love willed it, and I knew from the distress of others that Love never willed anything in vain. Ah, that my sluggish heart and hard breast were as good a soil to Him who plants from heaven!
Canzone
Ridonsi donne e giovani amorosi
M’accostandosi attorno, e perchè scrivi,
Perchè tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana
Verseggiando d’amor, e come t’osi?
5 Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana,
E de’ pensieri lo miglior t’arrivi;
Così mi van burlando, altri rivi,
Altri lidi t’aspettan, ed altre onde
Nelle cui verdi sponde
10 Spuntati ad or, ad or a la tua chioma
L’immortal guiderdon d’eterne frondi:
Perchè alle spalle tue soverchia soma?
Canzon dirotti, e tu per me rispondi:
Dice mia donna, e’l suo dir è il mio cuore,
15 Questa è lingua di cui si vanta Amore.
Young men and women1 in love gather round me, laughing: ‘Why, why do you write love poems in a strange and unknown language? How dare you? Tell us, so that your hope may never be in vain, and the best of your wishes may come true.’ Thus they tease me: ‘Other streams7 and other shores await you, and other waves, on whose green banks the immortal guerdon of unfading leaves is already growing for your hair. Why add an excessive burden to your shoulders?’
Canzone, I will tell you,13 and you answer for me: my lady says, and her words are my heart, ‘This is the language of which Love is proud.’
Sonnet IV
Diodati, e te’l dirò con maraviglia,
Quel ritroso io ch’amor spreggia solèa
E de’ suoi lacci spesso mi ridèa,
Già caddi, ov uom dabben talor s’impiglia.
5 Nè treccie d’oro, nè guancia vermiglia
M’abbaglian sì, ma sotto nova idea
Pellegrina bellezza che’l cuor bea,
Portamenti alti onesti, e nelle ciglia
Quel sereno fulgor d’amabil nero,
10 Parole adorne di lingua più d’una,
E’l cantar che di mezzo l’emisfero
Traviar ben può la faticosa luna;
E degli occhi suoi avventa sì gran fuoco
Che l’incerar gli orecchi mi fia poco.
Diodati1 – and I tell you with amazement – I, the reluctant one, who used to scorn Love, and often laughed at his snares, have now fallen where a good man sometimes gets entangled. It is not golden tresses or a rosy cheek that thus dazzles me, but strange beauty, modelled on a new form,6 which delights my heart: modest pride in her bearing, a serene radiance of lovely black in her eyes, speech that is graced by more than one language, and singing that might well lure the labouring12 moon from the midst of the sky; and such bright fire flashes from her eyes that sealing my ears with wax would be of little use.14
Sonnet V
Per certo i bei vostr’ occhi, donna mia,
Esser non può che non sian lo mio sole;
Sì mi percuoton forte, come ei suole
Perl’arene di Libia chi s’invia,
5 Mentre un caldo vapor (nè sentì pria)
Da quel lato si spinge ove mi duole,
Che forse amanti nelle lor parole
Chiaman sospir; io non so che si sia:
Parte rinchiusa e turbida si cela
10 Scossomi il petto, e poi n’uscendo poco
Quivi d’attorno o s’agghiaccia, o s’ingiela;
Ma quanto agli occhi giunge a trovar loco
Tutte le notti a me suol far piovose
Finchè mia Alba rivien colma di rose.
In truth, my lady, your beautiful eyes can only be my sun; they smite me as powerfully as the sun beating down on a traveller in the Libyan sands; meanwhile a warm vapour (such as I never felt before) bursts from that side6 where my pain is. Perhaps lovers in their language call it a ‘sigh’; I do not know what it might be. Part of it, confined and troubled, hides itself away in my shaking breast; then a little escapes into the surrounding air where it is either frozen or congealed. But that part that finds a place in my eyes makes every night rainy for me, until my Dawn returns brimming with roses.
Sonnet VI
Giovane piano, e semplicetto amante
Poichè fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono,
Madonna a voi del mio cuor l’umil dono
Farò divoto; io certo a prove tante
5 L’ebbi fedele, intrepido, costante,
Di pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e buono;
Quando rugge il gran mondo, e scocca il tuono,
S’arma di se, e d’intero diamante,
Tanto del forse, e d’invidia sicuro,
10 Di timori, e speranze al popol use
Quanto d’ingegno e d’alto valor vago,
E di cetra sonora, e delle Muse:
Sol troverete in tal parte men duro
Ove amor mise l’insanabil ago.
Young, simple and artless lover that I am, since I am in doubt about how to fly from myself, I will devoutly offer the humble gift of my heart to you, my lady. In many trials I have proved it faithful, brave, and constant; fair, wise and good in its thoughts. When the whole world roars and the thunder crashes, it arms itself with itself, in complete adamant, as safe from chance and envy, and common hopes and fears, as it is eager for genius and lofty worth, the sounding lyre and the Muses. You will find it less hard only in that place where Love has fixed his incurable dart.
Sonnet VII
How soon hath Time the subtle thief of youth,
Stol’n 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.
5 Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arrived so near,
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu’th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
10 It shall be still in strictest measure even
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.
Sonnet VIII
Captain or colonel, or knight in arms,
Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,
If deed of honour did thee ever please,
Guard them, and him within protect from harms;
5 He can requite thee, for he knows the charms
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:
10 The great Emathian conqueror bid spare
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 th’ Athenian walls from ruin bare.
Sonnet IX
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 labour up the hill of Heav’nly Truth,
5 The better part with Mary, and with Ruth,
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
10 To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,
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.
Sonnet X
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,
5 Till the sad breaking of that Parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty
Killed with report that old man eloquent,
Though later born, than to have known the days
10 Wherein your father flourished, yet by you
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, honoured Margaret.
Arcades
Part of an entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby at Harefield by some noble persons of her family, who appear on the scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat of state, with this song.
I. Song
Look nymphs, and shepherds look,
What sudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence descry
Too divine to be mistook:
5 This this is she
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,
10 We may justly now accuse
Of detraction from her praise;
Less than half we find expressed,
Envy bid conceal the rest.
Mark what radiant state she spreads,
15 In circle round her shining throne,
Shooting her beams like silver threads:
This this is she alone,
Sitting like a goddess bright,
In the centre of her light.
20 Might she the wise Latona be,
Or the towered Cybele,
Mother of a hundred gods?
Juno dares not give her odds;
Who had thought this clime had held
25 A deity so unparalleled?
As they come forward, the Genius of the Wood appears, and turning toward them, speaks.
Genius. Stay gentle swains, for though in this disguise,
I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes;
Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung
Of that renownèd flood, so often sung,
30 Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluice,
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
35 Was all in honour and devotion meant
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;
40 And lead ye where ye may more near behold
What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft amidst these shades alone
Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon:
For know by lot from Jove I am the pow’r
45 Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bow’r,
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 vapours chill.
50 And from the boughs brush off the evil dew,
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue,
Or what the cross dire-looking planet smites,
Or hurtful worm with cankered venom bites.
When evening grey doth rise, I fetch my round
55 Over the mount, and all this hallowed ground
And early ere the odorous breath of morn
Awakes the slumb’ring leaves, or tasselled horn
Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about,
Number my ranks, and visit every sprout
60 With puissant words, and murmurs made to bless;
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 enfolded spheres,
65 And sing to those that hold the vital shears,
nd 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,
70 And keep unsteady Nature to her law,
And the low world in measured motion draw
After the heavenly tune, which none can hear
Of human mould with gross unpurgèd ear;
And yet such music worthiest were to blaze
75 The peerless height of her immortal praise,
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,
80 I will assay, her worth to celebrate,
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.
II. Song
O’er the smooth enamelled green
85 Where no print of step hath been,
Follow me as I sing,
And touch the warbled string.
Under the shady roof
Of branching elm star-proof,
90 Follow me,
I will bring you where she sits,
Clad in splendour as befits
Her deity.
Such a rural Queen
95 All Arcadia hath not seen.
III. Song
Nymphs and shepherds dance no more
By sandy Ladon’s lilied banks.
On old Lycaeus or Cyllene hoar,
Trip no more in twilight ranks;
100 Though Erymanth your loss deplore,
A better soil shall give ye thanks.
From the stony Maenalus,
Bring your flocks, and live with us;
Here ye shall have greater grace,
105 To serve the Lady of this place.
Though Syrinx your Pan’s mistress were,
Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.
Lycidas
In this monody the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637.
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