The Poetical Works of John Milton Part 5

Notes: Camb. autograph supplies t.i.tle, When the a.s.sault was intended to the city.

3 If deed of honour did thee ever please, 1673.

IX

Lady that in the prime of earliest youth, Wisely hath shun'd the broad way and the green, And with those few art eminently seen, That labour up the Hill of heav'nly Truth, The better part with Mary and with Ruth, Chosen thou hast, and they that overween, And at thy growing vertues fret their spleen, No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.

Thy care is fixt and zealously attends To fill thy odorous Lamp with deeds of light, And Hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastfull friends Pa.s.ses to bliss at the mid hour of night, Hast gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.

Note: 5 with Ruth] the Ruth 1645.

X

Daughter to that good Earl, once President Of Englands Counsel, and her Treasury, Who liv'd in both, unstain'd with gold or fee, And left them both, more in himself content, Till the sad breaking of that Parlament Broke him, as that dishonest victory At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty Kil'd with report that Old man eloquent, Though later born, then to have known the dayes Wherin your Father flourisht, yet by you 10 Madam, me thinks I see him living yet; So well your words his n.o.ble vertues praise, That all both judge you to relate them true, And to possess them, Honour'd Margaret.

Note: Camb. autograph supplies t.i.tle, To the Lady Margaret Ley.

ARCADES.

Part of an entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Darby at Harefield, by som n.o.ble 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: This this is she To whom our vows and wishes bend, Heer our solemn search hath end.

Fame that her high worth to raise, Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse, We may justly now accuse 10 Of detraction from her praise, Less then half we find exprest, Envy bid conceal the rest.

Mark what radiant state she spreds, In circle round her s.h.i.+ning throne, Shooting her beams like silver threds, This this is she alone, Sitting like a G.o.ddes bright, In the center of her light.

Might she the wise Latona be, 20 Or the towred Cybele, Mother of a hunderd G.o.ds; Juno dare's not give her odds; Who had thought this clime had held A deity so unparalel'd?

As they com forward, the genius of the Wood appears, and turning toward them, speaks.

GEN. 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 renowned flood, so often sung, Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluse, 30 Stole under Seas to meet his Arethuse; And ye the breathing Roses of the Wood, Fair silver-buskind Nymphs as great and good, I know this quest of yours, and free intent Was all in honour and devotion ment To the great Mistres of yon princely shrine, Whom with low reverence I adore as mine, And with all helpful service will comply To further this nights glad solemnity; And lead ye where ye may more neer behold 40 What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold; Which I full oft amidst these shades alone Have sate to wonder at, and gaze upon: For know by lot from Jove I am the powr Of this fair wood, and live in Oak'n bowr, 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 noisom winds, and blasting vapours chill.

And from the Boughs brush off the evil dew, 50 And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blew, Or what the cross dire-looking Planet smites, Or hurtfull Worm with canker'd venom bites.

When Eev'ning gray doth rise, I fetch my round Over the mount, and all this hallow'd ground, And early ere the odorous breath of morn Awakes the slumbring leaves, or ta.s.seld 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 els in deep of night when drowsines Hath lockt up mortal sense, then listen I To the celestial Sirens harmony, That sit upon the nine enfolded Sphears, And sing to those that hold the vital shears, And turn the Adamantine spindle round, On which the fate of G.o.ds and men is wound.

Such sweet compulsion doth in musick ly, To lull the daughters of Necessity, And keep unsteddy Nature to her law, 70 And the low world in measur'd motion draw After the heavenly tune, which none can hear Of human mould with grosse unpurged ear; And yet such musick worthiest were to blaze The peerles height of her immortal praise, Whose l.u.s.tre leads us, and for her most fit, If my inferior hand or voice could hit Inimitable sounds, yet as we go, What ere the skill of lesser G.o.ds can show, I will a.s.say, her worth to celebrate, 80 And so attend ye toward her glittering state; Where ye may all that are of n.o.ble stemm Approach, and kiss her sacred vestures hemm.

2. SONG.

O're the smooth enameld green 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, 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.

3. SONG.

Nymphs and Shepherds dance no more By sandy Ladons Lillied banks.

On old Lycaeus or Cyllene h.o.a.r, Trip no more in twilight ranks, Though Erynanth your loss deplore, 100 A better soyl shall give ye thanks.

From the stony Maenalus, Bring your Flocks, and live with us, Here ye shall have greater grace, To serve the Lady of this place.

Though Syrinx your Pans Mistres were, Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.

Such a rural Queen All Arcadia hath not seen.

Note: 22 hunderd] Milton's own spelling here is hundred. But in the Errata to Paradise Lost (i. 760) he corrects hundred to hunderd.

Transcriber's note: Facsimile of t.i.tle page of Lycidas follows:

JUSTA EDOVARDO KING naufrago, ab Amicis Moerentibus, amoris & mneias chaein ------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------ Sirecte calculam ponas, ubique naufragium est.

Pet. Arb.

------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------ CANTABRIGIAE: Apud Thomam Buck, & Rogerum Daniel, celeberrimae Academiae typographos. 1638.

LYCIDAS.

In this Monody the Author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunatly drown'd in his Pa.s.sage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637. And by occasion foretels the ruine of our corrupted Clergy then in their height.

YET once more, O ye Laurels, and once more Ye Myrtles brown, with Ivy never-sear, I com to pluck your Berries harsh and crude, And with forc'd fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.

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 Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 10 He must not flote upon his watry bear Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of som melodious tear.

Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring, Begin, and somwhat loudly sweep the string.

Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse, So may som gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destin'd Urn, 20 And as he pa.s.ses turn, And bid fair peace be to my sable shrowd.

For we were nurst upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill.

Together both, ere the high Lawns appear'd Under the opening eye-lids of the morn, We drove a field and both together heard What time the Gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the Star that rose, at Ev'ning, bright 30 Toward Heav'ns descent had slop'd his westering wheel.

Mean while the Rural ditties were not mute, Temper'd to th'Oaten Flute; Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with clov'n heel, From the glad sound would not be absent long, And old Damoetas lov'd to hear our song.

But O the heavy change, now thou art gon, Now thou art gon, and never must return!

Thee Shepherd, thee the Woods, and desert Caves, With wilde Thyme and the gadding Vine o'regrown, 40 And all their echoes mourn.

The Willows, and the Hazle Copses green, Shall now no more be seen, Fanning their joyous Leaves to thy soft layes.

As killing as the Canker to the Rose, Or Taint-worm to the weanling Herds that graze, Or Frost to Flowers, that their gay wardrop wear, When first the White thorn blows; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to Shepherds ear.

Where were ye Nymphs when the remorseless deep 50 Clos'd o're the head of your lov'd Lycidas?

For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old Bards, the famous Druids ly, Nor on the s.h.a.ggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wisard stream: Ay me, I fondly dream!

Had ye bin there--for what could that have don?

What could the Muse her self that Orpheus bore, The Muse her self, for her inchanting son Whom Universal nature did lament, 60 When by the rout that made the hideous roar, His goary visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian sh.o.r.e.

Alas! What boots it with uncessant care To tend the homely slighted Shepherds trade, And strictly meditate the thankles Muse, Were it not better don as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair?

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 70 (That last infirmity of n.o.ble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious dayes: But the fair Guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze.

Comes the blind Fury with th'abhorred shears, And slits the thin spun life. But not the praise, Phoebus repli'd, and touch'd my trembling ears; Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to th'world, nor in broad rumour lies, 80 But lives and spreds aloft by those pure eyes, And perfet witnes of all judging Jove; As he p.r.o.nounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed.