TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

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

ON HIS BEING ARRIVED TO THE
AGE OF TWENTY-THREE.

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud nor blossom showeth.
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 indueth.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,

TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY.

LADY, that in the prime of earliest youth Wisely hast shunned the broadway and the green,

And with those few art eminently seen, That labour up the hill of heavenly truth, 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 piety and ruth. Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be

Wherein your father flouished, 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.

ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON MY WRITING CERTAIN TREATISES.

A BOOK was writ of late called Tetrachordon, And woven close, both matter, form, and style: The subject new: it walked the town a while, Numbering good intellects; now seldom pored

on.

Cries the stall-reader, Bless us! what a word on A title page is this! and some in file

Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile

End Green. Why is it harder, Sirs, than Gordon,

Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?

Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek,

WHEN I consider how my life is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more
bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning, chide;
Doth God exact day-labour, light denied ?
I fondly ask: But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his

state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.

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

TO CYRIAC SKINNER.

CYRIAC, whose grandsire, on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench;
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that, after, no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intends, and what the

French

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

ON HIS DECEASED WIFE.* METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, Rescued from death by force, tho' pale and faint. Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint Purification in the' old Law did save, And such, as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind: Her face was veil'd; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd So clear, as in no face with more delight: But O! as to embrace me she inclin'd,

1 wak'd; she fled; and day brought back my night.

• This sonnet was written about the year 1656, on the death of his second wife, Catharine, the daughter of Captain Woodcock, of Hackney, a rigid sectarist. She died in child-bed of a daughter, within a year after their marriage. Milton had now been long totally blind.

TO CYRIAC SKINNER.

CYRIAC, these three years' day these eyes, tho' clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot

Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied

In liberty's defence, my noble task, Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the world vain mask

Content though blind, had I no better guide.

THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, LIB. I.
WHAT slender youth, bedew'd with liquid odours,
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha? For whom bind'st thou
In wreaths thy golden hair,

Plain in thy neatness? O, how oft shall he
On faith and changed gods complain, and seas
Rough with black winds and storms
Unwonted shall admire!

Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold,
Who always vacant, always amiable
Hopes thee, of flattering gales
Unmindful. Hapless they

To whom thou untried seem'st fair! Me, in my vow'd
Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung

My dank and dropping weeds
To the stern god of sea.

FROM GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH.*

FROM DANTE.

AH, Constantine, of how much ill was cause, Not thy conversion, but those rich domains That the first wealthy pope receiv'd of thee.

FROM DANTE.

FOUNDED in chaste and humble poverty,
"Gainst them that rais'd thee dost thou lift thy horn,
Impudent whore, where hast thou plac'd thy hope ?
In thy adulterers, or thy ill-got wealth?
Another Constantine comes not in haste.

FROM ARIOSTO.

THEN pass'd he to a flowery mountain green, Which once smelt sweet, now stinks as odiously: This was the gift, if you the truth will have, That Constantine to good Sylvester gave.

FROM HORACE.

LEOGECIA.

GODDESS of shades, and huntress, who at will Walk'st on the rolling spheres, and through the deep; On thy third reign, the earth, look now, and tell What land, what seat of rest, thou bid'st me seek; What certain seat, where I may worship thee For aye, with temples vow'd and virgin quires.

To whom, sleeping before the altar, DIANA answers in a vision, the same night.

BRUTUS, far to the west, in the ocean wide,
Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies,
Sea-girt it lies, where giants dwelt of old;
Now void, it fits thy people: thither bend
Thy course; there shalt thou find a lasting seat;
There to thy sons another Troy shall rise,
And kings be born of thee, whose dreadful might
Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold.

"Hist. Brit. i. xi. "Diva potens nemorum," &c.

Who keeps the laws and statutes of the senate,
Who judges in great suits and controversies,
Whose witness and opinion wins the cause?
But his own house, and the whole neighbourhood,
Sees his foul inside through his whited skin.

FROM EURIPIDES.

THIS is true liberty, when freeborn men,
Having to' advise the public, may speak free;
Which he who can, and will, deserves high praise,
Who neither can, nor will, may hold his peace;
What can be juster in a state than this?

FROM HORACE.

-Laughing to teach the truth, What hinders? As some teachers give to boys Junkets and knacks, that they may learn apace.

FROM HORACE.

-Joking decides great things, Stronger and better oft than earnest can.

FROM SOPHOCLES.

'Tis you that say it, not I. You do the deeds, And your ungodly deeds find me the words.

FROM SENECA.

There can be slain

No sacrifice to God more acceptable, Than an unjust and wicked king.

PSALM I.

Done into verse, 1653

BLESSED is the man who hath not walked astray
In counsel of the wicked, and i' the way
Of sinners hath not stood, and in the seat
Of scorners hath not sat: but in the great
Jehovah's law is ever his delight,
And in his law he studies day and night.
He shall be as a tree which planted grows
By watery streams, and in his season knows
To yield his fruit, and his leaf shall not fall,
And what he takes in hand shall prosper all.
Not so the wicked, but as chaff which fann'd
The wind drives, so the wicked shall not stand
In judgment, or abide their trial then,
Nor sinners in the assembly of just men.
For the Lord knows the upright way of the just,
And the way of bad men to ruin must.

PSALM II.

Done Aug. 8, 1653. Terzetti.

WHY do the Gentiles tumult, and the Nations Muse a vain thing, the kings of the earth upstand With power, and princes in their congregations Lay deep their plots together through each land Against the Lord and his Messiah dear?

Let us break off, say they, by strength of hand Their bonds, and cast from us, no more to wear, Their twisted cords: He, who in heaven doth dwell,

Shall laugh; the Lord shall scoff them; then,

severe,

Speak to them in his wrath, and in his fell
And fierce ire trouble them; but I, saith he,
Anointed have my King (though ye rebel)
On Sion my holy hill. A firm decree

I will declare: The Lord to me hath said,
Thou art my Son, I have begotten thee
This day; ask of me, and the grant is made;
As thy possession I on thee bestow

The heathen; and, as thy conquest to be sway'd, Earth's utmost bounds: them shalt thou bring full low

With iron sceptre bruised, and them disperse Like to a potter's vessel shivered so.

And now be wise at length, ye kings averse,

Be taught, ye judges of the earth; with fear Jehovah serve, and let your joy converse With trembling; kiss the Son, lest he appear In anger and ye perish in the way, If once his wrath take fire, like fuel sere, Happy all those who have in him their stay.

PSALM III. Aug. 9, 1653.

When he fled from Absalom.

LORD, how many are my foes!
How many those,

That in arms against me rise.
Many are they,

That of my life distrustfully thus say;
No help for him in God there lies.

But thou, Lord, art my shield, my glory
Thee, through my story,
The exalter of my head I count
Aloud I cried

Unto Jehovah, he full soon replied,
And heard me from his holy mount.

I lay and slept; I waked again;
For my sustain

Was the Lord. Of many millions
The populous rout

I fear not, though, encamping round about,
They pitch against me their pavilions.
Rise, Lord; save me, my God; for thou
Hast smote, ere now

On the cheek-bone all my foes,
Of men abhorred

Hast broke the teeth. This help was from the
Lord;

Thy blessing on thy people flows.

PSALM IV. Aug. 10, 1653.

ANSWER me when I call,
God of my righteousness;
In straits and in distress,
Thou didst me disenthrall
And set at large; now spare,

Now pity me, and hear my earnest prayer.
Great ones, how long will ye
My glory have in scorn?

How long be thus forborne
Still to love vanity?

To love, to seek, to prize,

Things false and vain, and nothing else but lies?
Yet know the Lord hath chose,
Chose to himself apart,

The good and meek of heart;
(For whom to choose he knows)
Jehovah from on high

Will hear my voice, what time to him I cry.
Be awed, and do not sin;