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
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. O if Jove’s will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay 223
Now timely224 sing, ere the rude225 bird of hate226
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 train227 am I.
SONNET 7
1632
How soon hath time, the subtle 228 thief of youth,
Stol’n on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on, with full career,229
But my late spring no bud or blossom show’th.
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 indu’th.230
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still 231 in strictest measure ev’n 232
To that same lot,233 however mean 234 or high,
Towards which time leads me, and the will of Heav’n.
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great task-master’s eye.
SONNET 8
1642
Captain or colonel,235 or knight in arms,
Whose chance 236 on these defenseless doors may seize,237
If ever deed of honor did thee please
Guard them, and him within 238 protect from harms.
He can requite 239 thee, for he knows the charms
That call fame on such gentle240 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’ bow’r! 241
The great Emathian conqueror 242 bid spare
The house of Pindarus,243 when temple and tow’r
Went to the ground, and the repeated air 244
Of sad Electra’s poet 245 had the power
To save th’ Athenian walls from ruin bare.
SONNET 9
1643–45
Lady,246 that in the prime of earliest youth
Wisely hath shunned the broad way,247 and the green,
And with those few art eminently248 seen
That labor up the hill of Heav’nly truth,
The better part with Mary, and with Ruth,249
Chosen thou hast, and they that overween 250
And at thy growing virtues fret251 their spleen
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.252
Thy care253 is fixed, and zealously attends 254
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 10
1643–45
Daughter to that good earl,255 once president
Of England’s Council and her Treasury,
Who lived in both unstained with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till the sad breaking of that Parliament
Broke him,256 as that dishonest victory
At Chaeronéa,257 fatal to liberty
Killed with report that old man, eloquent.258
Though later born than to have known the days
Wherein your father flourished, yet by you,
Madam, methinks I see him living yet,
So well your words his noble virtues praise
And to possess them, honored Margaret.
SONNET 11
1645?
I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs 260
By the known rules of ancient liberty 261
When straight a barbarous noise environs 262 me
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs.
As when those hinds 263 that were transformed to frogs
Railed at Latona’s twin-born progeny,264
Which after held the sun and moon in fee.
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs,
That bawl for freedom, in their senseless mood,
And still265 revolt when truth would set them free.
Licence, they mean, when they cry “liberty,”
For who loves that must first be wise and good.
But from that mark how far they rove we see
For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood.
SONNET 12
1647?
A book was writ, of late, called Tetrachordon,266
And woven close both matter, form, and style.
The subject new, it walked the town a while,
Numb’ring good intellects—now seldom pored on.267
Cries the stall-reader, “Bless us! What a word on
A title page is this!” And some in file 268
Stand spelling false, while 269 one might walk to Mile-
End Green. Why is it harder, sirs, than Gordon,270
Colkitto,271 or MacDonnell,272 or Galasp? 273
Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek,
That would have made Quintilian 274 stare and gasp!
Thy age, like ours—O soul of Sir John Cheek!—275
Hated not learning worse than toad or asp,
When thou taught’st Cambridge, and King Edward, Greek.
SONNET 13
1646
Harry,276 whose tuneful and well-measured 277 song
First taught our English music how to span 278
Words with just 279 note and accent, not to scan
With Midas ears,280 committing281 short and long.
Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,
With praise enough for envy to look wan.
To after age thou shalt be writ the man
That with smooth air282 couldst humor best our tongue.
Thou honor’st verse, and verse must lend her wing
To honor thee, the priest of Phoebus choir,
That tun’st their happiest lines, in hymn or story.
Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher
Than his Casella,283 whom he wooed to sing,
Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.
SONNET 14
1646
When faith and love, which parted from thee284 never,
Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God,
Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load
Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever.
Thy works and alms, and all thy good endeavor,
Stayed not behind nor in the grave were trod,
But as faith pointed with her golden rod
Followed thee up to joy and bliss forever.
Love led them on, and faith, who knew them best—
Thy handmaids—clad them o’er with purple beams
And azure wings, that up they flew, so dressed,
And spoke the truth of thee in glorious themes285
Before the judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.
SONNET 15
1648
Fairfax,286 whose name in arms through Europe rings,
Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze
And rumors loud, that daunt remotest kings,
Thy f
irm unshaken virtue ever brings
Victory home, though new rebellions raise
Their hydra heads, and the false North287 displays
Her broken league,288 to imp 289 her serpent wings:290