O holy Hope, and high Humility, High as the heavens above! These are your walks, and you have show'd them me, To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the just, Shining nowhere but in the dark; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark! He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know At first sight if the bird be flown; But what fair well or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, If a star were confined into a tomb, The captive flames must needs burn there; But when the hand that lock'd her up, gives room, She'll shine through all the sphere. O Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under Thee! Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty. Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill Or else remove me hence unto that hill, THE WORLD I SAW Eternity the other night, Like a great ring of pure and endless light, And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years, Like a vast shadow moved; in which the world The doting Lover in his quaintest strain Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights, With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure, All scatter'd lay, while he his eyes did pour The darksome Statesman, hung with weights and woe, Like a thick midnight-fog, moved there so slow, He did not stay, nor go; Condemning thoughts-like sad eclipses scowl And clouds of crying witnesses without Pursued him with one shout. Yet digg'd the mole, and lest his ways be found, Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see Churches and altars fed him; perjuries Were gnats and flies; It rain'd about him blood and tears, but he The fearful Miser on a heap of rust Yet would not place one piece alone, but lives Thousands there were as frantic as himself, The downright Epicure placed heav'n in sense While others, slipt into a wide excess, The weaker sort, slight trivial wares enslave, And poor despised Truth sate counting by Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, O fools-said I-thus to prefer dark night To live in grots, and caves, and hate the day The way, which from this dead and dark abode Leads up to God; A way where you might tread the sun, and be More bright than he! But as I did their madness so discuss One whisper'd thus, "This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide, But for His bride." JOHN MILTON [1608-1674] L'ALLEGRO HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! 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, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But come, thou Goddess fair and free, In heaven ycleped Euphrosyne, And by men, heart-easing Mirth, The frolic wind that breathes the spring, Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As he met her once a-Maying, There on beds of violets blue And fresh-blown roses washt in dew Filled her with thee, a daughter fair, So buxom, blithe, and debonair. Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And in thy right hand lead with thee To live with her, and live with thee Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures 1 Whilst the lantskip round it measures: Russet lawns,2 and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray; |