XIX. ON HIS BLINDNESS. WHEN I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; XX. TO MR LAWRENCE. LAWRENCE, of virtuous father1 virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire Of Attick taste, with wine, whence we may rise He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise. The virtuous father' was Henry Lawrence, President of Cromwell's Council.-Favonius:' father of Spring. XXI. TO CYRIACK SKINNER.1 CYRIACK, whose grandsire, on the royal bench Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; XXII. TO THE SAME. CYRIACK, this three years day these eyes, though clear, Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of which all Europe rings from side to side. เ 1 'Skinner: ' a scholar of Milton's, and member of Harrington's political club.-2 Swede:' Charles Gustavus against Poland, and the French against the Spaniards. This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask Content though blind, had I no better guide. XXIII. ON HIS DECEASED WIFE.1 METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint Whom Jove's great son3 to her glad husband gave, 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 ;5 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, I wak'd; she fled; and day brought back my night. 1 This sonnet was written about the year 1656, on the death of his second wife, Catharine, the daughter of Captain Woodcock of Hackney. She died in child-bed of a daughter, within a year after their marriage. Milton had now been some time totally blind.- Alcestis:' see Euripides. Great son :' Hercules. Glad husband: Admetus. Veil'd:' so was Alcestis. ODES. ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. I. THIS is the month, and this the happy morn, That he our deadly forfeit should release, II. That glorious form, that light unsufferable, Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table 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. Say, heavenly 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 heaven, by the sun's team untrod, 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, While the heaven-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies: Nature, in awe to him, Had doff'd her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air II. To hide her guilty front with innocent snow: 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. But he, her fears to cease, III. Sent down the meek-ey'd Peace; She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, |