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All thy remaining life should sunshine be; The foolish sports I did on thee bestow,
Where once such fairies dance, no grass doth ever And thou, with all the noble company,
grow. Art got at last to shore. But, whilst thy fellow-voyagers I see
“When my new mind had no infusion known, All march'd up to possess the promis'd land, Thou gav'st so deep a tincture of thine own, Thou, still alone, alas! dost gaping stand
That ever since I vainly try Upon the naked beach, upon the barren sand !
To wash away th' inherent dye :
Long work perhaps may spoil thy colors quite , “As a fair morning of the blessed spring, But never will reduce the native white : After a tedious stormy night,
To all the ports of honor and of gain, Such was the glorious entry of our king;
I often steer my course in vain;
By making them so oft to be
Whoever this world's happiness would see,
Must as entirely cast off thee, And upon all the quicken'd ground
As they who only Heaven desire
Do from the world retire.
Myself a demi-votary to make.
Thus, with Sapphira and her husband's fate, (The men whom through long wanderings he had led) (A fault which I, like them, am taught too late,,
That he would give them ev'n a Heaven of For all that I gave up I nothing gain, brass :
And perish for the part which I retain They look'd up to that Heaven in vain, That bounteous Heaven, wrich God did not re. “Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse! strain
The court, and better king, t'accuse : Upon the most unjust to shine and rain
The heaven under which I live is fair,
The fertile soil will a full harvest bear: “The Rachel, for which twice seven years and more Thine, thine is all the barrenness; if thou
Thou didst with faith and labor serve, Mak’st me sit still and sing, when I should plow, And didst (if faith and labor can) deserve, When I but think how many a tedious year Though she contracted was to thee,
Our patient sovereign did attend Given to another thou didst see,
His long misfortunes' fatal end; Given to another, who had store
How cheerfully, and how exempt from fear, of fairer and of richer wives before,
On the Great Sovereign's will he did depend ; And not a Leah left, thy recompense to be! I ought to be accurst, if I refuse Go on; twice seven years more thy fortune try; To wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse! Twice seven years more God in his bounty may Kings have long hands, they say; and, though I be Give thee, 10 fling away
So distant, they may reach at length to me. Into the court's deceitful lottery :
However, of all the princes, thou But think how likely 'tis that thou, Should'st not reproach rewards for being small or With the dull work of thy unwieldly plow,
slow; Should'st in a hard and barren season thrive, Thou! who rewardest but with popular breath, Should'st even able be to live;
And that too after death."
HYMN TO LIGHT.
From the old Negro's darksome womb! “Ah, wanton foe! dost thou upbraid
Which, when it saw the lovely child, The ills which thou thyself hast made? The melancholy mass put on kind looks and When in the cradle innocent I lay,
smil'd; Thou, wicked spirit! stolest me away, And my abused soul didst bear
Thou tide of glory, which no rest dost know, Into thy new-found worlds, I know not where,
But ever ebb and ever fluw! Thy golden Indies in the air ;
Thou golden shower of a true Jove! And ever since I strive in vain
Who does in thee descend, and Heaven to Earth My ravislı'd freedom to regain ;
make love! Still I rebel, still thou dost reign; Lo! still in verse against thee I complain. Hail, active Nature's watchful life and health There is a sort of stubborn weeds,
Her joy, her ornament, and wealth! Which, if the earth but once, it ever, breeds ;
Hail to thy husband, Heat, and thee! No wholesome herb can near them thrive, Thou the world's beauteous bride, the lusty bride. No useful plant can keep alive :
Say, from what golden quivers of the sky The ghosts, and monster-spirits, that did presume Do all thy winged arrows fly?
A body's privilege to assume,
Vanish again invisibly,
All the world's bravery, that delights our eyes, "Tis, I believe, this archery to show,
Is but thy several liveries ; That so much cost in colors thou,
Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st, And skill in painting, dost bestow
Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow.
go'st. Swift as light thoughts their empty career run,
A crimson garment in the rose thou wearist; Thy race is finish'd when begun;
A crown of studded gold thou bear’st; Let a post-angel start with thee,
The virgin-lilies, in their white, And thou the goal of Earth shalt reach as soon as he. Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light. Thou in the Moon's bright chariot, proud and gay, The violet, Spring's little infant, stands Dost thy bright wood of stars survey!
Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands. And all the year dost with thee bring
On the fair tulip thou dost doat; Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal Thou cloth’st it in a gay and party.color'd coat. spring
With flame condens'd thou do'st thy jewels fix, Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above And solid colors in it mix: The Sun's gilt tents for ever move,
Flora herself envies to see And still, as thou in pomp dost go,
Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she The shining pageants of the world attend thy show.
Ah, goddess! would thou could'st thy hand withhold
And be less liberal to gold! Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn
Did'st thou less value to it give, The humble glow-worms to adorn,
Of how much care, alas! might'st thou poor man And with those living spangles gild
relieve! (O greatness without pride!) the bushes of the field.
To me the Sun is more delightful far,
And all fair days much fairer are.
But few, ah! wondrous few, there be,
Who do not gold prefer, O goddess ! ev'n to thee
Which open all their pores to thee,
Like a clear river thou dost glide, With them there hastes, and wildly takes th’alarm, And with thy living stream through the close chan. Of painted dreams a busy swarm:
nels slide. At the first opening of thine eye The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly.
But, where firm bodies thy free course oppose,
Gently thy source the land o'erflows; The guilty serpents, and obscener beasts,
Takes there possession, and does make Creep, conscious, to their secret rests :
Of colors mingled light, a thick and standing lake. Nature to thee does reverence pay, Il omens and ill sights removes out of thy way.
But the vast ocean of unbounded day,
In th' empyrean Heaven does stay. At thy appearance, Grief itself is said
Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below, To shake his wings, and rouse his head :
From thence took first their rise, thither at last And cloudy Care has often took
must flow. A gentle beamy smile, reflected from thy look.
At thy appearance, Fear itself grows bold;
HOPE! whose weak being ruin'd is, To the check color comes, and firmness to the Alike, if it succeed, and if it miss ; knee.
Whom good or ill does equally confound,
And both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound : Ev'n Lust, the master of a harden'd face,
Vain shadow! which does vanish quite, Blushes, if thou be'st in the place,
Both at full noon and perfect night! To Darkness' curtains he retires ;
The stars have not a possibility In sympathizing night he rolls his smoky fires.
Of blessing thee;
If things then from their end we happy call,
Out of the morning's purple bed,
Hope! thou bold taster of delight, [quite! And all the joyful world salutes the rising day. Who, whilst thou should'st but taste, devour'st is
Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor,
Fruition more deceitful is
Than thou canst be, when thou dost miss ;
Some other way again to thee;
And that's a pleasant country, without doubt,
To which all soon return that travel out.
CLAUDIAN'S OLD MAN OF VERONA.
DE SENE VERONENSI, QUI SUBURBIUM NUNQUAM
Felix, qui patriis, &c.
Happy the man, who his whole time doth bound
Within th' inclosure of his little ground. When thy false beams o'er Reason's light prevail, Happy the man, whom the same humble place By ignes fatui for north-stars we sail.
(Th’ hereditary cottage of his race)
From his first rising infancy has known,
And by degrees sees gently bending down,
Could ever into foolish wanderings get.
He never heard the shrill alarms of war,
The change of seasons is his calendar.
Autumn by fruits, and spring by flowers, he knows:
He measures time by land-marks, and has found
For the whole day the dial of his ground.
A neighboring wood, born with himself, he sees,
He 'as only heard of near Verona's name,
And knows it, like the Indies, but by fame.
Does with a like concernment notice take
Of the Red-sea, and of Benacus' lake.
Thus health and strength he to a third age enjoys
And sees a long posterity of boys.
About the spacious world let others roam,
The voyage, life, is longest made at home.
WELL, then; I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree ;
The very honey of all earthly joy
Does of all meats the soonest cloy ;
And they, methinks, deserve my pity,
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings,
Of this great hive, the city.
Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave,
May I a small house and large garden have !
And a few friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!
And, since love ne'er will from me flee,
A mistress moderately fair,
And good as guardian-angels are,
Only belov’d, and loving me!
Oh, fountains! when in you shall I
The happy tenant of your shade ?
Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood; Though so exalted she
And I so lowly be,
Tell her, such different notes make all thy har.
Hark! how the strings awake:
And, though the moving hand approach not near,
Themselves with awful fear,
A kind of numerous trembling make.
Now all thy forces try,
Now all thy charms apply,
Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye.
Weak Lyre! thy virtue sure
To cure, but not to wound,
And she to wound, but not to cure.
Too weak too wilt thou prove
My passion to remove,
Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love.
Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre!
In sounds that will prevail ;
Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire:
All thy vain mirth lay by,
Bid thy strings silent lie,
Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre; and let thy master
Joun Milton, a poet of the first rank in eminence, poem, of great elegance. He left Italy by the way was descended from an ancient family, settled at of Geneva, where he contracted an acquaintance Milion, in Oxfordshire. His father, whose deser- with two learned divines, John Diodati and Frederic tion of the Roman Catholic faith was the cause of Spanheim; and he returned through France, having his disinheritance, settled in London as a scrivener, been absent about a year and three months. and marrying a woman of good family, had two On his arrival, Milion found the nation agitated sons and a daughter. John, the eldest son, was by civil and religious disputes, which threatened a born in Bread-street, on December 9, 1608. He crisis; and as he had expressed himself impatient io received the rudiments of learning from a domestic be present on the theatre of contention, it has been tutor, Thomas Young, afterwards chaplain to the thought extraordinary that he did not immediately English merchants at Hamburg, whose merits are place himself in some active station. But his turn gratefully commemorated by his pupil, in a Lalin was not military; his fortune precluded a seat in clegy. At a proper age he was sent to St. Paul's parliament; the pulpit he had declined; and for the school, and there began to distinguish himself by bar he had made no preparation. His taste and his intense application to study, as well as by his habits were altogether literary; for the present, poetical talents. In his sixteenth year he was re- therefore, he fixed himself in the metropolis, and moved to Christ's college, Cambridge, where he undertook the education of his sister's two sons, of was admitted a pensioner, under the tuition of Mr. the name of Philips. ' Soon after, he was applied to W. Chappel.
by several parents to admit their children to the Of his course of studies in the university little is benefit of his tuition. He therefore took a com. known; but it appears, from several exercises pre- modious house in Aldersgate-street, and opened an served in his works, that he had acquired extraor- academy. Disapproving the plan of education in dinary skill in writing Latin verses, which are of a the public schools and universities, he deviated from purer taste than any preceding compositions of the it as widely as possible. He put into the hands kind by English scholars. He took the degrees of his scholars, instead of the common classics, such both of Bachelor and Master of Arts; the latter in Greek and Latin authors as treated on the arts and 1632, when he left Cambridge. He renounced his sciences, and on philosophy; thus expecting to inoriginal intention of entering the church, for which stil the knowledge of things with that of words. We he has given as a reason, that, “ coming to some are not informed of the result of his plan; but it maturity of years, he had perceived what tyranny will appear singular that one who had himself drunk had invaded it;" which denotes a man early habitu- so deeply at the muse's fount, should withhold the ated to think and act for himself.
draught from others. We learn, however, that he perHe now returned to his father, who had retired formed the task of instruction with great assiduity. from business to a residence at Horton, in Buck. Milton did not long suffer himself to lie under inghamshire; and he there passed five years in the the reproach of having neglected the public cause study of the best Roman and Grecian authors, and in his private pursuits; and, in 1641, he publishin the composition of some of his finest iniscella- ed four treatises relative to church government, in neous poems. This was the period of his Allegro which he gave the preponderance to the Presbyand Penseroso, his Comus and Lycidas. That his terian form above the Episcopalian. Resuming the learning and talents had at this time attracted con- same controversy in the following year, he mumsiderable notice, appears from an application made bered among his antagonists such men as Bishop to him from the Bridgewater family, which pro- Hall and Archbishop Usher. His father, who had duced his admirable masque of “Comus," perform- been disturbed by the king's troops, now came to ed in 1634, at Ludlow Castle, before the Earl of live with him; and the necessity of a female head Bridgewater, then Lord President of Wales; and of such a house, caused Milton, in 1643, to form a also by his “Arcades," part of an entertainment connexion with the daughter of Richard Powell, presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby, at Esq., a magistrate of Oxfordshire. This was, in Harefield, by some of her family.
several respects, an unhappy marriage; for his fatherIn 1638, he obtained his father's leave to improve in-law was a zealous royalist, and his wife had achimself by foreign travel, and set out for the con- customed herself to the jovial hospitality of that tinent. Passing through France, he proceeded to party. She had not, therefore, passed above a Italy, and spent a considerable time in that seat of month in her husband's house, when, having prothe arts and of literature. At Naples he was kindly cured an invitation from her father, she went to pass received by Manso, Marquis of Villa, who had the summer in his mansion. Milton's invitations long before déserved the gratitude of poets by his for her return were treated with contempt; upon patronage of Tasso; and, in return for a laudatory which, regarding her conduct as a desertion which listich of Manso, Milton addressed to him a Latin broke the nuptial contract, he determined to punish