First father; call'd by thee, I come thy guide
To the garden of bliss, thy seat prepared.
So saying, by the hand he took me, raised,
And over fields and waters, as in air
Smooth sliding without step, last led me up
A woody mountain, whose high top was plain;
A circuit wide, enclosed, with goodliest trees
Planted, with walks and bow'rs, that what I saw
Of earth before scarce pleasant seem'd.
Each tree
Loaden with fairest fruit, that hung to th' eye
Tempting, stirred in me sudden appetite
To pluck and eat; whereat I waked, and found
Before mine eyes all real, as the dream
Had lively shadow'd.
HE look'd, and saw the face of things quite changed. The brazen throat of war had ceased to roar ;
All now was turn'd to jollity and game,
To luxury and riot, feast and dance,
Marrying or prostituting, as befel,
Rape or adultery, where passing fair
Allured them; thence from cups to civil broils.
At length a rev'rend sire among them came,
And of their doings great dislike declared,
And testified against their ways.
Frequented their assemblies, whereso met,
Triumphs or festivals, and to them preach'd
Conversion and repentance, as to souls
In prison under judgments imminent;
But all in vain: which when he saw, he ceased
Contending, and removed his tents far off.
Then from the mountain hewing timber tall,
Began to build a vessel of huge bulk,
Measured by cubit, length, and breadth, and height,
Smear'd round with pitch, and in the side a door
Contrived; and of provisions laid in large
For man and beast when lo, a wonder strange!
Of every beast, and bird, and insect small,
Came sevens and pairs, and enter'd in as taught
Their order; last, the sire and his three sons,
With their four wives; and God made fast the door.
Meanwhile the south wind rose, and with black wings
Wide hov'ring, all the clouds together drove
From under heaven; the hills to their supply
Vapour, and exhalation dusk and moist,
Sent up amain. And now the thicken'd sky
Like a dark ceiling stood; down rush'd the rain
Impetuous, and continued till the earth
No more was seen. The floating vessel swum
Uplifted, and secure with beaked prow,
Rode tilting o'er the waves: all dwellings else
Flood overwhelm'd, and then with all their pomp
Deep under water roll'd; sea cover'd sea,
Sea without shore; and in their palaces,
Where luxury late reign'd, sea-monsters whelp'd
And stabled. Of mankind, so numerous late,
All left in one small bottom swum imbark'd.
From Milton's Minor Poems.
METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis,1 from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of childbed taint Purification in the old law did save,
And such as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in heav'n 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 shined
1 Alcestis was king of Thessaly, and being on the point of death, was restored to life by his wife's voluntarily offering herself to Apollo in his stead.
So clear, as in no face with more delight.
But oh, as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.
To the Memory of Mrs, Catharine Thomson. WHEN faith and love, which parted from thee never, Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load
Of death call'd life, which us from life doth sever.
Thy works and alms, and all thy good endeavour,
Stay'd not behind, nor in the grave were trod,
But as faith pointed with her golden rod,
Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.
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 drest,
And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes
Before the Judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.
Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
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,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
HENCE, loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,
2 The fabulous three-headed dog who guarded the shades below.
In Stygian1 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-brow'd rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian2 desert ever dwell.
But come, thou goddess fair and free,
In heav'n yclep'd3 Euphrosyne,4
And by men heart-easing Mirth.
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 love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull Night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled Dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spite of Sorrow,
Belonging to Styx, a river supposed to have been in the lower world.
2 A people in the extreme north, believed by the ancients to live in almost total darkness.
Called; y a prefix commonly found in early poets.
4 The goddess of mirth.
5 The goddess of youth.
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine;
While the cock with lively din
Scatters the rear of Darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before:
Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring Morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill.
Some time walking not unseen
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great Sun begins his state,
Robed in flames and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman near at hand
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilst the landskip round it measures:
Russet lawns and fallows grey,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks and rivers wide;
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a cottage-chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
The star near the North Pole by which sailors steer; hence, point of attraction.
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