5

This night, and more for the wonder,
The ghost from the tomb
Affrighted shall come,

Call'd out by the clap of the thunder.

Edmund aller

1605-1687

ON A GIRDLE

(From Poems, 1645)

That which her slender waist confin'd,
Shall now my joyful temples bind;
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arms might do what this has done.

It was my heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer,
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move.

A narrow compass, and yet there 10 Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair: Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.

SONG

(From the same)

Go, lovely Rose,

Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows

When I resemble her to thee,

5 How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,
That had'st thou sprung

In deserts where no men abide,

10 Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired;
Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

15 And not blush so to be admired.

Then die, that she

The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee;

How small a part of time they share,
20 That are so wondrous sweet and fair.

ON THE FOREGOING DIVINE POEMS

(1686 ?)

When we for age could neither read nor write, The subject made us able to indite. The soul, with nobler resolutions deckt, The body stooping, does herself erect: 5 No mortal parts are requisite to raise Her, that unbody'd can her Maker praise. The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er: So, calm are we, when passions are no more: For, then we know how vain it was to boast 10 Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness, which age decries.

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light, thro' chinks that time has made:

15 Stronger by weakness, wiser, men become,
As they draw near to their eternal home.
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
That stand upon the threshold of the new.

10

JOHN MILTON

John Milton

1608-1674

L'ALLEGRO

(1634)

Hence, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born
In Stygian cave forlorn,

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights
unholy!

5 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;
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth,
15 With two sister Graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore:
Or whether (as some sager sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr, with Aurora playing,

20 As he met her once a-Maying,

There, on beds of violets blue,

And fresh-blown roses washed in dew,

25

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,

30 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;

35 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, 40 In unreprovèd 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;
45 Then to come in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine;

While the cock, with lively din,

50 Scatters the rear of darkness thin; And to the stack, or the barn-door, Stoutly struts his dames before:

Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
55 From the side of some hoar hill,

Through the high wood echoing shrill:
Some time walking, not unseen,
By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate

60 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 furrowed land,
65 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, 70 Whilst the landskip round it measures: Russet lawns, and fallows gray,

Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains, on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
75 Meadows trim, with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
80 The cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by a cottage chimney smokes
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savoury dinner set

35 Of herbs, and other country messes,

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;
And then in haste her bower she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or, if the earlier season lead,

90 To the tanned haycock in the mead.
Sometimes, with secure delight,
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound

95 To many a youth and many a maid
Dancing in the checkered shade,