Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc'd, And from her fair unspotted side I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend, To the corners of the moon. 1005 ΙΟΙΟ 1015 1020 LYCIDAS. THIS Poem was written as an elegy in memory of Milton's friend, Edward King, who was drowned on the passage between Chester and Ireland (see line 50). Edward King was twenty-five years old at the time of his death, and distinguished at Cambridge by his learning and piety. In the course of the poem the river Cam (Camus) is introduced, lamenting his promising child; and St. Peter (line 108), who draws a bitter comparison between the character of Lycidas and the sordid spirit of some of the clergy. In this we have an instance of Milton's strong hostility to an Established Church. This Poem is what is called a Pastoral, or one in which the persons introduced are represented as Shepherds. The language is made to suit this idea, and is therefore highly metaphorical and figurative. YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring, 5 10 15 Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse, With lucky words favour my destin'd urn, And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. 20 25 What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the star that rose, at evening, bright, 30 Toward heav'n's descent had slop'd his west'ring wheel. Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, Temper'd to th' oaten flute, Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not be absent long, 35 And old Damotas lov'd to hear our song. But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 40 The willows, and the hazel copses green, Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. 45 Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flow'rs, that their gay wardrobe wear, Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? 51 For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old Bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : 55 Ay me! I fondly dream! Had ye been there, for what could that have done? When by the rout that made the hideous roar, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) 60 65 70 To scorn delights, and live laborious days; Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumour lies; Of so much fame in heav'n expect thy meed. 85 Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds, And listens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea ; 90 He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain? And question'd every gust of rugged wings That blows from off each beaked promontory: 95 And sage Hippotades their answer brings, Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, The pilot of the Galilean lake; 100 105 Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, ΠΙΟ (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain) He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake, How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain, Enow of such as for their bellies' sake Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold? 115 Of other care they little reckoning make, Than how to scramble at the shearer's feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest; Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least 120 That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 125 But swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread ; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said; 130 |