For my true love has me forsook, Noo Arthur Seat1 sall be my bed, The sheets sall ne'er be press'd by me; Saint Anton's well sall be my drink; Since my true love's forsaken me. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves off the tree? O gentle death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I am wearie. 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. But had I wist before I kiss'd That love had been sae ill to win, And I mysel' were dead and gane, 1 The hill near Edinburgh. JOHN MILTON. (1608-1674.) HYMN ON THE NATIVITY. This Hymn is dated in 1629; L'Allegro and Il Penseroso, 16321638; Arcades, 1630-1634; Comus, 1634; the Song on May Morning, 1630 (?); the first sonnet probably soon after 1630; that on the Massacre in Piedmont in 1655; and that on his Blindness at about the same time. Compare with the last the first fifty-five lines of Book III. of Paradise Lost. T was the winter wild, IT While the heaven-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathise: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air, To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden-white to throw; Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And, waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. No war or battle's sound Was heard the world around. The idle spear and shield were high uphung; The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. But peaceful was the night, His reign of peace upon the earth began: Smoothly the waters kissed, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave. The stars, with deep amaze, Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence; And will not take their flight, For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warned them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. And, though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlightened world no more should need; He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne or burning axle-tree could bear. The shepherds on the lawn, Or ere the point of dawn, Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they than That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep; When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet, As never was by mortal fingers strook, Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took: The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Nature, that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, That with long beams the shame-faced night arrayed; The helmèd cherubim, And sworded seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, Harping in loud and solemn quire, With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born heir. Such music, as 't is said, Before was never made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanced world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres! Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time; And let the bass of Heaven's deep organ blow; And, with your ninefold harmony, Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. For, if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back and fetch the age And speckled Vanity Will sicken soon and die, of gold; And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. |