JOHN MILTON Was born in London, in 1608. After leaving Cambridge, he remained some time at his father's house in Horton, Buckinghamshire; and when turned of thirty, he went to Italy, whence he returned about the breaking out of the civil wars. He took office under Cromwell, and was the literary champion of the Commonwealth. On the Restoration, he was included in the act of amnesty, and he retired to Chalfont St. Giles, Bucks, where the house in which he lived still stands, almost It was here that he produced, in total darkness, his "Paradise Lost," and afterwards his "Paradise Regained." He died in 1674. The literary judgment of the people of this country has been vindicated by the sale of numerous and immense editions of Milton's poems. The only American edition of his prose works was published under the direction of the editor of this volume, in 1845 and in 1847. entire. Milton became a Presbyterian, but in his last years was an Independent, agreeing most nearly with the Baptists of the present day. Some crude notions in theology are stated in his "Treatise on Christian Doctrine," recently printed. This was probably written at an early period, and it would never have been published by himself. After its appearance, Macaulay had no more difficulty in discovering from "Paradise Lost," and "Paradise Regained," that Milton was an Arian, than some phrenologists have in deciding upon the character of any person, who is well known, from his skull. ADAM'S MORNING HYMN. THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of Good! Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then! To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Circle his throne, rejoicing; ye in heaven: Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end. If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade, HYMN ON THE NATIVITY. Ir was the winter wild, While the heaven-born child All meanly wrapt, in the rude manger lies: Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: 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; And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes 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 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 up hung, The hooked chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by. But peaceful was the night, Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: Whispering new joys to the mild ocean; Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. The stars, with deep amaze, 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 axletree could bear. The shepherds on the lawn, Or ere the point of dawn, Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they then, 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 finger strook; Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took: With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly 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 shamefaced night arrayed; The helmed 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 'tis said) Before was never made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, |