Of lively portraiture display'd,
Softly on my eyelids laid.
And, as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or th' unseen Genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister's pale1,
And love the high-embowed2 roof,
With antique pillars massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light:
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voic'd quire below,
In service high and anthems clear,
may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that heav'n doth show;
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
COMUS," A DRAMATIC PIECE.
Two brothers having lost their sister, are now seeking her.
El. Br. Unmuffle4, ye faint stars; and thou, fair moon,
That wont'st to love the traveller's benison 5,
Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,
And disinherit Chaos6, that reigns here
In double night of darkness and of shades;
Or, if your influence be quite damm'd up
With black usurping mists, some gentle taper,
1 Embowed, arched.
2 Pale, inclosure; the close.
3 Storied. The windows in cathedrals represent events in sacred history.
4 Unmuffle, shine without clouds.
5 Benison, blessing.
6 Chaos may be said to be disinherited when darkness is succeeded by light.
Though a rush-candle from the wicker hole
Of some clay habitation, visit us
With thy long-levell'd rule of streaming light;
And thou shalt be our star of Arcady',
Be barr'd that happiness, might we but hear
The folded flocks penn'd in their wattled cotes 3,
Or sound of past'ral reed+ with oaten stops,
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock
Count the night watches to his feathery dames,
'Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering,
In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs.
But, O that hapless virgin, our lost Sister!
Where may she wander now, whither betake her
From the chill dew, among rude burs and thistles?
Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now,
Or 'gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm,
Leans her unpillow'd head, fraught with sad fears.
What if in wild amazement and affright?
Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp
Of savage hunger, or of savage heat?
El. Br. Peace, Brother; be not over-exquisite 5
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils :
For grant they be so, while they rest unknown,
What need a man forestall his date of grief,
And run to meet what he would most avoid?
Or, if they be but false alarms of fear,
How bitter is such self-delusion!
I do not think my Sister so to seek,
Or so unprincipled in virtue's book,
And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever,
As that the single want of light and noise
(Not being in danger, as I trust she is not)
Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts,
And put them into misbecoming plight,
1 Star of Arcady. The constellations of the Great and Lesser Bear were believed by the Greeks to be an Arcadian princess and her son, transformed
into stars.
2 See page 51.
3 Wattled cote, pens made of twisted osiers.
4 Pastoral reed, shepherds, or pandean pipe made of reed, with stops of
5 Over exquisite, over refined, too speculative.
6 Cast the fashion, or mould, i. e. imagine shapes and forms.
7 Forestall the date, anticipate the time.
8 So unprincipled, so uninstructed in the principles.
Virtue could see to do what virtue would
By her own radiant light, though sun and moon
Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's1 self
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude;
Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation,
She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings,
That in the various bustle of resort
Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impair'd.
He that has light within his own clear breast,
May sit i' th' center, and enjoy bright day:
But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts,
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;
Himself is his own dungeon.
My Sister is not so defenceless left
you imagine; she has a hidden strength, Which you remember not.
What hidden strength, Unless the strength of Heav'n, if you mean that?
El. Br. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength, Which, if Heav'n gave it, may be term'd her own: 'Tis chastity, my Brother, chastity:
She, that has that, is clad in cómplete steel;
And, like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen,
May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd' heaths,
Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds;
Where, through the sacred rays of chastity,
No savage fierce, bandite3, or mountaineer,
Will dare to soil her virgin purity:
Yea there, where very desolation dwells,
By grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid shades,
She may pass on with unblench'd+ majesty,
Be it not done in pride, or in presumption.
Some say, no evil thing that walks by night
In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen,
Blue meager hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost
That breaks his magic chains at Curfeu time,
No goblin, or swart 5 faery of the mine,
Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call
Antiquity from the old schools of Greece
To testify the arms of chastity?
1 Wisdom is represented as a winged spirit.
2 Unharboured, without a harbour, a place of refuge.
3 Bandite, one of a band, a robber.
▲ Unblenched, unterrified, not pale with fear. Blanch, white.
5 Swart, hence swarthy, black.
Hence had the huntress Dian1 her dread bow,
Fair silver-shafted queen, for ever chaste,
Wherewith she tam'd the brinded 2 lioness
And spotted mountain-pard, but set at naught
The frivolous bolt of Cupid; gods and men
Fear'd her stern frown, and she was queen o' th' woods.
What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield,
That wise Minerva3 wore, unconquer'd virgin,
Wherewith she freez'd her foes to cóngeal'd stone,
But rigid looks of chaste austerity,
And noble grace, that dash'd brute violence
With sudden adoration and blank awe?
So dear to Heav'n is saintly Chastity,
That when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liveried angels lackey+ her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt;
And, in clear dream and solemn vision,
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear;
Till oft convérse with heav'nly habitants
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind,
And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence,
Till all be made immortal.
EXTRACTS FROM "SAMSON AGONISTES."
Samson, made captive, blind, and now in the prison at Gaza, there to labour as in a common workhouse, on a festival day, in the general cessation from labour, comes forth into the open air, to a place nigh, somewhat retired, there to sit awhile and bemoan his condition.
SAMSON. (Attendant leading him).
A little onward lend thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on;
For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade.
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of servile toil,
1 Dian, goddess of hunting, virgin sister of Apollo.
3 Minerva, goddess of war and learning, was represented as bearing on her shield the head of Medusa, a Gorgon, covered with snakes.
4 Liveried-lackey. In Milton's time persons of gentle birth wore the livery of great noblemen.
5 Agonistes, a combatant in public games.
Daily in the common prison else enjoin'd me,
Where I, a prisoner claim'd, scarce freely draw
The air imprison'd also, close and damp,
Unwholesome draught: but here I feel amends,
The breath of heav'n fresh blowing, pure and sweet,
With day-spring born; here leave me to respire.
This day a solemn feast the people hold
To Dagon their sea-idol, and forbid
Laborious works; unwillingly this rest
Their superstition yields me; hence with leave
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease,
Ease to the body some, none to the mind
From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarnı
Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone,
But rush upon me thronging, and present
Times past, what once I was, and what am now.
O, wherefore was my birth from heav'n foretold
Twice by an angel, who at last in sight
Of both my parents all in flames ascended
From off the altar, where an offering burn'd,
As in a fiery column charioting
His God-like presence, and from some great act
Or benefit reveal'd to Abraham's race?
Why was my breeding order'd and prescrib'd
As of a person separate to God,
Design'd for great exploits; if I must die
Betray'd, captiv'd, and both my eyes put out,
Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze;
To grind in brazen fetters under task
With this heav'n-gifted strength? O glorious strength,
Put to the labour of a beast, debas'd
Lower than bond-slave! Promise was, that I
Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver;
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him
Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves,
Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke.
Yet stay, let me not rashly call in doubt
Divine prediction; what if all foretold
Had been fulfill'd but through mine own default,
Whom have I to complain of but myself?
Who this high gift of strength committed to me,
In what part lodg'd, how easily bereft me,
Under the seal of silence could not keep,
But weakly to a woman must reveal it,
O'ercome with importunity and tears.
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