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O holy Hope, and high Humility,

High as the heavens above!

These are your walks, and you have show'd them me, To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the just,

Shining nowhere but in the dark;

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,

Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know

At first sight if the bird be flown;

But what fair well or grove he sings in now,

That is to him unknown.

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.

If a star were confined into a tomb,

The captive flames must needs burn there;

But when the hand that lock'd her up, gives room, She'll shine through all the sphere.

O Father of eternal life, and all

Created glories under Thee!

Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall

Into true liberty.

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass;

Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
Where I shall need no glass.

THE WORLD

I SAW Eternity the other night,

Like a great ring of pure and endless light,
All calm, as it was bright;

And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years,
Driv'n by the spheres

Like a vast shadow moved; in which the world
And all her train were hurled.

The doting Lover in his quaintest strain
Did there complain;

Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights,
Wit's sour delights,

With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure,
Yet his dear treasure,

All scatter'd lay, while he his eyes did pour
Upon a flower.

The darksome Statesman, hung with weights and woe, Like a thick midnight-fog, moved there so slow,

He did not stay, nor go;

Condemning thoughts-like sad eclipses scowl
Upon his soul,

And clouds of crying witnesses without

Pursued him with one shout.

Yet digg'd the mole, and lest his ways be found,
Work'd under ground,

Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see
That policy;

Churches and altars fed him; perjuries

Were gnats and flies;

It rain'd about him blood and tears, but he
Drank them as free.

The fearful Miser on a heap of rust
Sate pining all his life there, did scarce trust
His own hands with the dust,

Yet would not place one piece alone, but lives
In fear of thieves.

Thousands there were as frantic as himself,
And hugg'd each one his pelf;

The downright Epicure placed heav'n in sense
And scorn'd pretence;

While others, slipt into a wide excess,
Said little less;

The weaker sort, slight trivial wares enslave,
Who think them brave;

And poor despised Truth sate counting by
Their victory.

Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,
And sing, and weep, soar'd up into the ring;
But most would use no wing.

O fools-said I-thus to prefer dark night
Before true light!

To live in grots, and caves, and hate the day
Because it shews the way,

The way, which from this dead and dark abode Leads up to God;

A way where you might tread the sun, and be More bright than he!

But as I did their madness so discuss

One whisper'd thus,

"This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide, But for His bride."

JOHN MILTON [1608-1674]

L'ALLEGRO

HENCE, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,

In Stygian cave forlorn

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

As he met her once a-Maying,

There on beds of violets blue

And fresh-blown roses washt in dew

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,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as ye go
On the light fantastic toe;

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
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;
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow
Through the sweetbriar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine:
While the cock with lively din
Scatters the rear of Darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before:

Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbring Morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill:
Sometime walking, not unseen,

By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate
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,
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

1

Whilst the lantskip round it measures:

Russet lawns,2 and fallows gray,

Where the nibbling flocks do stray;

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