Poems by John Milton
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What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones
This rich Marble doth enterr
I
Hail native Language, that by sinews weak
Purgatorem animae derisit Jacobus ignem,
Quem modo Roma suis devoverat impia diris,
Here lieth one who did most truly prove,
I. SONG.
Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'ns joy,
Hail native Language, that by sinews weak
Ridonsi donne e giovani amorosi
[From Of Reformation in England, 1641.]
A Masque
At length, my friend, the far-sent letters come,
Thee, whose refulgent staff and summons clear,
Silent I sat, dejected, and alone,
Hence, my epistle skim the Deep fly o'er
Time, never wand'ring from his annual round,
Who sent the Author a poetical epistle, in which he requested that his verses, if not so good as usual, might be excused on account of the many feasts to which his friends invited him, and which would not allow him leisure to finish them as he wished
As yet a stranger to the gentle fires
This rich marble doth inter
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Hence vain deluding joyes,
Hail holy light, ofspring of Heav'n first-born,
In this Monody the Author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunatly drown’d in his Passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637. And by occasion foretels the ruine of our corrupted Clergy then in their height.
Hence, loathed Melancholy,
Methought I saw my late espoused Saint
When I consider how my light is spent
Methought I saw my late espoused Saint
When I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold,
What needs my Shakespear for his honour'd Bones,
I
My lids with grief were tumid yet,
Learn ye nations of the earth
Survey my Features, you will own it clear
Am pius extrema veniens Jacobus ab arcto
Cum simul in regem nuper satrapasque Britannos
Praise in old time the sage Prometheus won,
Fairfax, whose name in armes through Europe rings
I
Because you have thrown of your Prelate Lord,
Ye sister Pow'rs who o'er the sacred groves
When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never,
Here lies old Hobson, Death hath broke his girt,
Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Of Mans First Disobedience, and the Fruit
High on a Throne of Royal State, which far
Hail holy light, ofspring of Heav’n first-born,
O for that warning voice, which he who saw
Meanwhile the hainous and despightfull act
Now Morn her rosie steps in th’ Eastern Clime
All night the dreadless Angel unpursu’d
Descend from Heav’n Urania, by that name
No more of talk where God or Angel Guest
Thus they in lowliest plight repentant stood
I who e’re while the happy Garden sung,
Perplex’d and troubl’d at his bad success
Mean while the new-baptiz’d, who yet remain’d
So spake the Son of God, and Satan stood
Quales aerii montis de vertice nubes
Bless'd is the man who hath not walk'd astray
Why do the Gentiles tumult, and the Nations
Lord how many are my foes
Answer me when I call
Thou Shepherd that dost Israel keep
To God our strength sing loud, and clear,
God in the *1great *1assembly stands
Be not thou silent now at length
How lovely are thy dwellings fair!
Thy Land to favour graciously
Thy gracious ear, O Lord, encline,
Among the holy Mountains high
Lord God that dost me save and keep,
Jehovah to my words give ear
Lord in thine anger do not reprehend me
Lord my God to thee I flie
O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
When Israel by Jehovah call'd
When the blest seed of Terah's faithful Son,1
Of that sort of Dramatic Poem which is call'd Tragedy.
Now the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger,
O nightingale that on yon blooming spray
To Mr Lawrence
Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, though clear
O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray
Donna leggiadra il cui bel nome honora
Qual in colle aspro, al imbrunir di sera
Diodati, e te'l diro con maraviglia,
Lady that in the prime of earliest youth,
Per certo i bei vostr'occhi Donna mia
Giovane piano, e semplicetto amante
How soon hath Time the suttle theef of youth,
Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,
Daughter to that good Earl, once President
A Book was writ of late call'd Tetrachordon;
I did but prompt the age to quit their cloggs
Harry whose tuneful and well measur'd Song
When Faith and Love which parted from thee never,
Methought I saw my late espoused Saint
Avenge O lord thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones
When I consider how my light is spent,
Lawrence of vertuous Father vertuous Son,
Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench
Ah, how the Human Mind wearies herself
The Argument.
A Peasant to his lord yearly court,
Quis multa gracilis te puer in Rosa Rendred almost word for word without Rhyme according to the Latin Measure, as near as the Language permit.
It was the winter wild,
I
Know this, O King! that if thou shalt destroy
Lady! that in the prime of earliest youth
1Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa, is an Italian Nobleman of the highest estimation among his countrymen, for Genius, Literature,and military accomplishments. To Him Torquato Tasso addressed his "Dialogue on Friendship," for he was much the
My halting Muse, that dragg'st by choice along
Another Leonora1 once inspir'd
Naples, too credulous, ah! boast no more
Angelus unicuique suus (sic credite gentes)
Cyriack, this three years day these eys, though clear
Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song
An Ode on a Lost Volume of my Poems Which He Desired Me to Replace that He Might Add Them to My Other Works Deposited in the Library.
Oh that Pieria's spring1 would thro' my breast
Vane, young in yeares, but in sage counsell old,
Daughter to that good Earl, one President
Cromwell, our cheif of men, who through a cloud
Fair Lady, whose harmonious name the Rheno
As on a hill-top rude, when closing day
They mock my toil the nymphs and am'rous swains
Charles and I say it wond'ring thou must know
Lady! It cannot be, but that thine eyes
Enamour'd, artless, young, on foreign ground,
Ye flaming Powers, and winged Warriours bright,
Captain, or colonel, or knight in arms,