ON HIS BLINDNESS. WHEN I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide; Doth God exact day labor, light deny'd, I fondly ask? but patience to prevent That murmur soon replies, God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait. ON HIS DECEASED WIFE. METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, Rescued from death by force though pale and faint. Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint, Purification in the old law did save, And such, as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in Heav'n, without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind: Her face was veil'd, yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd So clear, as in no face with more delight. But O, as to embrace me she inclin'd, I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night. HYMN ON THE NATIVITY, IT was the winter wild, While the heaven-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger Nature, in awe of him, With her great Master so to sympa.. thize: No war or battle's sound Was heard the world around: The stars, with deep amaze, Bending one way their precious influ ence; And will not take their flight, Or Lucifer had often warn'd them But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. And, though the shady gloom The sun himself withheld his wonted And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd 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; The idle spear and shield were high Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, up hung; The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sov'reign lord was by. But peaceful was the night, His reign of peace upon the earth The winds, with wonder whist, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. 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 loathe to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs cach heavenly close. Nature, that heard such sound, Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region 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-fac'd The helmed cherubim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings Harping in loud and solemn choir, With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born heir. Such music, as 'tis said, But when of old the sons of morning While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let the bass of Heaven's deep organ blow; And, with your ninefold harmony, Make up full concert to the angelic symphony. For, if such holy song Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold; And speckled Vanity And leprous Sin will melt from earthly 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, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Thron'd 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. But wisest Fate says no, The babe yet lies in smiling infancy, That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss, So both himself and us to glorify: With such a horrid clang While the red fire and smould'ring The aged earth aghast, With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake; When, at the world's last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. And then at last our bliss, But now begins: for, from this happy The old dragon, underground, Not half so far casts his usurped sway; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. The oracles are dumb; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o'er, A voice of weeping heard and loud From haunted spring and dale, The parting Genius is with sighing With flower-inwoven tresses torn, The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, The Lars and Lemurs mourn with midnight plaint. In urns and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim With that twice-battered god of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Libyac Hammon shrinks his horn; In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue: In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue: The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud; Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest, Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipp'd ark. He feels from Judah's land The dreaded infant's hand, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyne; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. So, when the sun in bed, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale, Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here Heaven's youngest-teemed star Her sleeping Lord with handmaid And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable. BEFORE THE STARRY THRESHOLD OF JOVE'S COURT. BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove's court, My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Hid them in some flowery cave, Tell me but where, Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere! So may'st thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all Heaven's harmonies. THE SPIRIT'S EPILOGUE. And those happy climes that lie Of Hesperus, and his daughters three, But now my task is smoothly done, |