ON HIS BLINDNESS

WHEN I consider how my light is spent

WH

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,

And that one talent which is death to hide

Lodged 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-labour, light denied?"
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."

IT

T is not so wretched to be blind, as it is not to be capable of enduring blindness. But why should I not endure a misfortune which it behoves every one to be prepared to endure if it should happen. . . .

But since my enemies boast that this affliction is only a retribution for the transgression of my pen, I again invoke the Almighty to witness, that I never, at any time, wrote anything which I did not think agreeable to truth, to justice, and to piety.

Nor was I ever prompted to such exertions by the influence of ambition, by the lust of lucre or of praise; it was only by the conviction of duty and the feeling of patriotism, a disinterested passion for the extension of civil and religious liberty.

I would not have listened to the voice even of Esculapius himself from the shrine of Epidauris, in preference to the suggestions of the heavenly monitor within my breast; my resolution was unshaken, though the alternative was either the loss of my sight, or the desertion of my duty.

I considered that many had purchased a less good by a greater evil, the meed of glory by the loss of life; but that I might procure great good by little suffering; that though I am blind, I might still discharge the most honourable duties, the performance of which, as it is something more durable than glory, ought to be an object of superior admiration and esteem; I resolved, therefore, to make the short interval of sight, which was left me to enjoy, as beneficial as possible to the public interest.

THE SECOND DEFENCE OF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND

TO CYRIACK SKINNER

(XXII)

'YRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though

CYR

clear,

To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth right appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Or heart or hope, but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied
In Liberty's defence, my noble task,

Of which all Europe talks from side to side.

This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask

Content, though blind, had I no better guide.

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 Heaven 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 shined
So clear as in no face with more delight.
But, oh as to embrace me she inclined,

I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.

THE winged Saint

After his charge received;

where he stood

Veil'd with his gorgeous wings, up springing light,
Flew through the midst of Heaven; the angelic
quires,

On each hand parting, to his speed gave way
Through all the empyreal road, till, at the gate
Of Heaven arrived, the gate self-open'd wide,
On golden hinges turning, as by work
Divine the sovran Architect had framed.
From hence, no cloud or, to obstruct his sight,
Star interposed, however small he sees,

Not unconform to other shining globes,

Earth, and the Garden of God, with cedars crown'd
Above all hills. As when by night the glass

Of Galileo, less assured, observes
Imagined lands and regions in the moon;
Or pilot from amidst the Cyclades

Delos or Samos first appearing kens

A cloudy spot. Down thither prone in flight
He speeds, and through the vast ethereal sky
Sails between worlds and worlds, with steady wing
Now on the polar winds; then with quick fan
Winnows the buxom air, till, within soar
Of towering eagles, to all the fowls he seems.
A phoenix, gazed by all, as that sole bird,
When, to enshrine his reliques in the Sun's
Bright temple, to Egyptian Thebes he flies.

PARADISE LOSt, Book V.