Minor Poems by Milton Part 8

ON HIS HAVING ARRIVED AT THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE.

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!

My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth 5 That I to manhood am arrived so near; And inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.

Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure even 10 To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven.

All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.

VIII.

WHEN THE a.s.sAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY.

Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If deed of honor did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms.

He can requite thee; for he knows the charms 5 That call fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.

Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 10 The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground; and the repeated air Of sad Electra's poet had the power To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.

IX.

TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY.

Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth Wisely hast shunned the broad way and the green, And with those few art eminently seen That labor up the hill of heavenly Truth, The better part with Mary and with Ruth 5 Chosen thou hast; and they that overween, And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen, No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.

Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, 10 And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastful friends Pa.s.ses to bliss at the mid-hour of night, Hast gained thy entrance, Virgin wise, and pure.

X.

TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY.

Daughter to that good Earl, once President Of England's Council and her Treasury, Who lived in both unstained with gold or fee, And left them both, more in himself content, Till the sad breaking of that Parliament 5 Broke him, as that dishonest victory At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty, Killed with report that old man eloquent, Though later born than to have known the days Wherein your father flourished, yet by you, 10 Madam, methinks I see him living yet: So well your words his n.o.ble virtues praise That all both judge you to relate them true And to possess them, honored Margaret.

XIII.

TO MR. H. LAWES ON HIS AIRS.

Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song First taught our English music how to span Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas' ears, committing short and long, Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, 5 With praise enough for Envy to look wan; To after age thou shalt be writ the man That with smooth air couldst humor best our tongue.

Thou honor'st Verse, and Verse must send her wing To honor thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire, 10 That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or story.

Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing, Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.

XV.

ON THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX, AT THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER.

Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings, Filling each mouth with envy or with praise, And all her jealous monarchs with amaze, And rumors loud that daunt remotest kings, Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings 5 Victory home, though new rebellions raise Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays Her broken league to imp their serpent wings.

O yet a n.o.bler task awaits thy hand (For what can war but endless war still breed?) 10 Till truth and right from violence be freed, And public faith cleared from the shameful brand Of public fraud. In vain doth Valor bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the land.

XVI.

TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL, MAY, 1652,

ON THE PROPOSALS OF CERTAIN MINISTERS AT THE COMMITTEE FOR PROPAGATION OF THE GOSPEL.

Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fort.i.tude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud 5 Hast reared G.o.d's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureate wreath: yet much remains To conquer still; Peace hath her victories 10 No less renowned than War: new foes arise, Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains.

Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their maw.

XVII.

TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER.

Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old, Than whom a better senator ne'er held The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled The fierce Epirot and the African bold, Whether to settle peace, or to unfold 5 The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled; Then to advise how war may best, upheld, Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold, In all her equipage; besides, to know Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, 10 What severs each, thou hast learned, which few have done.

The bounds of either sword to thee we owe: Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

XVIII.

ON THE LATE Ma.s.sACRE IN PIEDMONT.

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers wors.h.i.+ped stocks and stones, Forget not: in thy book record their groans 5 Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the b.l.o.o.d.y Piedmontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow 10 O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

XIX.

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 Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present 5 My true account, lest He returning chide, "Doth G.o.d exact day-labor, light denied?"

I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, "G.o.d doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best 10 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."

XX.

TO MR. LAWRENCE.

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining? Time will run 5 On smoother, till Favonius reinspire The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise 10 To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?

He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

XXI.

TO CYRIACK SKINNER.

Cyriack, whose grandsire on the royal bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause, p.r.o.nounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws, Which others at their bar so often wrench, To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 5 In mirth that after no repenting draws; Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, And what the Swede intend, and what the French.

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; 10 For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when G.o.d sends a cheerful hour, refrains.