On the Morning of Christ's Nativity (1629)

1.

THIS is the Month, and this the happy morn

Wherin the Son of Heav'ns eternal King,

Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born,

Our great redemption from above did bring;

For so the holy sages once did sing,

That he our deadly forfeit should release,

And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

2.

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,

And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty,

Wherwith he wont at Heav'ns high Councel-Table,

To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,

He laid aside; and here with us to be,

Forsook the Courts of everlasting Day,

And chose with us a darksom House of mortal Clay.

3.

Say Heav'nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein

Afford a present to the Infant God?

Hast thou no vers, no hymn, or solemn strein,

To welcom him to this his new abode,

Now while the Heav'n by the Suns team untrod,

Hath took no print of the approching light,

And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

4.

See how from far upon the Eastern rode

The Star-led Wisards haste with odours sweet,

O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,

And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;

Have thou the honour first, thy Lord to greet,

And joyn thy voice unto the Angel Quire,

From out his secret Altar toucht with hallow'd fire.

The Hymn

I

It was the Winter wilde,

While the Heav'n-born-childe,

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;

Nature in aw to him

Had doff't her gawdy trim,

With her great Master so to sympathize:

It was no season then for her

To wanton with the Sun her lusty Paramour.

II

Only with speeches fair

She woo's the gentle Air

To hide her guilty front with innocent Snow,

And on her naked shame,

Pollute with sinfull blame,

The Saintly Vail of Maiden white to throw,

Confounded, that her Makers eyes

Should look so neer upon her foul deformities.

III

But he her fears to cease,

Sent down the meek-eyd Peace,

She crown'd with Olive green, came softly sliding

Down through the turning sphear

His ready Harbinger,

With Turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing,

And waving wide her mirtle wand,

She strikes a universall Peace through Sea and Land.

IV

No War, or Battails sound

Was heard the World around,

The idle spear and shield were high up hung;

The hooked Chariot stood

Unstain'd with hostile blood,

The Trumpet spake not to the armed throng,

And Kings sate still with awfull eye,

As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.

V

But peacefull was the night

Wherin the Prince of light

His raign of peace upon the earth began:

The Windes with wonder whist,

Smoothly the waters kist,

Whispering new joyes the milde Ocean,

Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

While Birds of Calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

VI

The Stars with deep amaze

Stand fixt in stedfast gaze,

Bending one way their pretious influence,

And will not take their flight,

For all the morning light,

Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence;

But in their glimmering Orbs did glow,

Untill their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

VII

And though the shady gloom

Had given day her room,

The Sun himself with-held his wonted speed,

And hid his head for shame,

As his inferiour flame,

The new enlightn'd world no more should need;

He saw a greater Sun appear

Then his bright Throne, or burning Axletree could bear.

VIII

The Shepherds on the Lawn,

Or ere the point of dawn,

Sate simply chatting in a rustick row;

Full little thought they than,

That the mighty Pan

Was kindly com to live with them below;

Perhaps their loves, or els their sheep,

Was all that did their silly thoughts so busie keep.

IX

When such musick sweet

Their hearts and ears did greet,

As never was by mortall finger strook,

Divinely-warbled voice

Answering the stringè.d noise,

As all their souls in blisfull rapture took:

The Air such pleasure loth to lose,

With thousand echo's still prolongs each heav'nly close.

X

Nature that heard such sound

Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia's seat, the Airy region thrilling,

Now was almost won

To think her part was don,

And that her raign had here its last fulfilling;

She knew such harmony alone

Could hold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union.

XI

At last surrounds their sight

A Globe of circular light,

That with long beams the shame-fac't night array'd,

The helmè.d Cherubim

And sworded Seraphim,

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaid,

Harping in loud and solemn quire,

With unexpressive notes to Heav'ns new-born Heir.

XII

Such Musick (as 'tis said)

Before was never made,

But when of old the sons of morning sung,

While the Creator Great

His constellations set,

And the well-ballanc't world on hinges hung,

And cast the dark foundations deep,

And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep.

XIII

Ring out ye Crystall sphears,

Once bless our human ears,

(If ye have power to touch our senses so)

And let your silver chime

Move in melodious time;

And let the Base of Heav'ns deep Organ blow,

And with your ninefold harmony

Make up full consort to th' Angelike symphony.

XIV

For if such holy Song

Enwrap our fancy long,

Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold,

And speckl'd vanity

Will sicken soon and die,

And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould,

And Hell it self will pass away,

And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.

XV

Yea Truth, and Justice then

Will down return to men,

Th' enameld Arras of the Rain-bow wearing,

And Mercy set between,

Thron'd in Celestiall sheen,

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing,

And Heav'n as at som festivall,

Will open wide the Gates of her high Palace Hall.

XVI

But wisest Fate sayes no,

This must not yet be so,

The Babe lies yet in smiling Infancy,

That on the bitter cross

Must redeem our loss;

So both himself and us to glorifie:

Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep,

The wakefull trump of doom must thunder through the deep,

XVII

With such a horrid clang

As on mount Sinai rang

While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out brake:

The aged Earth agast

With terrour of that blast,

Shall from the surface to the center shake,

When at the worlds last session,

The dreadfull Judge in middle Air shall spread his throne.

XVIII

And then at last our bliss

Full and perfect is,

But now begins; for from this happy day

Th' old Dragon under ground

In straiter limits bound,

Not half so far casts his usurped sway,

And wrath to see his Kingdom fail,

Swindges the scaly Horrour of his foulded tail.

XIX

The Oracles are dumm,

No voice or hideous humm

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.

Apollo from his shrine

Can no more divine,

With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos leaving.

No nightly trance, or breathed spell,

Inspire's the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell.

XX

The lonely mountains o're,

And the resounding shore,

A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;

From haunted spring, and dale

Edg'd with poplar pale,

The parting Genius is with sighing sent,

With flowre-inwov'n tresses torn

The Nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

XXI

In consecrated Earth,

And on the holy Hearth,

The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight plaint,

In Urns, and Altars round,

A drear, and dying sound

Affrights the Flamins at their service quaint;

And the chill Marble seems to sweat,

While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.

XXII

Peor, and Baalim,

Forsake their Temples dim,

With that twise-batter'd god of Palestine,

And moonè.d Ashtaroth,

Heav'ns Queen and Mother both,

Now sits not girt with Tapers holy shine,

The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,

In vain the Tyrian Maids their wounded Thamuz mourn.

XXIII

And sullen Moloch fled,

Hath left in shadows dred,

His burning Idol all of blackest hue,

In vain with Cymbals ring,

They call the grisly king,

In dismall dance about the furnace blue;

The brutish gods of Nile as fast,

Isis and Orus, and the Dog Anubis hast.

XXIV

Nor is Osiris seen

In Memphian Grove, or Green,

Trampling the unshowr'd Grasse with lowings loud:

Nor can he be at rest

Within his sacred chest,

Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud,

In vain with Timbrel'd Anthems dark

The sable-stolè.d Sorcerers bear his worshipt Ark.

XXV

He feels from Juda's Land

The dredded Infants hand,

The rayes of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;

Nor all the gods beside,

Longer dare abide,

Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:

Our Babe to shew his Godhead true,

Can in his swadling bands controul the damned crew.

XXVI

So when the Sun in bed,

Curtain'd with cloudy red,

Pillows his chin upon an Orient wave,

The flocking shadows pale,

Troop to th' infernall jail,

Each fetter'd Ghost slips to his severall grave,

And the yellow-skirted Fayes,

Fly after the Night-steeds, leaving their Moon-lov'd maze.

XXVII

But see the Virgin blest,

Hath laid her Babe to rest.

Time is our tedious Song should here have ending,

Heav'ns youngest teemed Star,

Hath fixt her polisht Car,

Her sleeping Lord with Handmaid Lamp attending:

And all about the Courtly Stable,

Bright-harnest Angels sit in order serviceable.

John Milton

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

My true account, lest he returning chide,-

Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?

I fondly ask:-But Patience, to prevent

That murmer, 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.

John Milton

Methought I Saw My
Late Espoused Saint

METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused Saint

Brought to me like Alcestus from the grave,

Who Jove's great Son to her glad Husband gave,

Rescu'd from death by force though pale and faint.

Mine as whom washt 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 enclin'd

I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.

John Milton

At A Solemn Music

BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,

Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse,

Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ

Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,

And to our high-rais'd fantasy present

That undisturbed Song of pure concent,

Ay sung before that saphire-colour'd throne

To Him that sits thereon

With Saintly shout and solemn Jubilee,

Where the bright Seraphim in burning row

Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow,

And the Cherubic host in thousand choirs

Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires,

With those just Spirits that wear victorious Palms,

Hymns devout and holy Psalms

Singing everlastingly;

That we on Earth with undiscording voice

May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did, till disproportion'd sin

Jarr'd against Nature's chime, and with harsh din

Broke the fair music that all creatures made

To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd

In first obedience, and their state of good.

And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long

To His celestial consort us unite,

To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light.

John Milton

On the New Forcers of Conscience
Under the Long Parliament

BECAUSE you have thrown off your Prelate Lord,

And with stiff vows renounc'd his Liturgy,

To seize the widowed whore Plurality

From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorred,

Dare you for this adjure the civil sword

To force our consciences that Christ set free,

And ride us with a Classic Hierarchy,

Taught ye by mere A.S. and Rutherford?

Men whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent,

Would have been held in high esteem with Paul

Must now be named and printed heretics

By shallow Edwards and Scotch What-d'ye-call.

But we do hope to find out all your tricks,

Your plots and packing, worse than those of Trent,

                     That so the Parliament

May with their wholesome and preventative shears

Clip your phylacteries, though baulk your ears,

                     And succor our just fears,

When they shall read this clearly in your charge:

New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large.

John Milton
[1647]

Song. On May Morning

NOW the bright morning Star, Day's harbinger,

Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her

The Flowery May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.

  Hail bounteous May that dost inspire

  Mirth and youth, and warm desire,

  Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,

  Hill and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.

Thus we salute thee with our early Song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

John Milton

"O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray"

O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy Spray,

  Warbl'st at eve, when all the Woods are still

  Thou with fresh hope the Lover's heart dost fill,

  While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,

  First heard before the shallow Cuckoo's bill

  Portend success in love; O if Jove's will

  Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,

Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate

  Foretell my hopeless doom in some Grove nigh:

  As thou from year to year hath sung too late

For my relief; yet hadst no reason why,

  Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate,

  Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

John Milton

On Time

FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,

Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,

Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets' pace;

And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,

Which is no more than what is false and vain,

And merely mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So little is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd,

And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd,

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual* kiss;          [everlasting]

And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,

When every thing that is sincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine

About the supreme Throne

Of Him, t'whose happy-making sight alone,

When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall climb,

Then all this earthly grossness quit,

Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit,

  Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.

John Milton