109 110 so weake my powres, so sore my wounds appeare, seeing my hart through launched everywhere in slaying him that would live gladly yours? E. SPENSER of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; but you shall shine more bright in these contents than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, and broils root out the work of masonry, nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn the living record of your memory. 'Gainst death and all oblivious enmity shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room that wear this world out to the ending doom. you live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. WHEN TIME AND LOVE W. SHAKESPEARE HEN I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate— W. SHAKESPEARE III I 12 113 WHEN REMEMBRANCE to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, for precious friends hid in death's dateless night, W W. SHAKESPEARE ON HIS OWN BLINDNESS HEN 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; that murmur, soon replies: 'God doth not need TO MR LAWRENCE J. MILTON AWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son, now that the fields are dank, and ways all 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 on smoother, till Favonius re-inspire the frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire the lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun. 114 What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, TO THE NIGHTINGALE J. MILTON NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray warblest at eve, when all the woods are still; thou with fresh hopes 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. Oh! if Jove's will have linked 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 hast 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. J. MILTON 115 THE POET'S HOUSE WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS IN TENDED TO THE CITY OF LONDON APTAIN or Colonel, or Knight in arms, CAPT whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, if deed of honour did thee ever please, guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee; for he knows the charms 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 the house of Pindarus, when temple and tower went to the ground: and the repeated air of sad Electra's poet had the pow'r to save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. J. MILTON 116 ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT AVER VENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, when all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, forget not: in thy book record their groans who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold slain by the bloody Piemontese, 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 o'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway the triple tyrant; that from these may grow a hundredfold, who, having learned thy way, early may fly the Babylonian woe. J. MILTON 117 ON THE DEATH OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 118 G IVE pardon, blessed soul, to my bold cries, if they, importunate, interrupt the song which now, with joyful notes, thou sing'st among the angel-choristers of heavenly skies. Give pardon eke, sweet soul, to my slow eyes, to thee as yet they did not sacrifice. I did not know that thou wert dead before, the greater stroke astonisheth the more; I stood amazed when others' tears begun, SONNET H. CONSTABLE S when it happeneth that some lovely town who both by sword and flame himself installs, her beauty spoiled, her citizens made thralls, that time, the world and death could bring combined, safe and all scarless yet remains my mind: W. DRUMMOND 119 PLEASURES OF RETIREMENT THRICE yous world doth live his own, 'HRICE happy he, who by some shady grove, though solitary, who is not alone, but doth converse with that eternal love. O how more sweet is birds' harmonious moan, W. DRUMMOND 120 SONNET OOK as the flow'r which lingeringly doth fade; the morning's darling late, the summer's Queen, spoil'd of that juice which kept it fresh and green, as high as it did raise, bows low the head; (right so the pleasures of my life being dead, or in their contraries but only seen) with swifter speed declines than erst it spread, and, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been: therefore, as doth the pilgrim, whom the night hastes darkly to imprison on his way, |