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MILTON

Address to Light.

HAIL holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born,
Or of th' Eternal co-eternal beam

May I express thee unblamed? since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light
Dwelt from Eternity, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hearst thou rather, pure ethereal stream,
Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the sun,
Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God as with a mantle didst invest

The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.
Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing,
Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight

Through utter and through middle darkness borne,
With other notes than to th' Orphean lyre
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night,

Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to re-ascend,
Though hard and rare: thee I re-visit safe,
And feel thy sovran vital lamp; but thou
Revisitst not these eyes, that roll in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs,

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Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt,
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath
That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget
Those other two equalled with me in fate,
So were I equalled with them in renown,
Blind Thamyris and blind Moonides,
And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old:
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with a universal blank

Of Nature's works to me expunged and rased,
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
So much the rather, thou, celestial light,

Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers
Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.

MILTON.

THOMSON.

Spring Showers.

THE north-east spends his rage; he now shut up
Within his iron cave, th' effusive south

Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of heaven
Breathes the big clouds with vernal showers distent.
At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise,
Scarce staining ether, but by swift degrees,
In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sails
Along the loaded sky, and mingled deep
Sits on th' horizon round a settled gloom :
Not such as wintry-storms on mortals shed,
Oppressing life; but lovely, gentle, kind,
And full of every hope, and every joy,

The wish of Nature. Gradual sinks the breeze
Into a perfect calm, that not a breath

Is heard to quiver through the closing woods,
Or rustling turn the many twinkling leaves
Of
aspen tall. Th'uncurling floods, diffused
In glassy breadth, seem, through delusive lapse,
Forgetful of their course. "T is silence all,
And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks
Drop the dry sprig, and mute imploring, eye
The falling verdure. Hushed in short suspense
The plumy people streak their wings with oil,
To throw the lucid moisture trickling off,
And wait th' approaching sign to strike at once

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Into the general choir. E'en mountains, vales,
And forests, seem impatient to demand
The promised sweetness. Man superior walks
Amid the glad creation, musing praise,
And looking lively gratitude. At last
The clouds consign their treasures to the fields,
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow
In large effusion o'er the freshened world.
The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard
By such as wander through the forest walks,
Beneath th' umbrageous multitude of leaves.
But who can hold the shade, while Heaven descends

In universal bounty, shedding herbs,

And fruits, and flowers on Nature's ample lap?
Swift Fancy fired anticipates their growth,
And, while the milky nutritive distils,
Beholds the kindling country colour round.

Thus all day long the full-distended clouds Indulge their genial stores, and well-showered earth Is deep enriched with vegetable life,

Till in the western sky the downward sun
Looks out, effulgent, from amidst the flush

Of broken clouds gay-shifting to his beam.
The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes

The illumined mountain, through the forest streams,
Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist,

Far smoking o'er the interminable plain,
In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems.
Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around.
Full swell the woods; their every music wakes,

THOMSON.

Mixed in wild concert, with the warbling brooks
Increased, the distant bleatings of the hills,
And hollow lows responsive from the vales,
Whence blending all, the sweetened zephyr springs.
Meantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud,
Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow
Shoots up immense, and every hue unfolds,
In fair proportion running from the red,
To where the violet fades into the sky.

Elegy,

TO THE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY.

225

THOMSON.

The lady here celebrated, is said to have been a woman of eminent rank and large fortune. She was under the guardianship of an uncle, who, upon discovering her attachment to a young gentleman of inferior fortune, sent her abroad, to break off the correspondence. Her lover, however, took care to repeat his vows; but his letters were intercepted, and carried to her guardian, who directed her to be watched with still greater vigilance; till of this restraint she grew so impatient, that she bribed a servant to procure her a sword, which she directed to her heart.

What beckoning Ghost, along the moonlight shade,
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?
'T is she!—but why that bleeding bosom gored,
Why dimly gleams the visionary sword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it, in heaven, a crime to love too well?

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