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.'
'Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine. Following, above the Olympian hill I soar, Above the flight of Pegasean wing!
The meaning, not the name, I call; for thou Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top Of old Olympus dwell'st; but, heavenly-born, Before the hills appeared or fountain flowed, Thou with Eternal Wisdom didst converse, Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased With thy celestial song. Up led by thee, Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed, An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air, Thy tempering. With like safety guided down, Return me to my native element; Lest, from this flying steed unreined (as once Bellerophon, though from a lower clime)
Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall,
Erroneous there to wander and forlorn. Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound Within the visible Diurnal Sphere.
Standing on Earth, not rapt above the pole, More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days, On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues, In darkness, and with dangers compassed round, And solitude; yet not alone, while thou Visit'st my slumbers nightly, or when Morn Purples the East. Still govern thou my song, Urania, and fit audience find, though few. But drive far off the barbarous dissonance Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race
Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend Her son. So fail not thou who thee implores; For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream.'
- Paradise Lost, Book vii. 1-39.
'No more of talk where God or Angel Guest With Man, as with his friend, familiar used To sit indulgent, and with him partake Rural repast, permitting him the while Venial discourse unblamed.
Those notes to tragic— foul distrust, and breach
Disloyal, on the part of man, revolt
And disobedience; on the part of Heaven,
Now alienated, distance and distaste,
Anger and just rebuke, and judgment given,
That brought into this World a world of woe, Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery, Death's harbinger. Sad task! yet argument Not less but more heroic than the wrath Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage Of Turnus for Lavinia disespoused; Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son; If answerable style I can obtain
Of my celestial Patroness, who deigns Her nightly visitation unimplored,
And dictates to me slumbering, or inspires Easy my unpremeditated verse,
Since first this subject for heroic song
Pleased me, long choosing and beginning late,
Not sedulous by nature to indite
Wars, hitherto the only argument
Heroic deemed, chief mastery to dissect With long and tedious havoc fabled knights In battles feigned (the better fortitude Of patience and heroic martyrdom Unsung), or to describe races and games, Or tilting furniture, emblazoned shields, Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds, Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights
At joust and tournament; then marshalled feast Served up in hall with sewers and seneshals:
The skill of artifice or office mean;
Not that which justly gives heroic name To person or to poem! Me, of these
Nor skilled nor studious, higher argument Remains, sufficient of itself to raise
That name, unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years, damp my intended wing Depressed; and much they may if all be mine, Not hers who brings it nightly to my ear.'
The following verses addressed to the seraph Abdiel, Milton, at the time he wrote them, might justly have taken to himself:
'Servant of God, well done! Well hast thou fought The better fight, who single hast maintained
Against revolted multitudes the cause
Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms, And for the testimony of truth hast borne Universal reproach, far worse to bear Than violence; for this was all thy care.
To stand approved in sight of God, though worlds Judged thee perverse.'
- Paradise Lost, Book vi. 29–37.
Milton regarded himself as an Abdiel (i.e. as the name signifies in Hebrew, Servant of God), in the past struggle for civil and religious liberty; like Abdiel,
Among innumerable false, unmoved, Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified,
His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal;
Nor number nor example with him wrought
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind,
- Paradise Lost, Book v. 898-903. `
The following, from 'Paradise Regained,' Book i. 196-208, Milton might have written of himself:
'Oh, what a multitude of thoughts at once Awakened in me swarm, while I consider What from within I feel myself, and hear What from without comes often to my ears, Ill sorting with my present state compared! When I was yet a child, no childish play To me was pleasing; all my mind was set Serious to learn and know, and thence to do, What might be public good; myself I thought Born to that end, born to promote all truth, All righteous things. Therefore, above my years, The Law of God I read, and found it sweet;
Made it my whole delight.'
The following letter reveals the difficulties under which Milton, in his blindness, was, at times, obliged to write.
To the very distinguished Peter Heimbach, Councillor to the Elector of Brandenburg. (Familiar Letters, No. XXXI.)
Small wonder if, in the midst of so many deaths of my countrymen, in a year of such heavy pestilence, you believed, as you write you did, on the faith of some special rumour, that I also had been cut off. Such a rumour among your people is not displeasing, if it was the occasion of making known the fact that they were anxious for my safety, for then I can regard it as a sign of their good will to me. But, by the blessing of God, who had provided for my safety in a country retreat, I am still both alive and well, nor useless yet, I hope, for any duty that remains to be performed by me in this life. That after so long an interval I should have come into your mind is very agreeable; although, from your exuberant expression of the matter, you seem to afford some ground for sus
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