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In all the earth, but it abounds in thee.
The virgin multitude that daily meets,
Radiant with gold and beauty, in thy streets,
Outnumbers all her train of starry fires
With which Diana gilds thy lofty spires.
Fame says that, wafted hither by her doves,
With all her host of quiver-bearing loves,
Venus, preferring Paphian scenes no more,
Has fix'd her empire on thy nobler shore.
But, lest the sightless boy enforce my stay,
I leave these happy walls while yet


may. Immortal Moly shall fecure my heart From all the forcery of Circæan art, And I will e'en repass Cam's reedy pools To face once more the warfare of the schools. Meantime accept this trifle! rhymes though few, Yet such as prove thy friend's remembrance true!





HEE, whose refulgent staff and summons clear

[obey, Minerva's flock long time was wont to Although thyself a herald, famous here, The last of heralds, Death, has snatch'd away.

. He calls on all alike, nor even deigns To spare the office that himself sustains.

Thy locks were whiter than the plumes display'd

By Leda's paramour in ancient time;
But thou wast worthy ne'er to have decay’d,

Or, Æfon-like, to know a second prime. Worthy, for whom some goddess should have won New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's son.

Commission’d to convene with hasty call
The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou

So stood Cyllenius erst in Priam's hall,

Wing-footed messenger of Jove's command! And so Eurybates, when he address’d To Peleus' son, Atrides' proud behest.


queen of sepulchres! whose rigorous laws And watchful eyes run through therealms below, Oh, oft too adverse to Minerva's cause !

Too often to the Muse not less a foe! Choose meaner marks, and with more equal aim Pierce useless drones, earth's burthen, and its



All ye

Flow, therefore, tears for him from every eye;

ye disciples of the Muses, weep! Assembling all in robes of fable dye,

Around his bier lament his endless sleep!
And let complaining Elegy rehearse
In every school her sweetest, saddest verse.





Composed by Milton in the 17th Year of his Age.

ILENT I fat, dejected, and alone,
Making in thought the public woes my

When first arose the image in my breast
Of England's suffering by that scourge, the Pest!
How Death, his funeral torch and scythe in hand,
Entering the lordliest mansions of the land,
Has laid the gem-illumined palace low,
And level'd tribes of nobles at a blow.
I next deplored the famed paternal pair,
Too soon to ashes turn'd and empty air !
The heroes next, whom snatch'd into the skies
All Belgia saw, and follow'd with her sighs ;
But thee far most I mourn'd, regretted most,
Winton's chief shepherd, and her worthiest boast!
Pour'd out in tears I thus complaining said !
“Death, next in power to him who rules the dead!
Is't not enough that all the woodlands yield
To thy fell force, and every verdant field;
That lilies, at one noisome blast of thine,
And e’en the Cyprian queen's own roses pine;
That oaks themselves, although the running rill
Suckle their roots, must wither at thy will;

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That all the winged nations, even those
Whose heaven-directed fight the future shows,
And all the beasts that in dark forests stray,
And all the herds of Proteus are thy prey.
Ah envious ! arm’d with powers so unconfined ! !
Why stain thy hands with blood of human kind?
Why take delight, with darts that never roam,
To chase a heaven-born spirit from her home?”

While thus I mourn'd, the star of evening stood,
Now newly risen above the western flood,
And Phæbus from his morning goal again
Had reach'd the gulfs of the Iberian main.
I wish'd repose, and, on my couch reclined,
Took early rest, to night and sleep resign'd :
When-Oh for words to paint what I beheld !
I seem'd to wander in a spacious field,
Where all the champaign glow'd with purple light,
Like that of sun-rise on the mountain height;
Flowers over all the field, of every hue
That ever Iris wore, luxuriant grew.
Nor Chloris, with whom amorous zephyrs play,
E’er dress’d Alcinous' garden half so gay.
A silver current, like the Tagus, rolld
O’er golden sands, but sands of purer gold;
With dewy airs Favonius fann'd the flowers,
With airs awaken’d under rosy bowers.
Such, poets feign, irradiate all o’er
The sun's abode on India's utmost shore.

. While I that splendour, and the mingled shade Of fruitful vines, with wonder fix'd survey'd, At once, with looks that beam'd celestial

grace, The seer of Winton stood before my face.

His snowy vesture's hem descending low
His golden sandals swept, and pure as snow
New fallen shone the mitre on his brow.
Where'er he trod, a tremulous sweet sound
Of gladness shook the flowery scene around:
Attendant angels clap their starry wings,
The trumpet shakes the sky, all ether rings;
Each chants his welcome, folds him to his breast,
And thus a sweeter voice than all the rest :

Ascend, my son! thy father's kingdom share! My son! henceforth be freed from every care ! ”

So spake the voice, and at its tender close With psaltery's found the angelic band arose; Then night retired, and, chased by dawning day, The visionary bliss pass’d all away. I mourn'd

my banish'd sleep with fond concern; Frequent to me may dreams like this return!



Chaplain to the English Factory at Hamburgh.

Written in the Author's Eighteenth Year.

ENCE, my epistle—skim the deep-fly

o'er Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonic

Thore ! Haste-left a friend should grieve for thy delay,

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