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Of true experience from this great event,
With peace and consolation hath dismissed,
And calm of mind all passion spent.1

1 On the conclusion of this tragedy, Dr. Johnson has the following remarks:-"While Samson is conducted off by the messenger, his father returns with hopes of success in his solicitation; upon which he confers with the chorus till their dialogue is interrupted, first by a shout, and afterwards by screams of horror and agony. As they stand deliberating where they shall be secure, a man who had been present at the show enters, and relates how Samson, having prevailed on his guide to suffer him to lean against the main pillars of the theatrical edifice, tore down the roof upon the spectators and himself. This is undoubtedly a just and regular catastrophe, and the poem therefore has a beginning and an end which Aristotle himself could not have disapproved; but it must be allowed to want a middle, since nothing passes between the first act and the last, that either hastens or delays the death of Samson. The whole drama, if its superfluities were cut off, would scarcely fill a single act; yet this is the tragedy, which ignorance has admired, and bigotry applauded."—Rambler, No. 139.

END OF SAMSUN AGONISTES,

Poems on Several Occasions.

"Baccare frontem

Cingite, ne vati noceat mala lingua futuro.

VIRGIL, Eclog. 7.

I.

ANNO ÆTATIS XVII.

ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT DYING OF A COUGH.

I.

O fairest flower! no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken primrose fading timelessly,

Summer's chief honour, if thou hadst out-lasted
Bleak Winter's force that made thy blossom dry;
For he being amorous on that lovely dye

That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss,
But killed, alas! and then bewailed his fatal bliss.

II.

For since grim Aquilo, his charioteer,

By boisterous rape the Athenian damsel2 got,
He thought it touched his deity full near,
If likewise he some fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away the infamous blot

Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,3
Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held.

III.

So mounting up in icy-pearléd car,

Through middle empire of the freezing air

He wandered long, till thee he spied from far;

1 The daughter, and probably the first child, of the poet's sister. 2 Orithyia, daughter of Erectheus, king of Athens, was drowned while crossing the Ilissus in a high wind: hence the fable that she was carried off by Boreas or Aquilo. 8 Old age.

There ended was his quest, there ceased his care.
Down he descended from his snow-soft chair,

But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace Unhoused thy virgin soul from her fair biding place.1

2

IV.

Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand,
Whilome did slay his dearly-lovéd mate,
Young Hyacinth, born on Eurotas' strand,
Young Hyacinth, the pride of Spartan land;

But then transformed him to a purple flower:
Alack! that so to change thee Winter had no power.

V.

Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead,
Or that thy corse corrupts in earth's dark womb,
Or that thy beauties lie in wormy bed,

Hid from the world in a low-delvéd tomb;
Could Heaven for pity thee so strictly doom?
Oh, no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortality, that showed thou wast divine.

VI.

Resolve me then, O soul most surely blest!
(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear);
Tell me, bright spirit, where'er thou hoverest,
Whether above that high first-moving sphere,
Or in the Elysian fields (if such there were);
Oh, say me true, if thou wert mortal wight,
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight?

VII.

Wert thou some star which from the ruined roof
Of shaked Olympus by mischance didst3 fall;
Which careful Jove in nature's true behoof
Took up, and in fit place did reinstal ?

Or did of late earth's sons besiege the wall

Of sheeny Heaven, and thou some goddess fled Amongst us here below to hide thy nectared head?

VIII.

Or wert thou that just maid who once before
Forsook the hated earth, oh, tell me sooth!

The legend of the Erl King will probably suggest itself to many readers as a parallel to this graceful fiction of Milton's.

2 While playing at quoits.

3 Rather, "did fall."

4" Nectared" here seems equivalent to "divine." 5 Astræa, the goddess of justice.

And cam'st again to visit us once more?
Or wert thou that sweet smiling youth?1
Or that crowned matron sage, white-robéd Truth?
Or any other of that heavenly brood

Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some good?

IX.

Or wert thou of the golden-wingéd host,
Who, having clad thyself in human weed,
To earth from thy prefixéd seat didst post,
And after short abode fly back with speed,
As if to show what creatures Heaven doth breed,
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire,

To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heaven aspire?

X.

But oh! why didst thou not stay here below
To bless us with thy Heaven-loved innocence,
To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe,
To turn swift-rushing black perdition hence,
Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence,2

To stand 'twixt us and our deservéd smart?
But thou canst best perform that office where thou art

XI.

Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child,
Her false imagined loss cease to lament,
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;
Think what a present thou to God hast sent,
And render him with patience what he lent;

This if thou do, he will an offspring give,

That till the world's last end shall make thy name to live

II.

ANNO ÆTATIS XIX.

[At a vacation exercise in the College, part Latin, part English. The Latin speeches ended, the English thus began.]

HAIL, native language! that by sinews weak
Didst move my first endeavouring tongue to speak,

1 Two syllables are wanting to complete this line. It is probable that "Mercy" is the youth implied, and that we should read,

Jortin proposes

"Or wert thou Mercy, that," &c.
"Hebe."

2 About the time when this poem was written (i. e. 1625) a great "plague raged in London. Milton was at this time only in his 17th year.

And mad'st imperfect words with childish trips,
Half unpronounced, slide through my infant lips,
Driving dumb silence from the portal door,
Where he had mutely sat two years before:
Here I salute thee, and thy pardon ask,
That now I use thee in my latter task:

Small loss it is that thence can come unto thee,
I know my tongue but little grace can do thee:
Thou need'st not be ambitious to be first,
Believe me I have thither packed the worst;
And, if it happen as I did forecast,

The daintiest dishes shall be served up last.
I pray thee then deny me not thy aid

For this same small neglect that I have made;
But haste thee straight to do me once a pleasure,
And from thy wardrobe bring thy chiefest treasure,
Not those new-fangled toys and trimming slight
Which takes our late fantastics with delight,
But cull those richest robes and gay'st attire
Which deepest spirits and choicest wits desire:
I have some naked thoughts that rove about,
And loudly knock to have their passage out;
And, weary of their place, do only stay
Till thou hast decked them in thy best array,
That so they may, without suspect or fears,
Fly swiftly to this fair assembly's ears;
Yet I had rather, if I were to choose,
Thy service in some graver subject use,1

Such as may make thee search thy coffers round,
Before thou clothe my fancy in fit sound:
Such where the deep transported mind may soar
Above the wheeling poles, and at Heaven's door
Look in, and see each blissful deity

How he before the thunderous throne doth lie,
Listening to what unshorn2 Apollo sings

To the touch of golden wires, while Hebe brings
Immortal nectar to her kingly sire;

It appears, by this address of Milton's to his native language, that even in these green years he had the ambition to think of writing an epic poem; and it is worth the curious reader's attention to observe how much the Paradise Lost corresponds in its circumstances to the prophetic wish he now formed.-Thyer.

2 An epithet peculiar to Apollo among the poets. Cf. Pindar, Pyth. iii. 26, Hor. Od. i. 21, 2.

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