by John Milton
Of lively portraiture displayed,
150 Softly on my eyelids laid.
And as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or th’ unseen Genius of the wood.
155 But let my due feet never fail,
To walk the studious cloister’s pale,
And love the high embowèd roof,
With antique pillars’ massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
160 Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced choir below,
In service high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
165 Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all Heav’n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
170 Where I may sit and rightly spell,
Of every star that heav’n doth show,
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
175 These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
Sonnet I
O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the lover’s heart dost fill,
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May;
5 Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill
Portend success in love; O if Jove’s will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
10 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.
Sonnet II
Donna leggiadra il cui bel nome onora
L’erbosa val di Reno, e il nobil varco,
Ben è colui d’ogni valore scarco
Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamora,
5 Che dolcemente mostrasi di fuora
De’ suoi atti soavi giammai parco,
E i don’, che son d’amor saette ed arco,
Là onde l’alta tua virtù s’infiora.
Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti
10 Che mover possa duro alpestre legno,
Guardi ciascun agli occhi, ed agli orecchi
L’entrata, chi di te si trova indegno,
Grazia sola di sù gli vaglia, innanti
Che’l disio amoroso al cuor s’invecchi.
Lovely lady, whose fair name1 honours the grassy Reno valley and the famous ford,2 that man must be wholly worthless who is not moved to love your gentle spirit, which sweetly reveals itself (bounteous in gracious looks and favours that are the arrows and bow of Love) there8 where your high virtue blooms. When, in your beauty, you speak, or joyously sing (which might move tough mountain trees),10 let every man who is unworthy of you guard the portals of his eyes and ears.11 Only grace from above can prevent amorous desire from becoming inveterate in his heart.
Sonnet III
Qual in colle aspro, a l’imbrunir di sera,
L’avvezza giovinetta pastorella
Va bagnando l’erbetta strana e bella
Che mal si spande a disusata spera
5 Fuor di sua natia alma primavera,
Così Amor meco insù la lingua snella
Desta il fior novo di strania favella,
Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera,
Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso,
10 E’l bel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno.
Amor lo volse, ed io a l’altrui peso
Seppi ch’Amor cosa mai volse indarno.
Deh! foss’il mio cuor lento e’l duro seno
A chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno.
As on a rugged hill at dusk, a youthful shepherdess, brought up there, waters a strange and beautiful plant which can scarcely spread its leaves in the alien clime, far from its bounteous native springtime; so Love awakens on my ready tongue the new flower of a foreign speech as I sing of you, graciously proud Lady, not understood by my own good countrymen, and exchange the fair Thames for the fair Arno.10 Love willed it, and I knew from the distress of others that Love never willed anything in vain. Ah, that my sluggish heart and hard breast were as good a soil to Him who plants from heaven!
Canzone
Ridonsi donne e giovani amorosi
M’accostandosi attorno, e perchè scrivi,
Perchè tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana
Verseggiando d’amor, e come t’osi?
5 Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana,
E de’ pensieri lo miglior t’arrivi;
Così mi van burlando, altri rivi,
Altri lidi t’aspettan, ed altre onde
Nelle cui verdi sponde
10 Spuntati ad or, ad or a la tua chioma
L’immortal guiderdon d’eterne frondi:
Perchè alle spalle tue soverchia soma?
Canzon dirotti, e tu per me rispondi:
Dice mia donna, e’l suo dir è il mio cuore,
15 Questa è lingua di cui si vanta Amore.
Young men and women1 in love gather round me, laughing: ‘Why, why do you write love poems in a strange and unknown language? How dare you? Tell us, so that your hope may never be in vain, and the best of your wishes may come true.’ Thus they tease me: ‘Other streams7 and other shores await you, and other waves, on whose green banks the immortal guerdon of unfading leaves is already growing for your hair. Why add an excessive burden to your shoulders?’
Canzone, I will tell you,13 and you answer for me: my lady says, and her words are my heart, ‘This is the language of which Love is proud.’
Sonnet IV
Diodati, e te’l dirò con maraviglia,
Quel ritroso io ch’amor spreggia solèa
E de’ suoi lacci spesso mi ridèa,
Già caddi, ov uom dabben talor s’impiglia.
5 Nè treccie d’oro, nè guancia vermiglia
M’abbaglian sì, ma sotto nova idea
Pellegrina bellezza che’l cuor bea,
Portamenti alti onesti, e nelle ciglia
Quel sereno fulgor d’amabil nero,
10 Parole adorne di lingua più d’una,
E’l cantar che di mezzo l’emisfero
Traviar ben può la faticosa luna;
E degli occhi suoi avventa sì gran fuoco
Che l’incerar gli orecchi mi fia poco.
Diodati1 – and I tell you with amazement – I, the reluctant one, who used to scorn Love, and often laughed at his snares, have now fallen where a good man sometimes gets entangled. It is not golden tresses or a rosy cheek that thus dazzles me, but strange beauty, modelled on a new form,6 which delights my heart: modest pride in her bearing, a serene radiance of lovely black in her eyes, speech that is graced by more than one language, and singing that might well lure the labouring12 moon from the midst of the sky; and such bright fire flashes from her eyes that sealing my ears with wax would be of little use.14
Sonnet V
Per certo i bei vostr’ occhi, donna mia,
Esser non può che non sian lo mio sole;
Sì mi percuoton forte, come ei suole
Perl’arene di Libia chi s’invia,
5 Mentre un caldo vapor (nè sentì pria)
Da quel lato si spinge ove mi duole,
Che forse amanti nelle lor parole
Chiaman sospir; io non so che si sia:
Parte rinchiusa e turbida si cela
10 Scossomi il petto, e poi n’uscendo poco
&
nbsp; Quivi d’attorno o s’agghiaccia, o s’ingiela;
Ma quanto agli occhi giunge a trovar loco
Tutte le notti a me suol far piovose
Finchè mia Alba rivien colma di rose.
In truth, my lady, your beautiful eyes can only be my sun; they smite me as powerfully as the sun beating down on a traveller in the Libyan sands; meanwhile a warm vapour (such as I never felt before) bursts from that side6 where my pain is. Perhaps lovers in their language call it a ‘sigh’; I do not know what it might be. Part of it, confined and troubled, hides itself away in my shaking breast; then a little escapes into the surrounding air where it is either frozen or congealed. But that part that finds a place in my eyes makes every night rainy for me, until my Dawn returns brimming with roses.
Sonnet VI
Giovane piano, e semplicetto amante
Poichè fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono,
Madonna a voi del mio cuor l’umil dono
Farò divoto; io certo a prove tante
5 L’ebbi fedele, intrepido, costante,
Di pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e buono;
Quando rugge il gran mondo, e scocca il tuono,
S’arma di se, e d’intero diamante,
Tanto del forse, e d’invidia sicuro,
10 Di timori, e speranze al popol use
Quanto d’ingegno e d’alto valor vago,
E di cetra sonora, e delle Muse:
Sol troverete in tal parte men duro
Ove amor mise l’insanabil ago.
Young, simple and artless lover that I am, since I am in doubt about how to fly from myself, I will devoutly offer the humble gift of my heart to you, my lady. In many trials I have proved it faithful, brave, and constant; fair, wise and good in its thoughts. When the whole world roars and the thunder crashes, it arms itself with itself, in complete adamant, as safe from chance and envy, and common hopes and fears, as it is eager for genius and lofty worth, the sounding lyre and the Muses. You will find it less hard only in that place where Love has fixed his incurable dart.
Sonnet VII
How soon hath Time the subtle thief of youth,
Stol’n on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th.
5 Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arrived so near,
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu’th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
10 It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean, or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great task-master’s eye.
Sonnet VIII
Captain or colonel, or knight in arms,
Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,
If deed of honour did thee ever please,
Guard them, and him within protect from harms;
5 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:
10 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 power
To save th’ Athenian walls from ruin bare.
Sonnet IX
Lady that in the prime of earliest youth,
Wisely hast shunned the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour up the hill of Heav’nly Truth,
5 The better part with Mary, and with Ruth,
Chosen thou hast; and they that overween,
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends
10 To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,
And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure
Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friends
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
Hast gained thy entrance, virgin wise and pure.
Sonnet X
Daughter to that good Earl, once President
Of England’s Council, and her Treasury,
Who lived in both, unstained with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
5 Till the sad breaking of that Parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty
Killed with report that old man eloquent,
Though later born, than to have known the days
10 Wherein your father flourished, yet by you
Madam, methinks I see him living yet;
So well your words his noble virtues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, honoured Margaret.
Arcades
Part of an entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby at Harefield by some noble persons of her family, who appear on the scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat of state, with this song.
I. Song
Look nymphs, and shepherds look,
What sudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence descry
Too divine to be mistook:
5 This this is she
To whom our vows and wishes bend,
Here our solemn search hath end.
Fame that her high worth to raise,
Seemed erst so lavish and profuse,
10 We may justly now accuse
Of detraction from her praise;
Less than half we find expressed,
Envy bid conceal the rest.
Mark what radiant state she spreads,
15 In circle round her shining throne,
Shooting her beams like silver threads:
This this is she alone,
Sitting like a goddess bright,
In the centre of her light.
20 Might she the wise Latona be,
Or the towered Cybele,
Mother of a hundred gods?
Juno dares not give her odds;
Who had thought this clime had held
25 A deity so unparalleled?
As they come forward, the Genius of the Wood appears, and turning toward them, speaks.
Genius. Stay gentle swains, for though in this disguise,
I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes;
Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung
Of that renownèd flood, so often sung,
30 Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluice,
Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse;
And ye the breathing roses of the wood,
Fair silver-buskined nymphs as great and good,
I know this quest of yours, and free intent
35 Was all in honour and devotion meant
To the great mistress of yon princely shrine,
Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,
And with all helpful service will comply
To further this night’s glad solemnity;
40 And lead ye where ye may more near behold
What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft amidst these shades alone
Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon:
For know by lot from Jove I am the pow’r
45 Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bow’r,
To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove
With ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove.
And all my plant
s I save from nightly ill,
Of noisome winds, and blasting vapours chill.
50 And from the boughs brush off the evil dew,
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue,
Or what the cross dire-looking planet smites,
Or hurtful worm with cankered venom bites.
When evening grey doth rise, I fetch my round
55 Over the mount, and all this hallowed ground
And early ere the odorous breath of morn
Awakes the slumb’ring leaves, or tasselled horn
Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about,
Number my ranks, and visit every sprout
60 With puissant words, and murmurs made to bless;
But else in deep of night when drowsiness
Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I
To the celestial Sirens’ harmony,
That sit upon the nine enfolded spheres,
65 And sing to those that hold the vital shears,
nd turn the adamantine spindle round,
On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie,
To lull the daughters of Necessity,
70 And keep unsteady Nature to her law,
And the low world in measured motion draw
After the heavenly tune, which none can hear
Of human mould with gross unpurgèd ear;
And yet such music worthiest were to blaze
75 The peerless height of her immortal praise,
Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit,
If my inferior hand or voice could hit
Inimitable sounds; yet as we go,
Whate’er the skill of lesser gods can show,
80 I will assay, her worth to celebrate,
And so attend ye toward her glittering state;
Where ye may all that are of noble stem
Approach, and kiss her sacred vesture’s hem.
II. Song
O’er the smooth enamelled green
85 Where no print of step hath been,
Follow me as I sing,
And touch the warbled string.
Under the shady roof
Of branching elm star-proof,