The peerless height of her immortal praise,
Whose luster leads us, and for her most fit,
If my inferior hand or voice could hit
Inimitable sounds: yet as we go,
What'er the skill of lesser gods can show,

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.

SONG II.

O'er the smooth enamell'd green,
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, .
Follow me,

I will bring you where she sits,
Clad in splendor as befits
Her deity.

Such a rural Queen

All Arcadia hath not seen.

SONG III.

Nymphs and shepherds dance no more
By sandy Landon's lilied banks:
On old Lycæus or Cyllene hoar

Trip no more in twilight ranks;
Through Erymanth your loss deplore,

A better soil shall give ye thanks.
From the stony Mænalus,
Bring your flocks, and live with us,
Here ye shall have greater grace,

To serve the Lady of this place.

Though Syrinx your Pan's mistress were,

Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.

Compare

Such a rural Queen,*

All Arcadia hath not seen.

But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness
Hath lock'd up mortal sense, then listen I
To the celestial Siren's harmony,

with the passage from Shakspeare, page 275. More instances are found in Milton than in any other poet, in which the "visible beauty of motion is wedded with the audible beauty of sound." In the modulation of his verse as in the association of thought, "music and sweet poetry agree, as doth the sister and the brother." As Gray has it, "Milton struck the deep toned shell," and Newton, who like Plato may be supposed to hear the music of the spheres, was enchanted with the strain.

FROM THE ODE ON NATIVITY.

When such music sweet

Their hearts and ears did greet,

As never was by mortal finger strook,

Divinely-warbled voice

Answering the stringed noise,

As all their souls in blissful rapture took;

The air such pleasure, loath to lose,

With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.

Nature that heard such sound

Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling,

Now was almost won

To think her part was done,

And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone

Could hold all heav'n and earth in happier union.

At last, surrounds their sight

A globe of circular light

That with long beams the shame-fac'd night array'd, The helmed Cherubim,

And sworded Seraphim,

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire,

With unexpressive notes to heaven's new born Heir.

Such music (as 'tis said,)

Before was never made,

But when of old the sons of morning sung,

While the Creator great

His constellations set,

And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung;

And cast the dark foundations deep,

And bid the welt'ring waves their oozy channel keep.

Ring out, ye crystal spheres,

Once bless our human ears,

If ye have power to touch our senses so,

And let your silver chime

Move in melodious time,

And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow;

And with your ninefold harmony

Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.

For if such holy song

Inwrap our fancy long,

Time will run back and fetch the age of gold; And speckled vanity

Will sicken soon and die,

And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; And Hell itself will pass away,

And leave her dolorous mansions to the pressing day.

Yet Truth and Justice then

Will down return to men

Orb'd in a rainbow; and like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between,

Thron'd in celestial sheen,

With radiant feet the tissue clouds down steering:

And Heaven, as at some festival,

Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mix'd power employ
Dead things with imbreath'd sense able to pierce;
And to our high-rais'd phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure content,

Aye, sung before the sapphire-color'd throne
To him that sits thereon,

With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee,
When the bright Seraphim in burning row,
Their loud up-lifted angel trumpets blow,
And the cherubic host, in thousand quires,
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just spirits that wear victorious palms.
Hymns devout and holy psalms

Singing everlastingly:

That we on earth, with undiscording voice,

May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did, till disproportion'd sin

Jarr'd against Nature's chime, and with harsh din

Broke the fair music that all creatues made

To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood,

In first obedience, and their state of good.

O may we soon again renew that song,

And keep in tune with Heaven, till God, ere long
To his celestial consort, us unite,

To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light!

SONG.

ON MAY MORNING.

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth and youth, and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

SONNET.

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. 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 link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late