XVIII.

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT.

AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold;
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones,
Forget not; in thy book record their groans

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

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To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow 10
O'er all th' Italian fields, where still doth sway
The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow
A hundred fold, who having learn'd thy way
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

XIX.

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

WHEN I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest he returning chide;
Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd?
I fondly ask: But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best

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Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest;

They also serve who only stand and wait.'

The massacre in Piemont formed a part of the fearful perseentions which the Vaudois, or Protestants of that country, suffered from the Church of Rome. An abstract of this appalling portion of modern church history may be found in Dr. M'Crie's admirable work on the Reformation in Italy, and in Mr. Gillier Journey to the Valleys of the Vaudois.

XX.

TO MR. LAWRENCE.

LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,

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Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the firé Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining? time will run On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily' and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air? He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

XXI.

TO CYRIAC SKINNER.t

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CYRIAC, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench;
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 5
In mirth, that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,

And what the Swede intends, and what the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; 10

For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day,

And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

• Mr. Lawrence was son of the president of
Cromwell's council.

+ Cyriar Skinner was a pupil of Milton's.

XXII.

TO THE SAME.

tho' clear,

CYRIAC, this three years' day these eyes,
To outward view, of bleraish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot,
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer

Right onward. What supports me? dost thou ask: The conscience, Friend, to' have lost them overply'd In Liberty's defence, my noble task,

Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me thro' the world's vain
Content though blind, had I no better guide. 'mask

XXIII.

ON HIS DECEASED WIFE.

METHOUGHT I saw my late-espoused saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave,
Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint
Purification in the old law did save,
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heav'n without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was veil'd, yet to my fancied sight

Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined
So clear, as in no face with more delight.

But O, as to embrace me she inclined,

I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.

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♦ On his deceased wife, his second wife, who died about a year after their marriage.-Alcestis was king of Thessaly, and being on the point of death, was restored to life by his wife's voluntarily offering herself to Apollo in his stead. Hercules afterward succeeded in rescuing her from the shades.

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PSALM I.

(Done into verse, 1653.)

BLESS'D is the man who hath not walk'd astray
In counsel of the wicked, and i' th' way

Of sinners hath not stood,
Of scorners hath not sat.

and in the seat But in the great Jehovah's law is ever his delight,

And in his law he studies day and night.
He shall be as a tree which planted grows
By watery streams, and in his season knows
To yield his fruit, and his leaf shall not fall,
And what he takes in hand shall prosper all.
Not so the wicked, but as chaff which fann'd
The wind drives, so the wicked shall not stand
In judgment, or abide their trial then,
Nor sinners in th' assembly of just men.

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For the Lord knows th' upright way of the just, 15 And the way of bad men to ruin must.

PSALM II.

(Done Aug. 8, 1653.)
Terzette.

WHY do the Gentiles tumult, and the nations
Muse a vain thing, the kings of th' earth upstand
With power, and princes in their congregations
Lay deep their plots together through each land
Against the Lord and his Messiah dear?

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Let us break off, say they, by strength of hand Their bonds, and cast from us, no more to wear Their twisted cords: he who in Heav'n doth dwell Shall laugh, the Lord shall scoff them, then severe Speak to them in his wrath, and in his fell And fierce ire trouble them; But I, saith he, Anointed have my King (though ye rebel)

On Sicn my holy hill. A firm decree

I will declare; the Lord to me hath said,

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Thou art my Son, I have begotten thee

This day; ask of me, and the grant is made; As thy possession I on thee bestow

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Th' Heathen, and as thy conquest to be sway'd Earth's utmost bounds; them shalt thou bring full low With iron sceptre bruised, and them disperse

Like to a potter's vessel shiver'd so.

And now be wise at length, ye Kings averse,
Be taught ye Judges of the earth; with fear
Jehovah serve, and let your joy converse
With trembling; kiss the Son lest he appear
In anger, and ye perish in the way,

If once his wrath take fire like fuel sere.
Happy all those who have in him their stay.

PSALM III.

(Aug. 9, 1653.)

When he fled from Absalom.

LORD, how many are my foes?

How many those

That in arms against me rise!

Many are they

That of my life distrustfully thus say,

No help for him in God there lies.

But thou, Lord, art my shield, my glory,

Thee through my story

Th' exalter of my head I count;

Aloud I cried

Unto Jehovah, he full soon replied

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And heard me from his holy mount.

I lay and slept, I waked again,

For my sustain

Was the Lord. Of many millions

The populous rout

I fear not, though encamping round about

They pitch against me their pavilions.

Rise, Lord, save me, my God, for thou

Hast smote ere now

On the cheek-bone all my foes.

Of men abhorr'd

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Hast broke the teeth. This help was from the Lord; Thy blessing on thy people flows.