To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
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; For other things mild Heaven 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.

XXII.

TO THE SAME.

CYRIAC! this three years' day these eyes, though clear,

To outward view, of blemish 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 Heaven'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 overplied

In liberty's defence, my noble task,

Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask

Content though blind, had I no better guide.

XXIII.

ON HIS DECEASED WIFE".

METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me, like Alcestes, 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 Heaven 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.

6 This Sonnet was written about the year 1656, on the death of his second wife, Catharine, the daughter of Captain Woodcock, of Hackney, a rigid sectarist. She died in childbed of a daughter, within a year after their marriage. Milton had now been for some time totally blind.

ODES.

ON THE

MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY.

THIS is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King,
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing,

That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

That glorious form, that light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,
Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,

He laid aside; and, here with us to be,

Forsook the courts of everlasting day,

And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

Say, heavenly Muse! shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the infant God?

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,
To welcome him to this his new abode,
Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod,

Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

See, how from far, upon the eastern road,
The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet:
O! run, prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;
Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet,
And join thy voice unto the angel quire,
From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire.

THE HYMN.

It was the winter wild,

While the heaven-born child

All meanly wrapp'd in the rude manger lies: Nature, in awe to him,

Had doff'd her gaudy trim,

With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her

To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.

Only with speeches fair

She wooes the gentle air

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; And on her naked shame,

Pollute with sinful blame,

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; Confounded, that her Maker's

eyes

Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

But he, her fears to cease,

Sent down the meek-eyed Peace;

She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere,

His ready harbinger,

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And, waving wide her myrtle wand,

She strikes an universal peace through sea and land.

Nor war, nor battle's sound,

Was heard the world around:

The idle spear and shield were high up hung; The hooked chariot stood

Unstain'd with hostile blood;

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still with awful eye,

As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.

But peaceful was the night

Wherein the Prince of Light

His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist,

Smoothly the waters kiss'd,

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean; Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

[wave.

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed

The stars, with deep amaze,

Stand fix'd in stedfast gaze,

Bending one way their precious influence;

And will not take their flight,

For all the morning light,

Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence;

But in their glimmering orbs did glow,

Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

And, though the shady gloom

Had given day her room,

The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,

And hid his head for shame,

As his inferior flame

The new-enlighten'd world no more should need;

He saw a greater sun appear

[bear.

Than his bright throne, or burning axle-tree, could