JOHN MILTON ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY I THIS is the Month, and this the happy morn That he our deadly forfeit should release, II That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, Wherwith he wont at Heav'ns high Councel-Table, He laid aside; and here with us to be, Forsook the Courts of everlasting Day, And chose with us a darksom House of mortal Clay. III Say Heav'nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Hast thou no vers, no hymn, or solemn strein, To welcom him to this his new abode, Now while the Heav'n by the Suns team untrod, 20 And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? IV See how from far upon the Eastern rode The Star-led Wisards haste with odours sweet, O run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; Have thou the honour first, thy Lord to greet, From out his secret Altar toucht with hallow'd fire. All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Nature in aw to him Had doff't her gawdy 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 woo's the gentle Air II To hide her guilty front with innocent Snow, And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinfull blame, The Saintly Vail of Maiden white to throw, Confounded, that her Makers eyes Should look so neer upon her foul deformities. But he her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyd Peace, She crown'd with Olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphear His ready Harbinger, With Turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing, And waving wide her mirtle wand, She strikes a universall Peace through Sea and Land. No War, or Battails sound IV 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 sate still with awfull eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. But peacefull was the night Wherin the Prince of light His raign of peace upon the earth began: The Windes with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joyes to the milde Ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While Birds of Calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. 30 40 50 60 The Stars with deep amaze Stand fixt in stedfast gaze, VI Bending one way their pretious 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, Untill their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, VII The Sun himself with-held his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferiour flame, The new enlightn'd world no more should need ; He saw a greater Sun appear Then his bright Throne, or burning Axletree could bear. The Shepherds on the Lawn, Or ere the point of dawn, VIII Sate simply chatting in a rustick row; Full little thought they than, That the mighty Pan Was kindly com to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or els their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busie keep. When such musick sweet IX Their hearts and ears did greet, As never was by mortall finger strook, Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blisfull rapture took : The Air such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echo's still prolongs each heav'nly close. X 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 don, And that her raign had here its last fulfilling ; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union. 101 At last surrounds their sight XI That with long beams the shame-fac't night array'd, The helmed Cherubim And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaid, Harping in loud and solemn quire, With unexpressive notes to Heav'ns new-born Heir. Such Musick (as 'tis said) Before was never made, XII But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator Great His constellations set, And the well-ballanc't world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out ye Crystall sphears, Once bless our human ears, XIII (If ye have power to touch our senses so) And let your silver chime Move in melodious time; And let the Base of Heav'ns deep Organ blow, And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to th' Angelike symphony. For if such holy Song Enwrap our fancy long, XIV Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, And speckl'd vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould. And Hell it self will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. Yea Truth, and Justice then Will down return to men, XV Orb'd in a Rain-bow; and like glories wearing Mercy will sit between, Thron'd in Celestiall sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing, And Heav'n as at som festivall, Will open wide the Gates of her high Palace Hall. 110 120 130 140 XVI But wisest Fate sayes no, This must not yet be so, The Babe lies yet in smiling Infancy, That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss; So both himself and us to glorifie : Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep, 150 The wakefull trump of doom must thunder through the deep. With such a horrid clang As on mount Sinai rang XVII While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out brake: The aged Earth agast With terrour of that blast, Shall from the surface to the center shake; When at the worlds last session, 160 The dreadfull Judge in middle Air shall spread his throne. And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, XVIII But now begins; for from this happy day Th'old Dragon under ground In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway, And wrath to see his Kingdom fail, Swindges the scaly Horrour of his foulded tail. The Oracles are dumm, No voice or hideous humm XIX Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, 170 Inspire's the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell. 180 The lonely mountains o're, And the resounding shore, XX A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament; From haunted spring, and dale Edg'd with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent, With flowre-inwov'n tresses torn The Nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. |