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And on the neck of crownèd Fortune proud

Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureate wreath; yet much remains To conquer still! Peace hath her victories No less renowned than War: new foes arise, Threat'ning to bind our souls with secular chains. Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw. 1652. 1694

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT
Avenge, O Lord, Thy slaughtered saints, whose bones

Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
Ev'n them who kept Thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipt 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 rolled
Mother with infant down the rocks: their moans
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To heav'n. Their martyred blood and ashes sow
O'er all th' Italian fields, where still doth sway
The triple Tyrant, that from these may grow
A hundred fold, who, having learnt Thy way,
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
1655.

1672.

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 denied?” I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent

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That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need

Either man's work or His own gifts. Who best
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." 1655?

1673.

ΙΟ

TO MR. CYRIACK SKINNER UPON HIS BLINDNESS

Cyriack, 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 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 overplied
In liberty's defence, my noble task,

Of which all Europe talks from side to side.

This thought might lead me through the world's vain

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Content though blind, had I no better guide.

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1655.

1694.

TO MR. LAWRENCE

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
From the hard season gaining? Time will run
On smoother, till Favonius reinspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.
What neat répast shall feast us, light and choice,

Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well toucht, or artful voice

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Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?

He who of those delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

1656?

ON HIS DECEASED WIFE

Methought I saw my late espousèd saint

1673.

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 washt 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 veiled; 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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1658?

1673.

FROM

PARADISE LOST

BOOK I

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man

Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, heav'nly Muse, that on the secret top

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Of Oreb or of Sinai didst inspire

That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos; or if Sion hill

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Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence

Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,

That with no middle flight intends to soar

Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, That dost prefer
Before all temples th' upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for Thou know'st; Thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss,

And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support,
That to the highth of this great argument

I may assert Eternal Providence,

And justify the ways of God to men.

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Say first-for heav'n hides nothing from Thy view,
Nor the deep tract of hell-say first what cause
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state,
Favoured of Heav'n so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress His will
For one restraint, lords of the world besides.
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?
Th' infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from heaven, with all his host

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Of rebel angels, by whose aid, aspiring

To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
If he opposed, and with ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God
Raised impious war in heav'n and battle proud,
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from th' ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell

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Reserved him to more wrath: for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain

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Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes,
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay,
Mixt with obdurate pride and steadfast hate.
At once, as far as angels ken, he views
The dismal situation waste and wild:

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A dungeon horrible on all sides round

As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible

Served only to discover sights of woe,

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace

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And rest can never dwell, hope never comes

That comes to all, but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed.
Such place Eternal Justice had prepared

For those rebellious; here their prison ordained
In utter darkness, and their portion set
As far removed from God and light of heav'n,
As from the Centre thrice to th' utmost pole.
O, how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelmed
With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,
He soon discerns; and welt'ring by his side
One next himself in power and next in crime,
Long after known in Palestine, and named
Beelzebub. To whom th' Arch-Enemy,

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And thence in heav'n called Satan, with bold words
Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:

"If thou beest he-but O how fall'n! how changed

From him who, in the happy realms of light,

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Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine

Myriads, though bright! if he whom mutual league,
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope

And hazard in the glorious enterprise,

Joined with me once, now misery hath joined

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In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest

From what highth fall'n, so much the stronger proved

He with His thunder: and till then who knew

The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those,
Nor what the potent Victor in His rage

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Can else inflict, do I repent or change,

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