Beyond which was my folly to aspire.
Henceforth I learn, that to obey is best,
And love with fear the only God; to walk
As in his presence; ever to observe
His providence; and on Him sole depend,
Merciful over all his works, with good
Still overcoming evil, and by small
Accomplishing great things, by things deem'd weak
Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise
By simply meek: that suffering for truth's sake
Is fortitude to highest victory,
And, to the faithful, death, the gate of life;
Taught this by his example, whom I now
Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest."
To whom thus also the angel last replied.
"This having learn'd, thou hast attain'd the sum
Of wisdom: hope no higher, though all the stars
Thou knew'st by name, and all the ethereal powers,
All secrets of the deep, all Nature's works,
Or works of God in Heaven, air, earth, or sea,
And all the riches of this world enjoy'dst,
And all the rule, one empire; only add
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable; add faith,
Add virtue, patience, temperance; add love,
By name to come call'd charity, the soul
Of all the rest: then wilt thou not be loth
To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess
A paradise within thee, happier far.
On Mrs. Catharine Thomson.
WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load
Of death, call'd life; which us from life doth sever. Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour, Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod; But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod, Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.
Love led them on, and Faith, who knew them best
Thy hand-maids, clad them o'er with purple beams
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest,
And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes
Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest,
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.
On the Massacre of Protestants in Piedmont.
AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold;
Even 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 roll'd
Mother with infant down the rocks.
The moans
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
To Heaven.
Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow
O'er all the 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.
On the Author's Blindness.
[This Sonnet, though severely simple in style, and remarkably abrupt in rhythm, is, nevertheless, in quiet grandeur of sentiment, one of the noblest records of human feeling, at once subdued and sublimed by resignation to the divine will. Milton is never more himself than when he speaks of himself. Here we are let into the inmost sanctuary of his mind, and hearken (as it were) to the invisible Spirit communing with itself, amidst the darkness of external nature, till light from heaven, suddenly breaking in, reveals God in his "Kingly state," served equally by those who do, and those who suffer his will.]
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
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."
Principal Works:-Political Tracts, and some pieces of fugitive poetry. Marvell's name, as a poet, will go down to posterity with Milton's, in the spirited lines that precede "Paradise Lost." a statesman, his name will go down singly to posterity, for the character of incorruptible integrity attached to it, though, like his great contemporary friend, "fallen on evil days and evil tongues."
[These stanzas are supposed to be sung by a party of those voluntary exiles for conscience' sake, who, in a profligate age, left their country to enjoy religious freedom in regions beyond the Atlantic. The scene is laid near the Bermudas, or Summer Islands, as they were then called.]
WHERE the remote Bermudas ride
In ocean's bosom unespy'd,
From a small boat that row'd along,
The listening winds received this song.
"What should we do but sing his praise,
That led us through the watery maze,
Unto an Isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own.
"Where He the huge sea-monsters racks, That lift the deep upon their backs; He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storms and prelates' rage.
"He gave us this eternal spring,
Which here enamels every thing;
And sends the fowls to us, in care,
On daily visits through the air.
"He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranate close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows.
"He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet;
With cedars, chosen by his hand,
From Lebanon, He stores the land.
"He cast-of which we rather boast-
The Gospel's pearl upon our coast,
And, in these rocks, for us did frame
A temple, where to sound his name.
"Oh! let our voice his praise exalt,
Till it arrive at heaven's vault,
Which, thence perhaps rebounding, may
Echo beyond the Mexique Bay."
Thus sang they in the English boat,
An holy and a cheerful note;
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.
How wisely Nature did decree
With the same eyes to weep and see!
That, having view'd the object vain,
They might be ready to complain.
And since the self-deluding sight,
In a false angle, takes each height,
'These tears, which better measure all,
Like watry lines and plummets fall.
What in the world most fair appears,
Yea even our laughter, turns to tears,
And all the jewels which we prize
Melt in the pendants of the eyes.
I have through many gardens been,
Among the red, the white, the green,
And yet from all those flowers I saw
No honey but my tears might draw.
Yet happy they, whom grief doth bless,
That weep the more, and see the less;
And, to preserve their sight more true,
Bathe still their eyes in their own dew:
So Magdalen, in tears more wise,
Dissolved those captivating eyes,
Whose liquid chains could flowing meet
To fetter her Redeemer's feet.
Not the moon-beaming shews more fair
Than two eyes swoln with weeping are:
The sparkling glance that shoots desire,
Drench'd in these waves, doth lose its fire;
Yea of the Thunderer pity takes,
And here the hissing lightning slakes.
The incense was to heaven dear,
Not as a perfume, but a tear; (a)
And stars shew lovely in the night
But as they seem the tears of light.
Ope, then, mine eyes, your double sluice,
And practise so your noblest use;
For others too can see and sleep,
But only human eyes can weep.
(a) A fanciful allusion to fragrant gums, called "the tears" of plants from which they distil.
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