While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanced world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres, Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time; And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony, Make up full concert to the angelic symphony. For, if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold; Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Thron'd in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. Perhaps no poems in the English language contain more perfect specimens of versification, or surpass, in descriptive ease and elegance, 'L'Allegro' and 'I Penseroso.' From these beautiful poems, however, we can offer cnly the following brief extracts: FROM 'L'ALLEGRO.' Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as you go And in thy right-hand lead with thee The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty: And, if I give the honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her, and live with thee, By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, And ever against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, The melting voice through mazes running; The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus' self may heave his head From golden slumbers on a bed Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have rung the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half-regain'd Eurydice. These delights, if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live. FROM 'IL PENSEROSO.' Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chantress, oft the woods among Like one that had been led astray Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom; Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm. Or let my lamp, at midnight hour, What worlds, or what vast regions, hold And let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, To the full-voic'd quire below, In service high, and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstacies, And bring all heav'n before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Till old experience do attain And I with thee will choose to live. From Comus, we have selected the 'Praise of Chastity,' and 'The Spirit's Epilogue;' not that we consider these passages superior to the rest of the drama, but because they are best suited to our purpose. PRAISE OF CHASTITY. 'Tis Chastity, my brother, Chastity; She that has that is clad in complete steel, Yea, there, where very desolation dwells, By grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid shades, Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow, Fear'd her stern frown, and she was queen o' th' woods. What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin, Wherewith she freez'd her foes to congeal'd stone, But rigid looks of chaste austerity, And noble grace that dash'd brute violence With sudden adoration and blank awe? So dear to heav'n is saintly Chastity, And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, THE SPIRIT'S EPILOGUE. To the ocean now I fly, And those happy climes that lie All amidst the gardens fair Of Hesperus, and his daughters three And west-winds with musky wing, Iris there with humid bow Waters the odorous banks, that blow Flowers of more mingled hue In slumber soft, and on the ground But far above in spangled sheen Holds his dear Psyche sweet entranced. After her wandering labours long, Make her his eternal bride, Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend; To the corners of the moon. Mortals, that would follow me, Heaven itself would stoop to her. From 'Paradise Lost,' perhaps the great masterpiece of human genius, we find more difficulty in making suitable selections than from any other poem with which we are familiar; for should we aim at the sublime, it pre |