becomes melancholy in the finer sense of the word, by the combined overshadowing of the hour and of thought. 12" Like one that hath been led astray."-This calls to mind a beautiful passage about the moon, in Spenser's Epithalamium : Who is the same that at my window peeps? Or who is that fair face that shines so bright? 13" Where glowing embers.”—Here, also, the reader is reminded of Spenser. See p. 88: A little glooming light much like a shade. 14 "And may my lamp at midnight hour The picturesque of the "be seen" has been much admired. Its good-nature seems to deserve no less approbation. The light is seen afar by the traveller, giving him a sense of home comfort, and, perhaps, helping to guide his way. 15" Call up him that left half told The story of Cambuscan bold." The Chaucer, with his Squire's Tale. But why did Milton turn Cambuscàn, that is, Cambus the Khan, into Cambùscan. accent in Chaucer is never thrown on the middle syllable. LYCIDAS. The poet bewails the death of his young friend and fellow. student, Edward King, of Christ's College, Cambridge, who was drowned at sea, on his way to visit his friends in Ireland. The vessel, which was in bad condition, went suddenly to the bottom, in calm weather, not far from the English coast; and all on board perished. Milton was then in his twenty-ninth year, and his friend in his twenty-fifth. The poem, with good reason, is supposed to have been written, like the preceding ones, at Horton, in Buckinghamshire. Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year Begin, then, sisters of the sacred well, That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring, So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favor my destin'd urn, And bid fair peace to be my sable shroud: For we were nurst upon the self-same hill, Tow'rds heav'n's descent had slop'd his west'ring wheel. Temper'd to the oaten flute; Rough Satyrs danc'd; and Fauns with cloven heel But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone, The willows, and the hazel copses green, Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. Or taint worm to the weanling herds that graze, Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear, Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? 18 For neither were ye playing on the steep, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream :19 Had ye been there-for what could that have done? When, by the rout that made the hideous roar, Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise Nor in the glist' ring foil Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies, But lives, and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." And listens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea; He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds, They knew not of his story; And sage Hippotades their answer brings, Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscrib'd with woe.20 "Ah! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest pledge?" Last came and last did go.21 The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain (The golden opes, and iron shuts amain), He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake: "How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain, "Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake "Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold? "Of other cares they little reckoning make, "And shove away the worthy bidden guest; 22 "Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold "A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least "That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! "What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; "And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs "Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; "Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said: "But that two-handed engine at the door "Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." 23 Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past, 24 Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.- Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, Where the great Vision of the guarded Mount26 Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth: For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, That sing, and, singing, in their glory move, |