« 이전계속 »
Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock
For sure so well instructed are my tears, !
Or should I thence hurried on viewless wing,
Might think th' infection of my sorrows loud
Had hit a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud. This subject the Author finding to be above the years he bad, when he wrote it,
and nothing satisfied with what was begin, left it unfinished.
Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
To be set on
! In Milton's MS. written with his own hand, --"On Time. * clock-case."- WARTON.
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.
BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of heav'n's joy,
In first obedience, and their state of good.
SONG. ON MAY MORNING.
Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
1 This lady was the wife of John, Marquis of Winchester, one of the noblest and most devoted of the adhe. rents of Charles I. His house at Basing, in Hants, stood a two-years' siege by the rebels, and was finally levelled to the ground by them. Lord Winchester
died in 1674. On his monument is an epitaph by Dryden. “It is remarkable," says Warton, that both husband and wife should have severally received the honour of an epitaph from two such poets as Milton and Dryden.”
Added to her noble birth, More than she could own from earth. Summers three times eight save one She had told; alas ! too soon, After so short time of breath, To house with darkness, and with death. Yet had the number of her days Been as complete as was her praise, Nature and Fate had had no strife In giving limit to her life. Her high birth, and her graces sweet Quickly found a lover meet; The virgin choir for her request The god that sits at marriage feast; He at their invoking came, But with a scarce well-lighted flame; And in his garland as he stood, Ye might discern a cyprus bud." Once had the early matrons run To greet her of a lovely son, And now with second hope she goes And calls Lucina to her throes; But whether by mischance or blame Atroposa for Lucina came; And with remorseless cruelty Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree: The hapless babe before his birth Had burial, yet not laid in earth, And the languish'd mother's womb Was not long a living tomb. So have I seen some tender slip, Saved with care from winter's nip, The pride of her carnation train, Pluck'd up by some unheedy swain, Who only thought to crop the flower New shot up from vernal shower; But the fair blossom hangs the head
1 An emblem of Death.
2 One of the Fates.
Side-ways, as on a dying bed,
ace and quiet ever have;
of barrenness, The highly favour'd Joseph bore To him that served for her before, And at her next birth much like thee Through pangs fled to felicity, Far within the bosom bright Of blazing Majesty and Light: There with thee, new welcome Saint, Like fortunes may her soul acquaint, With thee there clad in radiant sheen, No Marchioness, but now a Queen.
1 Rachel, the wife of Jacob.