Little onward lend thy guiding hand
To thefe dark steps, a little further on;
For yonder bank hath choice of fun or shade:
There I am wont to fit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of fervile toil,
Daily' in the common prison else injoin'd me,
Where I a prifoner chain'd, fearce freely draw
The air imprifon'd alfo, clofe and damp,
Unwholesome draught: but here I feel amends,
The breath of Heav'n fresh blowing, pure and fweet,
With day-fpring born; here leave me to refpire, 11
This day a folemn feaft the people hold
To Dagon their fea-idol, and forbid
Laborious works; unwillingly this reft
Their fuperftition yields me; hence with leave
Retiring from the popular noife, I feek
This unfrequented place to find fome eafe,
Eafe to the body fome, none to the mind
From reftless thoughts, that like a deadly fwarm
Of hornets arm'd, no fooner found alone,
But rush upon me thronging, and prefent
Times paft, what once I was, and what am now.
O wherefore was my birth from Heav'n foretold
Twice by an Angel, who at laft in fight
*Samfon Ageniftes, that is, Samfon an actor, Samfon reprefented in a play,
Of both my parents all in flames afcended
From off the altar, where an offering burn'd,
As in a fiery columb charioting
His god-like prefence, and from fome great act
Or benefit reveal'd to Abraham's race?
Why was my breeding order'd and prefcrib'd
As of a person separate to God,
Defign'd for great exploits; if I must die
Betray'd, captiv'd, and both my eyes put out,
Made of my enemies the fcorn and gaze;
To grind in brazen fetters under task
With this Heav'n-gifted ftrength? O glorious ftrength Put to the labor of a beaft, debas'd
Lower than bondЛlave! Promise was that I
Should Ifrael from Philiftian yoke deliver;
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him
Eyelefs in Gaza at the mill with flaves,
Himself in bonds under Philiftian yoke;
Yet ftay, let me not rafhly call in doubt
Divine prediction; what if all foretold
Had been fulfill'd but through mine own default 45
Whom have I to complain of but myself?
Who this high gift of ftrength committed to me,
In what part lodg'd, how eafily bereft me,
Under the feal of filence could not keep,
But weakly to a woman muft reveal it,
O'ercome with importunity and tears.
O impotence of mind, in body ftrong!
But what is ftrength without a double share
Of wisdom, vaft, unwieldy, burdenfome,
Proudly fecure, yet liable to fall
By weakest subtleties, not made to rule,
But to fubferve where wisdom bears command!
God, when he gave me ftrength, to fhow withal
How flight the gift was, hung it in my hair.
But peace, I must not quarrel with the will
Of higheft difpenfation, which herein
Haply had ends above my reach to know:
Suffices that to me ftrength is my bane,
And proves the fource of all my miseries;
So many, and fo huge, that each apart
Would afk a life to wail, but chief of all,
O lofs of fight, of thee I most complain!
Blind among enemies, O worse than chains,
Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age!
Light the prime work of God to me is extinct,
And all her various objects of delight
Annull'd, which might in part my grief have eas'd,
Inferior to the vileft now become
Of man or worm; the vileft here excel me,
They creep, yet fee, I dark in light expos'd
To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong,
Within doors, or without, ftill as a fool,
In pow'r of others, never in my own ;
Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half.
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipfe
Without all hope of day!
O firft created Beam, and thou
Let there be light, and light was over all;
Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree ?
The fun to me is dark
And filent as the moon,
When the deferts the night
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Since light fo neceffary is to life,
And almoft life itself, if it be true
That light is in the soul,
She all in every part; why was the fight
To fuch a tender ball as th' eye confin'd,
So obvious and fo eafy to be quench'd?
And not as feeling through all parts diffus'd,
That she might look at will through every pore?
Then had I not been thus exil'd from light,
As in the land of darkness yet in light,
To live a life half dead, a living death,
And bury'd; but O yet more miserable!
Myfelf, my fepulchre, a moving grave,
Bury'd, yet not exempt
By privilege of death and burial
From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs,
But made hereby obnoxious more
To all the miseries of life,
But who are these? for with joint pace I hear
The tread of many feet steering this way;
Perhaps my enemies who come to ftare
At my affliction, and perhaps t'infult,
Their daily practice to afflict me more.
CHOR. This, this is he; foftly a while,
Let us not break in upon him ;
O change beyond report, thought, or belief!
See how he lies at random, carelefly diffus'd,
With languifh'd head unpropt,
As one paft hope, abandon'd,
And by himself giv'n over;
In favifh habit, ill-fitted weeds
O'er-worn and foil'd;
Or do my eyes mifreprefent? Can this be he,
That heroic, that renown'd,
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