The Annotated Milton: Complete English Poems (9 page)

SONNET 13

1646

Harry,
²⁷⁶
whose tuneful and well-measured
²⁷⁷
song

First taught our English music how to span
²⁷⁸

Words with just
²⁷⁹
note and accent, not to scan

With Midas ears,
²⁸⁰
committing
²⁸¹
short and long.

Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,

With praise enough for envy to look wan.

To after age thou shalt be writ the man

That with smooth air
²⁸²
couldst humor best our tongue.

Thou honor’st verse, and verse must lend her wing

To honor thee, the priest of Phoebus choir,

That tun’st their happiest lines, in hymn or story.

Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher

Than his Casella,
²⁸³
whom he wooed to sing,

Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.

SONNET 14

1646

When faith and love, which parted from thee
²⁸⁴
never,

Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God,

Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load

Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever.

Thy works and alms, and all thy good endeavor,

Stayed not behind nor in the grave were trod,

But as faith pointed with her golden rod

Followed thee up to joy and bliss forever.

Love led them on, and faith, who knew them best—

Thy handmaids—clad them o’er with purple beams

And azure wings, that up they flew, so dressed,

And spoke the truth of thee in glorious themes
²⁸⁵

Before the judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest

And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

SONNET 15

1648

Fairfax,
²⁸⁶
whose name in arms through Europe rings,

Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise,

And all her jealous monarchs with amaze

And rumors loud, that daunt remotest kings,

Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings

Victory home, though new rebellions raise

Their hydra heads, and the false North
²⁸⁷
displays

Her broken league,
²⁸⁸
to imp
²⁸⁹
her serpent wings:
²⁹⁰

O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand,

For what can wars but endless wars still breed,

Till truth and right from violence be freed,

And public faith cleared from the shameful brand

Of public fraud. In vain doth valor bleed

While avarice and rapine
²⁹¹
share the land.

SONNET 16

1652

Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud

Not of war only, but detractions
²⁹²
rude,
²⁹³

Guided by faith and matchless fortitude

To peace and truth thy glorious way hath ploughed,

And on the neck of crownèd Fortune proud

Hast reared God’s trophies, and His work pursued,

While Darwen
²⁹⁴
stream with blood of Scots embru’d,
²⁹⁵

And Dunbar
²⁹⁶
field resounds thy praises loud,

And Worcester’s
²⁹⁷
laureat wreath, yet much remains

To conquer still. Peace hath her victories

No less renowned than war, new foes arise,

Threat’ning to bind our souls with secular chains!

Help us to save free conscience from the paw

Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.
²⁹⁸

SONNET 17

1652

Vane,
²⁹⁹
young in years but in sage counsel old,

Than whom a better senator ne’er held

The helm of Rome, when gowns,
³⁰⁰

The fierce Epeirut
³⁰¹
and th’ African
³⁰²
bold:

Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

The drift
³⁰³
of hollow
³⁰⁴
states, hard to be spelled;
³⁰⁵

Then to advise how war may best, upheld,

Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,

In all her equipage;
³⁰⁶
besides, to know

Both spiritual power and civil, what each means,

What severs each—thou hast learned, which few have done.

The bounds of either sword to thee we owe.

Therefore, on thy firm hand religion leans

In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

SONNET 18

1655

Avenge, O Lord, Thy slaughtered Saints,
³⁰⁷
whose bones

Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold—

Ev’n them who kept Thy truth so pure of old,

When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones!

Forget not! In Thy book record
³⁰⁸
their groans,

Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
³⁰⁹

Slain by the bloody Piemontese, who rolled

Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans

The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To Heav’n. Their martyred blood and ashes sow

O’er all th’ Italian fields where still doth sway

The triple tyrant,
³¹⁰
that from these may grow

A hundred-fold, who having learned Thy way

Early, may fly
³¹¹
the Babylonian woe.
³¹²

SONNET 19

1655

When I consider how my life is spent,
³¹³

Ere
³¹⁴
half my days in this dark world and wide,

And that one talent
³¹⁵
which is death to hide

Lodged with me, useless, though my soul more bent
³¹⁶

To serve therewith my Maker, and present
³¹⁷

My true account, lest He, returning,
³¹⁸
chide—
³¹⁹

“Doth God exact day labor, 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
³²⁰
o’er land and ocean, without rest.

They also serve who only stand and wait.”

SONNET 20

1655

Lawrence,
³²¹
of virtuous father, virtuous son,

Now that the fields are dank, and ways
³²²
are mire,
³²³

Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire

Help waste a sullen
³²⁴
day, what
³²⁵
may be won

From the hard season
³²⁶
gaining?
³²⁷
Time will run

On smoother, till Favonius
³²⁸
re-inspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire

The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.
³²⁹

What neat
³³⁰
repast shall feast us, light and choice,

Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise

To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice

Warble immortal notes and Tuscan
³³¹
air?

He who of those delights can judge, and spare
³³²

To interpose
³³³
them oft, is not unwise.

SONNET 21

1655

Cyriack!
³³⁴
Whose grandsire on the Royal Bench
³³⁵