The Complete Poems (Penguin Classics) Read online

  From haunted spring, and dale

  185 Edged with poplar pale.

  The parting Genius is with sighing sent,

  With flow’r-inwoven tresses torn

  The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

  XXI

  In consecrated earth,

  190 And on the holy hearth,

  The lars and lemures moan with midnight plaint;

  In urns, and altars round,

  A drear, and dying sound

  Affrights the flamens at their service quaint;

  195 And the chill marble seems to sweat,

  While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.

  XXII

  Peor, and Baälim,

  Forsake their temples dim,

  With that twice-battered god of Palestine,

  200 And moonèd Ashtaroth,

  Heav’n’s queen and mother both,

  Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine;

  The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,

  In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.

  XXIII

  205 And sullen Moloch fled,

  Hath left in shadows dread,

  His burning idol all of blackest hue;

  In vain with cymbals’ ring,

  They call the grisly king,

  210 In dismal dance about the furnace blue;

  The brutish gods of Nile as fast,

  Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste.

  XXIV

  Nor is Osiris seen

  In Memphian grove, or green,

  215 Trampling the unshow’red grass with lowings loud:

  Nor can he be at rest

  Within his sacred chest,

  Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud,

  In vain with timbrelled anthems dark

  220 The sable-stolèd sorcerers bear his worshipped ark.

  XXV

  He feels from Judah’s land

  The dreaded infant’s hand,

  The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;

  Nor all the gods beside,

  225 Longer dare abide,

  Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:

  Our babe to show his Godhead true,

  Can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew.

  XXVI

  So when the sun in bed,

  230 Curtained with cloudy red,

  Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,

  The flocking shadows pale,

  Troop to th’ infernal jail,

  Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave,

  235 And the yellow-skirted fays,

  Fly after the Night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.

  XXVII

  But see the virgin blest,

  Hath laid her babe to rest.

  Time is our tedious song should here have ending;

  240 Heav’n’s youngest teemèd star,

  Hath fixed her polished car.

  Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending.

  And all about the courtly stable,

  Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable.

  A Paraphrase on Psalm 114

  This and the following Psalm were done by the author at

  fifteen years old.

  When the blest seed of Terah’s faithful son,

  After long toil their liberty had won,

  And passed from Pharian fields to Canaan land,

  Led by the strength of the Almighty’s hand,

  5 Jehovah’s wonders were in Israel shown,

  His praise and glory was in Israel known.

  That saw the troubled sea, and shivering fled,

  And sought to hide his froth-becurlèd head

  Low in the earth; Jordan’s clear streams recoil,

  10 As a faint host that hath received the foil.

  The high, huge-bellied mountains skip like rams

  Amongst their ewes, the little hills like lambs.

  Why fled the ocean? And why skipped the mountains?

  Why turnèd Jordan toward his crystal fountains?

  15 Shake earth, and at the presence be aghast

  Of him that ever was, and ay shall last,

  That glassy floods from rugged rocks can crush,

  And make soft rills from fiery flint-stones gush.

  Psalm 136

  Let us with a gladsome mind

  Praise the Lord, for he is kind,

  For his mercies ay endure,

  Ever faithful, ever sure.

  5 Let us blaze his name abroad,

  For of gods he is the God;

  For, &c.

  O let us his praises tell,

  10 That doth the wrathful tyrants quell.

  For, &c.

  That with his miracles doth make

  Amazèd heav’n and earth to shake.

  15 For, &c.

  That by his wisdom did create

  The painted heav’ns so full of state.

  19 For, &c.

  That did the solid earth ordain

  To rise above the wat’ry plain.

  For, &c.

  25 That by his all-commanding might,

  Did fill the new-made world with light.

  For, &c.

  And caused the golden-tressèd sun,

  30 All the day long his course to run.

  For, &c.

  The hornèd moon to shine by night,

  Amongst her spangled sisters bright.

  35 For, &c.

  He with his thunder-clasping hand,

  Smote the first-born of Egypt land.

  39 For, &c.

  And in despite of Pharaoh fell,

  He brought from thence his Israël.

  For, &c.

  45 The ruddy waves he cleft in twain,

  Of the Erythraean main.

  For, &c.

  The floods stood still like walls of glass,

  50 While the Hebrew bands did pass.

  For, &c.

  But full soon they did devour

  The tawny king with all his power.

  55 For, &c.

  His chosen people he did bless

  In the wasteful wilderness.

  59 For, &c.

  In bloody battle he brought down

  Kings of prowess and renown.

  For, &c.

  65 He foiled bold Seon and his host,

  That ruled the Amorean coast.

  For, &c.

  And large-limbed Og he did subdue,

  70 With all his over-hardy crew.

  For, &c.

  And to his servant Israël

  He gave their land therein to dwell.

  75 For, &c.

  He hath with a piteous eye

  Beheld us in our misery.

  79 For, &c.

  And freed us from the slavery

  Of the invading enemy.

  For, &c.

  85 All living creatures he doth feed,

  And with full hand supplies their need.

  For, &c.

  Let us therefore warble forth

  90 His mighty majesty and worth.

  For, &c.

  That his mansion hath on high

  Above the reach of mortal eye.

  95 For his mercies ay endure,

  Ever faithful, ever sure.

  The Passion

  I

  Erewhile of music, and ethereal mirth,

  Wherewith the stage of air and earth did ring,

  And joyous news of Heav’nly infant’s birth,

  My Muse with angels did divide to sing;

  5 But headlong joy is ever on the wing,

  In wintry solstice like the shortened light

  Soon swallowed up in dark and long out-living night.

  II

  For now to sorrow must I tune my song,

  And set my harp to notes of saddest woe,

  10 Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long,

  Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so,
>
  Which he for us did freely undergo.

  Most perfect hero, tried in heaviest plight

  Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight.

  III

  15 He sov’reign priest stooping his regal head

  That dropped with odorous oil down his fair eyes,

  Poor fleshly tabernacle enterèd,

  His starry front low-roofed beneath the skies;

  O what a mask was there, what a disguise!

  20 Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide,

  Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren’s side.

  IV

  These latter scenes confine my roving verse,

  To this horizon is my Phoebus bound.

  His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,

  25 And former sufferings otherwhere are found;

  Loud o’er the rest Cremona’s trump doth sound;

  Me softer airs befit, and softer strings

  Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things.

  V

  Befriend me Night best patroness of grief,

  30 Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw,

  And work my flattered fancy to belief,

  That heav’n and earth are coloured with my woe;

  My sorrows are too dark for day to know:

  The leaves should all be black whereon I write,

  35 And letters where my tears have washed a wannish white.

  VI

  See see the chariot, and those rushing wheels,

  That whirled the prophet up at Chebar flood;

  My spirit some transporting Cherub feels,

  To bear me where the towers of Salem stood,

  40 Once glorious towers, now sunk in guiltless blood;

  There doth my soul in holy vision sit

  In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit.

  VII

  Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock

  That was the casket of Heav’n’s richest store,

  45 And here though grief my feeble hands uplock,

  Yet on the softened quarry would I score

  My plaining verse as lively as before;

  For sure so well instructed are my tears,

  That they would fitly fall in ordered characters.

  VIII

  50 Or should I thence hurried on viewless wing,

  Take up a weeping on the mountains wild,

  The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring

  Would soon unbosom all their echoes mild,

  And I (for grief is easily beguiled)

  55 Might think th’ infection of my sorrows loud,

  Had got a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud.

  This subject the author finding to be above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinished.

  On Time

  Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,

  Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,

  Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace;

  And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,

  5 Which is no more than what is false and vain,

  And merely mortal dross;

  So little is our loss,

  So little is thy gain.

  For when as each thing bad thou hast entombed,

  10 And last of all, thy greedy self consumed,

  Then long eternity shall greet our bliss

  With an individual kiss;

  And joy shall overtake us as a flood,

  When everything that is sincerely good

  15 And perfectly divine,

  With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine

  About the súpreme throne

  Of him, t’ whose happy-making sight alone,

  When once our Heav’nly-guided soul shall climb,

  20 Then all this earthy grossness quit,

  Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit,

  Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.

  Upon the Circumcision

  Ye flaming Powers, and wingèd warriors bright,

  That erst with music, and triumphant song

  First heard by happy watchful shepherds’ ear,

  So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along

  5 Through the soft silence of the list’ning night;

  Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bear

  Your fiery essence can distil no tear,

  Burn in your sighs, and borrow

  Seas wept from our deep sorrow;

  10 He who with all Heav’n’s heraldry whilere

  Entered the world, now bleeds to give us ease;

  Alas, how soon our sin

  Sore doth begin

  His infancy to seize!

  15 O more exceeding love or law more just?

  Just law indeed, but more exceeding love!

  For we by rightful doom remédiless

  Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above

  High throned in secret bliss, for us frail dust

  20 Emptied his glory, ev’n to nakedness;

  And that great cov’nant which we still transgress

  Entirely satisfied,

  And the full wrath beside

  Of vengeful justice bore for our excess,

  25 And seals obedience first with wounding smart

  This day, but O ere long,

  Huge pangs and strong

  Will pierce more near his heart.

  At a Solemn Music

  Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav’n’s joy,

  Sphere-borne harmonious sisters, Voice, and Verse,

  Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ

  Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce,

  5 And to our high-raised fantasy present,

  That undisturbèd song of pure concent,

  Ay sung before the sapphire-coloured throne

  To him that sits thereon

  With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee,

  10 Where the bright Seraphim in burning row

  Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow,

  And the Cherubic host in thousand choirs

  Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,

  With those just spirits that wear victorious palms,

  15 Hymns devout and holy psalms

  Singing everlastingly;

  That we on earth with undiscording voice

  May rightly answer that melodious noise;

  As once we did, till disproportioned sin

  20 Jarred against Nature’s chime, and with harsh din

  Broke the fair music that all creatures made

  To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed

  In perfect diapason, whilst they stood

  In first obedience, and their state of good.

  25 O may we soon again renew that song,

  And keep in tune with Heav’n, till God ere long

  To his celestial consort us unite,

  To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light.

  An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester

  This rich marble doth inter

  The honoured wife of Winchester,

  A viscount’s daughter, an earl’s heir,

  Besides what her virtues fair

  5 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,

  10 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.

  15 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

  20 But
with a scarce-well-lighted flame;

  And in his garland as he stood,

  Ye might discern a cypress bud.

  Once had the early matrons run

  To greet her of a lovely son,

  25 And now with second hope she goes,

  And calls Lucina to her throes;

  But whether by mischance or blame

  Atropos for Lucina came;

  And with remorseless cruelty,

  30 Spoiled at once both fruit and tree:

  The hapless babe before his birth

  Had burial, yet not laid in earth,

  And the languished mother’s womb

  Was not long a living tomb.

  35 So have I seen some tender slip

  Saved with care from winter’s nip,

  The pride of her carnation train,

  Plucked up by some unheedy swain,

  Who only thought to crop the flow’r

  40 New shot up from vernal show’r;

  But the fair blossom hangs the head

  Sideways as on a dying bed,

  And those pearls of dew she wears,

  Prove to be presaging tears

  45 Which the sad morn had let fall

  On her hast’ning funeral.

  Gentle lady may thy grave

  Peace and quiet ever have;

  After this thy travail sore

  50 Sweet rest seize thee evermore,

  That to give the world increase,

  Shortened hast thy own life’s lease;

  Here, besides the sorrowing

  That thy noble house doth bring,

  55 Here be tears of perfect moan

  Wept for thee in Helicon,

  And some flowers, and some bays,

  For thy hearse to strew the ways,

  Sent thee from the banks of Came,

  60 Devoted to thy virtuous name;

  Whilst thou bright saint high sitt’st in glory,

  Next her much like to thee in story,

  That fair Syrian shepherdess,

  Who after years of barrenness,

  65 The highly favoured 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

  70 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.

  Song. On May Morning

  Now the bright morning star, day’s harbinger,

  Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her

  The flowery May, who from her green lap throws