 | Anyta and other poems |  |
162
TO MILTON.
Burned into History's high beacon-pageBy deed and thought and genius,—triple fire,
Seld-seen on earth,—thy wreathèd name flares higher
Than all men's else in the sublimest age
Of England, where against Time's billowy rage
None is more fenced than thou, without thy lyre,
Whose tones shall ring till pales the last dim pyre,
And crumbles earth's triumphant equipage,—
Stirring meanwhile, with deep sonorous peals,
All whom its softer notes have quick entranced,
Dulcet and manful,—first on even keels
Smooth wafting raptured souls, then in high storms
Of giant music purging them, advanced
To where the holier spheral influence warms.
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