University of Virginia Library

XXXV. MILTON.

‘What matters it, though in the city around
This quiet dwelling, tumult, and the din
Of popular applause, should welcome back
The godless ruler, late o'er the face of earth
By God's plain finger driven forth hence to wander?
Within this house, as in the farthest shrine,
Holy of Holies, peace and passionless calm,
The common-weal of the untyrannized soul
Reign constant, and the service of God proceeds
From that pure Temple which He most desires.
So will I rest me here and die in freedom.
—Light of mine eyes! I would not win thee back
To see the shame of England; soon repentant
Of that short breathing-time of holiness,
Rule of the Saints, soon ended, when the One
Chosen of God to save his flock cast down,
The Thunderer, first of men, pass'd hence away
In that foreboding tempest, omen sure
Darkening th' horizon of the coming years.
Where is that iron will inflexible,
That stern simplicity of th' heroic soul,
High justice, that the shows and forms despising
By which the right is hamper'd, clear'd the way
Straight-hewn and level'd before the royal mind
Advancing in her glory? Where the lips
That hurled foul scorn at Italy and Spain,
And set the Banner of Salvation up
On that high hill of England's majesty?
—And is it thus that God afflicts His servants,
E'en in their graves unresting, whence the touch
Of harpy-slaves, foul minions, priests of Hell,
Tears their remains, dishonour'd, scorn'd and jeer'd at
By ribaldry of th' ingrateful multitude?
My heart forebodes me that I ne'er shall toil
For that good cause again, or hear them blow
The trumpet of God to battle: but encompass'd
With mine own thoughts, unwearied company,
Turn inwards: from the sight of glory defaced,
The Shield of England's Commonwealth obscured,
Broken and tarnish'd.—But the great Deliverer
Will yet appoint His time, and come in glory.—
Come then, great long-expected day: send up
The first forerunning shafts of dewy light
Over th' horizon: let the morning gales
Breathe o'er the wearied heart, that would ascend
Far o'er Earth's round in purer air to rest:—
Expectant till Heaven's gate shall ope, and pour
The full irradiant flood, that scarce restrain'd
Streams o'er the galaxy, when the Moon hangs low
Seen nightly glowing. But the light of stars,
This white and palpitating maze of brightness,
And that great orb that darts the central fire,
Central, or circumambient: as a lamp
Before his full-faced blaze hung up in view,
Within th' o'erflooding glow of Heaven reveal'd
Shall sink and pale: till all this frame of things,
Th' abysses of aethereal space, the worlds,
Th' illimitable breathing universe,
By God's immediate presence interfused
Shall glow one white, entire, and perfect crystal:
Clear ringing with the songs of cherubim
And harping angel-choirs: God, All in All,
Eternity's irrevoluble circle,
Fulfil'd in overmeasure of dateless Love.’