 | Love's Last Labour Not Lost |  |
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THE PRESUMED DISINTERMENT OF MILTON.
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A MIDSUMMER MORNING'S DREAM.
Contented, grateful, and resign'd,
As o'er the past my memory ran,
Upon my pillow I reclined,
At peace, I hoped, with God and man,
When with the morning's earliest beam
Came o'er me a celestial Dream.
As o'er the past my memory ran,
Upon my pillow I reclined,
At peace, I hoped, with God and man,
When with the morning's earliest beam
Came o'er me a celestial Dream.
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Methought the icy hand of death
Unbarr'd my earthly prison door,
And far from sin's defiling breath,
My free and happy soul did soar
To realize her promised rest
Among the spirits of the blest.
Unbarr'd my earthly prison door,
And far from sin's defiling breath,
My free and happy soul did soar
To realize her promised rest
Among the spirits of the blest.
That tuneful harps of many strings,
And voices jubilant aloud
Gave Glory to the King of Kings,
And saints and white-robed seraphs bow'd
In adoration at the feet
Of Him who fill'd the Mercy-seat.
And voices jubilant aloud
Gave Glory to the King of Kings,
And saints and white-robed seraphs bow'd
In adoration at the feet
Of Him who fill'd the Mercy-seat.
That those whom earth had never prized,
The contrite-hearted, the cast down,
The poor, the humble, the despised,
And they who wore the martyr's crown,
The royal courts of Zion trod,
And stood at the right hand of God.
The contrite-hearted, the cast down,
The poor, the humble, the despised,
And they who wore the martyr's crown,
The royal courts of Zion trod,
And stood at the right hand of God.
That in the highest Heaven of Heaven
Salvation's symbol shone unveil'd;
That myriads then of souls forgiven
Its brightness with hosannas hail'd!
And, at the brazen trumpet's blast,
Their golden crowns before it cast!
Salvation's symbol shone unveil'd;
That myriads then of souls forgiven
Its brightness with hosannas hail'd!
And, at the brazen trumpet's blast,
Their golden crowns before it cast!
That so entrancing, so intense
The glories of this vision grew,
I seem'd to lose both sight and sense,
'Twas then it faded from my view;
The voice of melody was still,
And darkness fell on Zion's hill,
The glories of this vision grew,
I seem'd to lose both sight and sense,
'Twas then it faded from my view;
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And darkness fell on Zion's hill,
And silent were the harp and lute,
When, in the mist, methought I heard,
Sweeter than the sweetest flute,
An unseen, solitary bird
Piping a note that seem'd to say,
“Ah! let me to the woods away.
When, in the mist, methought I heard,
Sweeter than the sweetest flute,
An unseen, solitary bird
Piping a note that seem'd to say,
“Ah! let me to the woods away.
“The robin red-breast, and the thrush,
The blackbird, linnet, and the lark,
From every bloomy brake and bush
Invite me home again, and hark!
I hear a sweeter voice than all,
My lonely mate's endearing call.”
The blackbird, linnet, and the lark,
From every bloomy brake and bush
Invite me home again, and hark!
I hear a sweeter voice than all,
My lonely mate's endearing call.”
And now, alas! dissolved the dream
That had to heaven my spirit borne,
And I beheld Aurora's beam
Refulgent, lighting up the morn;
And saw in all its plumy pride
My serenader by my side!
That had to heaven my spirit borne,
And I beheld Aurora's beam
Refulgent, lighting up the morn;
And saw in all its plumy pride
My serenader by my side!
What brought thee, tuneful stranger, here?
Art thou the harbinger of bliss?
The herald from some happier sphere
To tell me (joyful tidings!) this?
“The day's at hand when heaven to thee
Shall not a transient vision be!”
Art thou the harbinger of bliss?
The herald from some happier sphere
To tell me (joyful tidings!) this?
“The day's at hand when heaven to thee
Shall not a transient vision be!”
Poor little captive! ill at ease!
It fluttering to the window flew,
Which when I open'd to the breeze,
It clapp'd its wings, and chirp'd adieu!
And vanish'd in the azure bright,
Singing and soaring with delight.
It fluttering to the window flew,
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It clapp'd its wings, and chirp'd adieu!
And vanish'd in the azure bright,
Singing and soaring with delight.
I thought upon my morning dream;
And how I panted to return
Again to that celestial beam
Where angels sing and seraphs burn;
And, like the throstle to its nest,
Soar to my everlasting rest.
And how I panted to return
Again to that celestial beam
Where angels sing and seraphs burn;
And, like the throstle to its nest,
Soar to my everlasting rest.
| Love's Last Labour Not Lost | |