I have heard a very judicious critic fay, that he had an higher idea of Milton's ftile in poetry, from the two following poems, than from his Paradife Loft. It is certain the imagination fhewn in them is correct and ftrong. The introduction to both in irregular measure is borrowed from the Italians, and hurts an English ear.
ENCE vain deluding joys,
The brood of folly without father bred,
How little you befted,
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys?
Dwell in fome idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes poffefs,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the fun-beams,
Or likeft hovering dreams,
The fickle penfioners of Morpheus train.
But hail thou Goddess, fage and holy,
Hail divinest Melancholy,
Whose faintly visage is too bright
To hit the fenfe of human fight,
And, therefore, to our weaker view,
O'er-laid with black, staid wisdom's hue;
Black, but fuch as in esteem
Prince Memnon's fifter might befeem,
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove
To fet her beauties praise above
The Sea-Nymphs, and their pow'rs offended:
Yet thou art higher far defcended,
Thee bright-hair'd Vefta long of yore
To folitary Saturn bore;
His daughter fhe (in Saturn's reign,
Such mixture was not held a stain)
Oft, in glimmering bow'rs and glades
He met her, and in fecret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come penfive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, ftedfaf, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And fable ftole of Cyprus lawn,
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Come, but keep thy wanted ftate,
With even ftep and mufing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt foul fitting in thine eyes:
There held in holy paffion still,
Forget thyfelf to marble, till
With a fad leaden downward caft
Thou fix them on the earth as faft:
And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Faft, that oft with Gods doth diet,
And hears the Mufes in a ring,
Ay round about Jove's altar fing:
And add to these retired Leifure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure ;
But first, and chiefeft, with thee bring,
Him that yon foars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The cherub Contemplation;
And the mute filence hift along,
'Lefs Philomel will deign a fong,
In her sweetest, faddeft plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke
Gently o'er th' accuftom'd oak;
Sweet bird, that fhunn'ft the noise of folly,
Moft mufical, moft melancholy!
Thee, chauntrefs, oft, the woods among,
I woo, to hear thy even-fong;
And, miffing thee, I walk unfeen
On the dry smooth-fhaven green,
To behold the wand'ring moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led aftray
Through the Heav'n's wide pathless way,
And oft, as if her head she bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft, on a plat of rifing ground,
I hear the far-off Curfew found,
Over fome wide-water'd fhore,
Swinging flow with fullen roar;
Or, if the air will not permit,
Some still removed place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all refort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the bellman's drowfy charm,
To blefs the doors from nightly harm:
Or let my lamp, at midnight hour,
Be feen in fome high lonely tow'r,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere
The spirit of Plato, to unfold
What worlds, or what vaft regions, hold
The immortal`mind, that hath forfook,
Her manfion in this fleshly nook:
And of thofe demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under-ground,
Whofe power hath a true confent
With planet, or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous tragedy,
In fcepter'd pall, come fweeping by,
Prefenting Thebes, or Pelops line,
Or the Tale of Troy divine,
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled hath thy buskin'd stage.
But, O fad Virgin, that thy pow'r
Might raise Mufæus from his bower,
Or bid the foul of Orpheus fing
Such notes, as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what love did seek.
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