‘Descend from Heav’n, Urania, by that name If rightly thou art call’d, whose voice divine Following, above th’ Olympian hill I soar, Above the flight of Pegaséan wing. The meaning, not the name, I call; for thou Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top Of old Olympus dwell’st, but heav’nly born: Before the hills appear’d, or fountain flow’d, Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse, Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play In presence of th’ Almighty Father, pleased With thy celestial song. Up led by Thee Into the Heav’n of Heav’ns I have presumed, An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air, Thy temp’ring. With like safety guided down, Return me to my native element; Lest from this flying steed, unrein’d (as once Bellerophon, though from a lower clime), Dismounted, on th’ Aleian field I fall Erroneous there to wander and forlorn. Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound Within the visible diurnal sphere; Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole, More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged To hoarse or mute, though fall’n on evil days, On evil days though fall’n, and evil tongues; In darkness, and with dangers compass’d round, And solitude; yet not alone, while thou Visit’st my slumbers nightly, or when morn Purples the east: still govern thou my song, Urania, and fit audience find, though few; But drive far off the barb’rous dissonance Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamour drown’d Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend Her son. So fail not thou, who thee implores; For thou art heav’nly, she an empty dream.’ ‘An ancient clergyman of Dorsetshire, Dr. Wright, found John Milton in a small chamber hung with rusty green, sitting in an elbow-chair, and dressed neatly in black: pale, but not cadaverous.’ ‘He used also to sit in a gray coarse cloth coat at the door of his house near Bunhill Fields, in warm, sunny weather;’ and the common people said he was inspired.