Milton: Minor Poems

Name: Milton: Minor Poems
Author: Milton, John

Milton, John

English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700

To behold the wandering moon,
    Riding near her highest noon,
    Like one that had been led astray
    Through the heaven's wide pathless way,                           70
    And oft, as if her head she bowed,
    Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
    Oft, on a plat of rising ground,
    I hear the far-off curfew sound,
    Over some wide-watered shore,                                     75
    Swinging slow with sullen 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,                               80
    Far from all resort of mirth,
    Save the cricket on the hearth,
    Or the bellman's drowsy charm
    To bless the doors from nightly harm.
    Or let my lamp, at midnight hour,                                 85
    Be seen in some high lonely tower,
    Where I may oft outwatch the Bear,
    With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere
    The spirit of Plato, to unfold
    What worlds or what vast regions hold                             90
    The immortal mind that hath forsook
    Her mansion in this fleshly nook;
    And of those demons that are found
    In fire, air, flood, or underground,
    Whose power hath a true consent                                   95
    With planet or with element.
    Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
    In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
    Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
    Or the tale of Troy divine,                                      100
    Or what (though rare) of later age
    Ennobled hath the buskined stage.
    But, O sad Virgin! that thy power
    Might raise Musaeus from his bower;
    Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing                                  105
    Such notes as, warbled to the string,
    Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
    And made Hell grant what love did seek;
    Or call up him that left half-told
    The story of Cambuscan bold,                                     110
    Of Camball, and of Algarsife,
    And who had Canace to wife,
    That owned the virtuous ring and glass,
    And of the wondrous horse of brass
    On which the Tartar king did ride;                               115
    And if aught else great bards beside
    In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
    Of turneys, and of trophies hung,
    Of forests, and enchantments drear,
    Where more is meant than meets the ear.                          120
    Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career,
    Till civil-suited Morn appear,
    Not tricked and frounced, as she was wont
    With the Attic boy to hunt,
    But kerchieft in a comely cloud,                                 125
    While rocking winds are piping loud
    Or ushered with a shower still,
    When the gust hath blown his fill,
    Ending on the rustling leaves,
    With minute-drops from off the eaves.                            130
    And, when the sun begins to fling
    His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring

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Milton: Minor Poems

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