And Envy, with thy "jealous leer malign" 130 Nor let the monster Calumny shoot forth Her venom'd tongue at me. Detested foes! Ye all are impotent against my peace, For I am privileged, and bear my breast Safe, and too high, for your viperean wound. But thou my Father! since to render thanks Equivalent, and to requite by deeds Thy liberality, exceeds my power, Sufffice it, that I thus record thy gifts, And bear them treasur'd in a grateful mind! 140 Ye too, the favourite pastime of my youth, My voluntary numbers, if ye dare To hope longevity, and to survive Your master's funeral pile, not soon absorb'd In the oblivious Lethaean gulph Shall to Futurity perhaps convey This theme, and by these praises of my sire Improve the Fathers of a distant age. 1 A fount sacred to the Muses. 2 The Muse of History. 3 The Serpent, a constellation. 4 Bacchus, or Wine. 5 John Milton Sr. was a fine musician. Arion was a lyric poet of Methymna, in Lesbos, who was saved from drowning by dolphins which he charmed with his song. 6 Aonia is a plain in Boeotia. 7 France. 8 The Old Testament Scriptures. Psalm CXIV 1 When Israel by Jehovah call'd From Egypt's hostile plain, Pour'd forth in numbers as the Sand And sought the adjacent main: Then God descended from on high To lead the favour'd Race To rule o'er Jacob, & his Name In Judah's Tribe to place. The Sea at their approach alarm'd In wild amazement fled 10 And Jordan's flood was driven back Within it's fountainhead. The Mountains from their basis shook Confess'd the Parent God! With sudden throws like Rams they skipp'd And broken, fell abroad. The little Hills by the same power Were from their Center torn Like Lambs resistless they gave way In Tumult wild, upborn. 20 Ye Waves what strange amazement, say, Seiz'd on you that you fled? Thou Jordan too! On Israel's march, Why driven to thy Head? Ye Mountains whence this sudden fright That shook you from your base? And whence, ye little Hills, your flight From Israel's chosen Race? Tremble thou Earth! Jehovah leads, And guards the might Host! 30 That God, who by his awful Word, Commands the Stream to flow2 From flinty Rocks; & pouring thence, To form the Lake below. 1 Translated from the Latin, and not Milton's Greek poem. Milton's own English version, presented below, was done, he tells us, "at fifteen years old." 2 See Exodus, chapter I7. Psalm CXIV