And witness it, ye of the privileged space, Said the flash; and the mountains, as from an abyss For quivering seconds leaped up to attest That given, received, renewed was the kiss; The lips to lips and the breast to breast; All in a glory of ecstasy, swift As an eagle at prey, and pure as the prayer Of an infant bidden joined hands uplift To be guarded through darkness by spirits of air, Ere setting the sails of sleep till day. Slowly the low cloud swung, and far It panted along its mirrored way; Above loose threads one sanctioning star, The wonder of what had been witnessed, sealed, And with me still as in crystal glassed Are the depths alight, the heavens revealed, Where on to the Alps the muteness passed. MILTON DECEMBER 9, 1608: DECEMBER 9, 1908 WHAT splendour of imperial station man, The Tree of Life, may reach when, rooted fast, His branching stem points way to upper air And skyward still aspires, we see in him Who sang for us the Archangelical host, Made Morning, by old Darkness urged to the abyss; A voice that down three centuries onward rolls; Onward will roll while lives our English tongue, In the devout of music unsurpassed Since Piety won Heaven’s ear on Israel’s harp. The face of Earth, the soul of Earth, her charm, Her dread austerity; the quavering fate Of mortals with blind hope by passion swayed, His mind embraced, the while on trodden soil, Defender of the Commonwealth, he joined Our temporal fray, whereof is vital fruit, And, choosing armoury of the Scholar, stood Beside his peers to raise the voice for Freedom: Nor has fair Liberty a champion armed To meet on heights or plains the Sophister Throughout the ages, equal to this man, Whose spirit breathed high Heaven, and drew thence The ethereal sword to smite. Were England sunk Beneath the shifting tides, her heart, her brain, The smile she wears, the faith she holds, her best, Would live full-toned in the grand delivery Of his cathedral speech: an utterance Almost divine, and such as Hellespont, Crashing its breakers under Ida’s frown, Inspired: yet worthier he, whose instrument Was by comparison the coarse reed-pipe; Whereof have come the marvellous harmonies, Which, with his lofty theme, of infinite range, Abash, entrance, exalt. We need him now, This latest Age in repetition cries: For Belial, the adroit, is in our midst; Mammon, more swoln to squeeze the slavish sweat From hopeless toil: and overshadowingly (Aggrandized, monstrous in his grinning mask Of hypocritical Peace,) inveterate Moloch Remains the great example.