This, of course, brings the image of the Muses, and as that thought comes, once more we have a new attempt at a formal beginning in the second paragraph (line 15). First, is the invocation, and then, recurring to the first thought, Milton says it is peculiarly appropriate for _him_ to sing of Lycidas. Why? Because they had been so long together, and as the thought of happier things arises, the sweet memories, linked by the chain of association, come thronging so tumultuously that he forgets himself in reverie. The music, at first slow and sweet, grows more and more strong and rapid till even the rustic dance-measure comes in merrily. Most naturally here the key-note is again struck by the force of contrast, and the despair of the sorrow that wakes from the forgetfulness of pleasant dreams to the consciousness of loss, strikes as rapidly its minor chords till it seems as if hope were entirely lost. Nothing is more unreasonable than this despair of sorrow. Tossed in its own wild passion, it sees nothing clearly, and seeking for some adequate cause, heaps blindly unmerited reproaches on anything, on all things. So, recoiling before its power, stung with its pain, the poet turns reproachfully to the nymphs, blaming them for their negligence. But before the words are fairly uttered he realizes his folly. Lycidas was beloved by them, but if Calliope could not save even her own son, how powerless are they against the step of inevitable fate! This strikes deep down in the thunder of the bass notes, and the thought comes which perhaps cannot be more powerfully expressed than by the old Hebrew refrain, “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” After all, why seek for anything, even for fame? Man’s destiny is ruled by irresponsible necessity. Life is worth nothing, and would it not be better, instead of “scorning delights and living laborious days,” to yield one’s self to the pleasures of the passing moment? “All is vanity and vexation of spirit.” When any soul reaches this point, it seems as if help must come from outside of itself or it will go irrevocably down. Sorrow, despair, are always represented by darkness. Is it an accident that the celestial notes which first strike through the descending bass, come from the god of light, Phœbus Apollo? Clear, and sweet, and sudden, they cleave the closing shadows, the sunlight comes in again, and the music climbs up and grows serenely steady.