The Annotated Milton: Complete English Poems Read Online Free PDF Page A

harmony
    Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
     
    XIV

    For if such holy song
    Enwrap our fancy long,
Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold,
    And speckled 142 vanity
    Will sicken soon, and die,
And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould,
    And Hell itself will pass away,
    And leave her dolorous 143 mansions 144 to the peering day.
     
    XV

    Yea, Truth and Justice then
    Will down return to men,
Orbed in a rainbow; and like 145 glories wearing
    Mercy will sit between,
    Throned in celestial sheen,
With radiant feet the tissued 146 clouds down steering,
    And Heav’n, as at some festival,
    Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.
     
    XVI

    But wisest Fate says no,
    This must not yet be so,
The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy
    That on the bitter cross
    Must redeem our loss,
So both himself and us to glorify.
    Yet first to those ychained in sleep
    The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep
     
    XVII

    With such a horrid clang
    As on Mount Sinai rang
While the red fire and smoldering clouds out-break.
    The aged earth aghast
    With terror of that blast
Shall from the surface to the center shake;
    When at the world’s last session 147
     
     
    The dreadful 148 Judge in middle air shall spread His throne,
     
    XVIII

    And then at last our bliss
    Full and perfect is—
But now begins, for from this happy day
    Th’ old dragon under ground
    In straiter 149 limits bound
Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway,
    And wroth 150 to see his kingdom fail
    Swinges 151 the scaly horror of his folded tail.
     
    XIX

    The oracles are dumb;
    No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving.
    Apollo from his shrine
    Can no more divine, 152
With hollow shriek the steep 153 of Delphos leaving.
    No nightly trance or breathèd spell
    Inspires 154 the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
     
    XX

    The lonely mountains o’er,
    And the resounding shore,
     
     
A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament.
    From haunted spring and dale
    Edged with poplar pale 155
The parting genius 156 is with sighing sent.
    With flower-inwoven tresses torn
    The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
     
    XXI

    In consecrated earth,
    And on the holy hearth,
The lars and lemures 157 moan with midnight plaint.
    In urns and altars round,
    A drear and dying sound
Affrights the flamens 158 at their service quaint, 159
    And the chill marble seems to sweat,
    While each peculiar 160 power 161 forgoes his wonted seat.
     
    XXII

    Peor 162 and Baalim 163
    Forsake their temples dim,
With that twice-battered god of Palestine
    And moonèd Ashtaroth, 164
    Heav’n’s queen and mother both,
Now sits not girt 165 with tapers’ holy shine.
     
     
    The Libyc Hammon 166 shrinks 167 his horn.
    In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz 168 mourn,
     
    XXIII

    And sullen Moloch, 169 fled,
    Hath left in shadows dread
His burning idol all of blackest hue.
    In vain with cymbals’ ring
    They call the grisly king,
In dismal dance about the furnace 170 blue.
    The brutish 171 gods of Nile as fast,
    Isis 172 and Orus, 173 and the dog Anubis, 174 haste.
     
    XXIV

    Nor is Osiris 175 seen
    In Memphian grove or green,
Trampling th’ unshowered grass with lowings loud,
    Nor can he be at rest
    Within his sacred chest: 176
Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud.
     
     
    In vain with timbreled 177 anthems 178 dark
    The sable-stolèd 179 sorcerers bear his worshipped ark.
     
    XXV

    He feels from Judah’s land
    The dreaded infant’s hand,
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn. 180
    Nor all the gods beside
    Longer dare abide,
Not Typhon 181 huge, ending in snaky twine. 182
    Our Babe, to show his Godhead true,
    Can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew.
     
    XXVI

    So when the sun in bed,
    Curtained with cloudy red,
Pillows his chin upon an orient 183 wave,
    The flocking shadows pale
    Troop to the infernal jail.
Each fettered ghost slips to his several 184 grave
    And the yellow-skirted fays 185
    Fly