Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
By John Milton (16081674)On the Morning of Christs Nativity
I THIS is the month, and this the happy morn, | |
Wherein the Son of Heaven’s eternal King, | |
Of weddèd maid and virgin mother born, | |
Our great redemption from above did bring; | |
For so the holy sages once did sing, | 5 |
That he our daily forfeit should release, | |
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. | |
II That glorious form, that light unsufferable, | |
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty | |
Wherewith he wont at Heaven’s high council-table | 10 |
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, | |
He laid aside; and here with us to be, | |
Forsook the courts of everlasting day, | |
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. | |
III Say, heavenly muse, shall not thy sacred vein | 15 |
Afford a present to the Infant God? | |
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, | |
To welcome him to this his new abode, | |
Now while the Heaven, by the sun’s team untrod, | |
Hath took no print of the approaching light, | 20 |
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? | |
IV See how from far upon the eastern road | |
The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet: | |
Oh, run, prevent them with thy humble ode; | |
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; | 25 |
Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, | |
And join thy voice unto the angel quire, | |
From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire. | |
THE HYMN It was the winter wild,I | |
While the Heaven-born child | 30 |
All meanly wrapped in the rude manger lies; | |
Nature in awe to him | |
Had doffed her gaudy trim, | |
With her great master so to sympathise: | |
It was no season then for her | 35 |
To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. | |
II Only with speeches fair | |
She woos the gentle air | |
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, | |
And on her naked shame, | 40 |
Pollute with sinful blame, | |
The saintly veil of maiden white to throw, | |
Confounded that her Maker’s eyes | |
Should look so near upon her foul deformities. | |
III But he, her fears to cease, | 45 |
Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; | |
She, crowned with olive-green, came softly sliding | |
Down through the turning sphere, | |
His ready harbinger, | |
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing, | 50 |
And waving wide her myrtle wand, | |
She strikes an universal peace through sea and land. | |
IV No war, or battle’s sound, | |
Was heard the world around: | |
The idle spear and shield were high up hung; | 55 |
The hookèd chariot stood, | |
Unstained with hostile blood; | |
The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng, | |
And kings sat still with awful eye, | |
As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. | 60 |
V But peaceful was the night | |
Wherein the Prince of Light | |
His reign of peace upon the earth began: | |
The winds with wonder whist | |
Smoothly the waters kissed, | 65 |
Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, | |
Who now hath quite forgot to rave, | |
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave. | |
VI The stars with deep amaze | |
Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, | 70 |
Bending one way their precious influence, | |
And will not take their flight, | |
For all the morning light, | |
Or Lucifer that often warned them thence: | |
But in their glimmering orbs did glow, | 75 |
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. | |
VII And though the shady gloom | |
Had given day her room, | |
The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, | |
And hid his head for shame, | 80 |
As his inferior flame | |
The new enlightened world no more should need; | |
He saw a greater sun appear | |
Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear. | |
VIII The shepherds on the lawn, | 85 |
Or e’er the point of dawn, | |
Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; | |
Full little thought they then, | |
That the mighty Pan | |
Was kindly come to live with them below; | 90 |
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, | |
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. | |
IX When such music sweet | |
Their hearts and ears did greet, | |
As never was by mortal finger strook, | 95 |
Divinely-warbled voice | |
Answering the stringèd noise, | |
As all their souls in blissful rapture took: | |
The air, such pleasure loth to lose, | |
With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. | 100 |
X Nature that heard such sound, | |
Beneath the hollow round | |
Of Cynthia’s seat, the airy region thrilling, | |
Now was almost won | |
To think her part was done, | 105 |
And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; | |
She knew such harmony alone | |
Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. | |
XI At last surrounds their sight | |
A globe of circular light, | 110 |
That with long beams the shame-faced night arrayed; | |
The helmèd cherubim, | |
And sworded seraphim, | |
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, | |
Harping in loud and solemn quire, | 115 |
With unexpressive notes to Heaven’s new-born Heir. | |
XII Such music (as ’tis said) | |
Before was never made, | |
But when of old the sons of morning sung, | |
While the Creator great | 120 |
His constellations set, | |
And the well-balanced world on hinges hung, | |
And cast the dark foundations deep, | |
And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. | |
XIII Ring out, ye crystal spheres, | 125 |
Once bless our human ears | |
(If ye have power to touch our senses so), | |
And let your silver chime | |
Move in melodious time, | |
And let the base of Heaven’s deep organ blow; | 130 |
And with your ninefold 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; | 135 |
And speckled Vanity | |
Will sicken soon and die, | |
And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; | |
And Hell itself will pass away, | |
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. | 140 |
XV Yea Truth and Justice then | |
Will down return to men, | |
Orbed in a rainbow; and like glories wearing | |
Mercy will sit between, | |
Throned in celestial sheen, | 145 |
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; | |
And Heaven, 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, | 150 |
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, | 155 |
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 smouldering clouds out brake; | |
The aged earth aghast | 160 |
With terror of that blast, | |
Shall from the surface to the centre shake; | |
When at the world’s last session, | |
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. | |
XVIII And then at last our bliss | 165 |
Full and perfect is, | |
But now begins; for, from this happy day, | |
The old dragon, underground | |
In straiter limits bound, | |
Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway, | 170 |
And wroth to see his kingdom fail, | |
Swings 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; | 175 |
Apollo from his shrine | |
Can no more divine, | |
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving; | |
No nightly trance, or breathèd spell, | |
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. | 180 |
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, | 185 |
The parting Genius 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, | 190 |
The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; | |
In urns, and altars round, | |
A drear and dying sound | |
Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; | |
And the chill marble seems to sweat, | 195 |
While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. | |
XXII Peor and Baälim | |
Forsake their temples dim, | |
With that twice-battered god of Palestine; | |
And mooned Ashtaroth, | 200 |
Heaven’s queen and mother both, | |
Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine; | |
The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn; | |
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. | |
XXIII And sullen Moloch fled | 205 |
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 blue; | 210 |
The brutish gods of Nile as fast, | |
Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. | |
XXIV Nor is Osiris seen | |
In Memphian grove or green, | |
Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud; | 215 |
Nor can he be at rest | |
Within his sacred chest, | |
Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud; | |
In vain with timbrelled anthems dark | |
The sable-stolèd sorcerers bear his worshipped ark. | 220 |
XXV He feels from Juda’s land | |
The dreaded infant’s hand; | |
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; | |
Nor all the gods beside | |
Longer dare abide, | 225 |
Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine; | |
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, | 230 |
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, | |
The flocking shadows pale | |
Troop to the infernal jail, | |
Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave, | |
And the yellow-skirted fays | 235 |
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. | |
XXVII But see the virgin blest | |
Hath laid her Babe to rest, | |
Time is our tedious song should here have ending: | |
Heaven’s youngest teemèd star | 240 |
Hath fixed her polished car, | |
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: | |
And all about the courtly stable | |
Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. | |