Another on "On the Gunpowder Plot."

Quem modo Roma suis devoverat impia diris,
Et Styge damnarat Taenarioque sinu,
Hunc vice mutata jam tollere gestit ad astra,
Et cupit ad superos evehere usque Deos.

John Milton

John Milton

John Milton was an influential English poet, theologian, and intellectual. He is best known for his epic poem 'Paradise Lost,' which explores themes of rebellion, free will, and human fallibility. His works reflect his deep engagement with politics, religion, and linguistic innovation. Milton's literary contributions have cemented him as one of the most important figures in Western literature, and his writings continue to be studied and revered worldwide.

John Milton

Latin

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Another on "On the Gunpowder Plot."

Purgatorem animae derisit Jacobus ignem,
Et sine quo superum non adeunda domus.
Frenduit hoc trina monstrum Latiale corona
Movit & horrificum cornua dena minax.
Et nec inultus ait temnes mea sacra Britanne,
Supplicium spreta relligione dabis.
Et si stelligeras unquam penetraveris arces,
Non nisi per flammas triste patebit iter.
O quam funesto cecinisti proxima vero,
Verbaque ponderibus vix caritura suis!
Nam prope Tartareo sublime rotatus ab igni
Ibat ad aethereas umbra perusta plagas.

John Milton

On the Gunpowder Plot.

Cum simul in regem nuper satrapasque Britannos
Ausus es infandum perfide Fauxe nefas,
Fallor? an & mitis voluisti ex parte videri,
Et pensare mala cum pietate scelus;
Scilicet hos alti missurus ad atria caeli,
Sulphureo curru flammivolisque rotis.
Qualiter ille feris caput inviolabile Parcis
Liquit Jordanios turbine raptus agros.

John Milton

On The Gunpowder Plot.[1]

Cum simul in regem nuper satrapasque Britannos
    Ausus es infandum perfide Fauxe nefas,
Fallor? an & mitis voluisti ex parte videri,
    Et pensare mala cum pietate scelus;
Scilicet hos alti missurus ad atria caeli,
    Sulphureo curru flammivolisque rotis.
Qualiter ille feris caput inviolabile Parcis
    Liquit Jordanios turbine raptus agros.


                Another on the Same.

Siccine tentasti caelo donasse Jacobum
    Quae septemgemino Bellua monte lates?
Ni meliora tuum poterit dare munera numen,
    Parce precor donis insidiosa tuis.
Ille quidem sine te consortia serus adivit
    Astra, nec inferni pulveris usus ope.
Sic potius foedus in caelum pelle cucullos,
    Et quot habet brutos Roma profana Deos,
Namque hac aut alia qu...

William Cowper

On the Inventor of Gunpowder.

Praise in old time the sage Prometheus won,
Who stole ethereal radiance from the sun;
But greater he, whose bold invention strove
To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove.

John Milton

On the Fifth of November. - Anno Aetates 17.

Am pius extrema veniens Jacobus ab arcto
Teucrigenas populos, lateque patentia regna
Albionum tenuit, jamque inviolabile foedus
Sceptra Caledoniis conjunxerat Anglica Scotis:
Pacificusque novo felix divesque sedebat
In solio, occultique doli securus & hostis:
Cum ferus ignifluo regnans Acheronte tyrannus,
Eumenidum pater, aethereo vagus exul Olympo,
Forte per immensum terrarum erraverat orbem,
Dinumerans sceleris socios, vernasque fideles,
Participes regni post funera moesta futuros;
Hic tempestates medio ciet aere diras,
Illic unanimes odium struit inter amicos,
Armat & invictas in mutua viscera gentes;
Regnaque olivifera vertit florentia pace,
Et quoscunque videt purae virtutis amantes,
Hos cupit adjicere imperio, fraudumque magister
Tentat inac...

John Milton

Sonnets. XV - On the late Massacher In Piemont.

Avenge O lord thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold,
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old
When all our Fathers worship't Stocks and Stones,
Forget not: in thy book record their groanes
Who were thy Sheep and in their antient Fold
Slayn by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd
Mother with Infant down the Rocks.    Their moans
The Vales redoubl'd to the Hills, and they
To Heav'n.    Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow
O're all th'Italian fields where still doth sway
The triple Tyrant: that from these may grow
A hunder'd-fold, who having learnt thy way
Early may fly the Babylonian wo.

John Milton