On the Death of the Vice-Chancellor, A Physician.1

Learn ye nations of the earth
The condition of your birth,
Now be taught your feeble state,
Know, that all must yield to Fate!

If the mournful Rover, Death,
Say but once-resign your breath-
Vainly of escape you dream,
You must pass the Stygian stream.

Could the stoutest overcome
Death's assault, and baffle Doom,
Hercules had both withstood
Undiseas'd by Nessus' blood.²

Ne'er had Hector press'd the plain
By a trick of Pallas slain,
Nor the Chief to Jove allied³
By Achilles' phantom died.

Could enchantments life prolong,
Circe, saved by magic song,
Still had liv'd, and equal skill
Had preserv'd Medea still.⁴

Dwelt in herbs and drugs a pow'r
To avert Man's destin'd hour,
Learn'd Machaon⁵ should have known
Doubtless to avert his own.

Chiron had survived the smart
Of the Hydra-tainted dart,⁶
And Jove's bolt had been with ease
Foil'd by Asclepiades.⁷

Thou too, Sage! of whom forlorn
Helicon and Cirrha mourn,
Still had'st filled thy princely place,
Regent of the gowned race,

Had'st advanc'd to higher fame
Still, thy much-ennobled name,
Nor in Charon's skiff explored
The Tartarean gulph abhorr'd.

But resentful Proserpine,
Jealous of thy skill divine,
Snapping short thy vital thread
Thee too number'd with the Dead.

Wise and good! untroubled be
The green turf that covers thee,
Thence in gay profusion grow
All the sweetest flow'rs that blow!

Pluto's Consort bid thee rest!
Oeacus pronounce thee blest!
To her home thy shade consign,
Make Elysium ever thine!

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

To Leonora,1 Singing in Rome.

John Milton, Simple Poetry

Translations of the Italian Poems III Canzone.

John Milton, Simple Poetry

The Passion.

John Milton, Simple Poetry

Sonnet to the Nightingale

John Milton, Simple Poetry

English

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On the Death of the Vice-Chancellor, A Physician.[1]

Learn ye nations of the earth
The condition of your birth,
Now be taught your feeble state,
Know, that all must yield to Fate!

If the mournful Rover, Death,
Say but once-resign your breath-
Vainly of escape you dream,
You must pass the Stygian stream.

Could the stoutest overcome
Death's assault, and baffle Doom,                
Hercules had both withstood
Undiseas'd by Nessus' blood.^[2]

Ne'er had Hector press'd the plain
By a trick of Pallas slain,
Nor the Chief to Jove allied^[3]
By Achilles' phantom died.

Could enchantments life prolong,
Circe, saved by magic song,
Still had liv'd, and equal skill
Had preserv'd Medea still.^[4]                                    

Dwelt in herbs ...

William Cowper

On the Death of the Bishop of Ely.1 - Anno Aetates 17.

My lids with grief were tumid yet,
And still my sullied cheek was wet
With briny dews profusely shed
For venerable Winton dead,²
When Fame, whose tales of saddest sound
Alas! are ever truest found,
The news through all our cities spread
Of yet another mitred head
By ruthless Fate to Death consign'd,
Ely, the honour of his kind.
At once, a storm of passion heav'd
My boiling bosom, much I grieved
But more I raged, at ev'ry breath
Devoting Death himself to death.
With less revenge did Naso³ teem
When hated Ibis was his theme;
With less, Archilochus,⁴ denied
The lovely Greek, his promis'd bride.
But lo! while thus I execrate,
Incens'd, the Minister of Fate,
Wondrous accents, soft, yet clear,
Wafted on the g...

John Milton

An Ode - Inscribed To The Memory Of The Hon. Colonel George Villiers

Say, dearest Villiers, poor departed friend,
(Since fleeting life thus suddenly must end)
Say, what did all thy busy hopes avail,
That anxious thou from pole to pole didst sail,
Ere on thy chin the springing beard began
To spread a doubtful down and promise man?
What profited thy thoughts, and toils, and cares
In vigour more confirmed and riper years,
To wake ere morning-dawn to loud alarms,
And march till close of night in heavy arms,
To scorn the summer's suns and winter's snows,
And search through every clime thy country's foes?
That thou might'st Fortune to thy side engage,
That gentle Peace might quell Bellona's rage,
And Anna's bounty crown her soldier's hoary age?

In vain we think that free-will'd man has power
To hasten or protract th' appointed ...

Matthew Prior

Elegy II On the Death of the University Beadle at Cambridge.1

Thee, whose refulgent staff and summons clear,
Minerva's flock longtime was wont t'obey,
Although thyself an herald, famous here,
The last of heralds, Death, has snatch'd away.
He calls on all alike, nor even deigns
To spare the office that himself sustains.

Thy locks were whiter than the plumes display'd
By Leda's paramour² in ancient time,
But thou wast worthy ne'er to have decay'd,
Or, Aeson-like,³ to know a second prime,
Worthy for whom some Goddess should have won
New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's son.⁴

Commission'd to convene with hasty call
The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou stand!
So stood Cyllenius⁵ erst in Priam's hall,
Wing-footed messenger of Jove's command,
And so, Eurybates^6<...

John Milton

Elegy III - Anno Aetates 17.1 - On the Death of the Bishop of Winchester.2

Silent I sat, dejected, and alone,
Making in thought the public woes my own,
When, first, arose the image in my breast
Of England's sufferings by that scourge, the pest.³
How death, his fun'ral torch and scythe in hand,
Ent'ring the lordliest mansions of the land,
Has laid the gem-illumin'd palace low,
And level'd tribes of Nobles at a blow.
I, next, deplor'd the famed fraternal pair⁴
Too soon to ashes turn'd and empty air,
The Heroes next, whom snatch'd into the skies
All Belgia saw, and follow'd with her sighs;
But Thee far most I mourn'd, regretted most,
Winton's chief shepherd and her worthiest boast;
Pour'd out in tears I thus complaining said
Death, next in pow'r to Him who rules the Dead!
Is't not enough that all the woodlands yiel...

John Milton

Anno aetatis 17. On the Death of a fair Infant dying of a Cough.

I

O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie,
Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted
Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;
For he being amorous on that lovely die
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss
But kill'd alas, and then bewayl'd his fatal bliss.

II

For since grim Aquilo his charioter
By boistrous rape th' Athenian damsel got,
He thought it toucht his Deitie full neer,
If likewise he some fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away th' infamous blot,
Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,
Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held.

III

So mounting up in ycie-pearled carr,
Through middle empire of the freezing aire
He wanderd long,...

John Milton