The Light Celestial.

(Written on the ter-centenary of John Milton, December 9, 1908.)


Immortal singer, in whose glorious brain
    Unearthly melodies were born to make
    A nocturn for the blessed Master's sake,
I see thee pass through heaven's gates again;
I hear thee singing that majestic strain,
    Which soothed the heart affliction could not break,
    And proved the faith no worldly ills could shake;
And then I see thee join God's holy train,
    But, wonder of all wonders! where the light
    Breaks from a thousand suns, the seraphs, shod
With flaming sandals, lead thee; and my sight
    Dims with the vision, till fresh from His rod,
I see thee lift those orbs, once quenched in night,
    And gaze into the steadfast eyes of God!

Charles Hamilton Musgrove

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English

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Hail holy light, ofspring of Heav'n first-born,
Or of th' Eternal Coeternal beam
May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light
Dwelt from Eternitie, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hear'st thou rather pure Ethereal stream,
Whose Fountain who shall tell? before the Sun,
Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a Mantle didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.
Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing,
Escap't the Stygian Pool, though long detain'd
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight
Through utter and through middle darkness borne
With other notes then to th' Orphean Lyre
I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night...

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At A Solemn Musick

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'ns joy,
Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Vers,
Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais'd phantasie present,
That undisturbed Song of pure content,
Ay sung before the saphire-colour'd throne
To him that sits theron
With Saintly shout, and solemn Jubily,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow,
And the Cherubick host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires,
With those just Spirits that wear victorious Palms,
Hymns devout and holy Psalms
Singing everlastingly;
That we on Earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As    once we did, till dis...

John Milton

To Mr. C.R.

FOR MANY YEARS DEPRIVED OF SIGHT.


They say the sun is shining
In all his splendor now,
And clouds in graceful drapery,
Are sailing to an fro.

That birds of brilliant plumage,
Are soaring on the wing;
Exulting in the daylight,
Rejoicing as they sing.

They tell me too that roses,
E'en in my pathway lie;
And decked in rich apparel,
Attract the passers by.

They say the sun when setting,
Is glorious to behold;
And sheds on all at parting,
A radiant crown of gold.

And then the night's pale empress,
With all her glittering train,
The vacant throne ascending,
Resumes her peaceful reign.

That she in queenly beauty,
Subdued yet silvery light,
Makes scarcely less enchanting
Than day,...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

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

Lines On Milton

(Supposed To Be Written Near His Tomb.)

Milton!
        the name of that divinest Bard
Acts on Imagination like a charm
Of holiest power; with deep, religious awe
She hails the sacred spot where sleep entomb'd
The relics that enshrined his godlike soul.

O! with what heartfelt interest and delight,
With what astonishment, will all the sons
Of Adam, till the end of time, peruse
His lofty, wondrous page! with what just pride
Will England ever boast her Milton's name,
The Poet matchless in sublimity!
E'en now in Memory's raptured ear resound
The deep-toned strains of the Miltonic lyre;
Inspiring virtuous, heart-ennobling thought,
They breathe of heaven; the imaginative Power
No longer treads the guilt-polluted world,
But soars aloft, and draw...

Thomas Oldham

Composed Upon An Evening Of Extraordinary Splendour And Beauty

I

Had this effulgence disappeared
With flying haste, I might have sent,
Among the speechless clouds, a look
Of blank astonishment;
But 'tis endued with power to stay,
And sanctify one closing day,
That frail Mortality may see,
What is? ah no, but what 'can' be!
Time was when field and watery cove
With modulated echoes rang,
While choirs of fervent Angels sang
Their vespers in the grove;
Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign height,
Warbled, for heaven above and earth below,
Strains suitable to both. Such holy rite,
Methinks, if audibly repeated now
From hill or valley, could not move
Sublimer transport, purer love,
Than doth this silent spectacle, the gleam,
The shadow and the peace supreme!

II

No sound is...

William Wordsworth