John Milton(1608–1674)

Il Penseroso

H e n c e 8 vain deluding Joys,

T h e brood of Folly without father bred.

H o w little you bestead,profit

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys;trifles

Dwell in s o m e idle brain,

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes p o s s e s s ,foolish

As thick and n u m b e r l e s s

As the gay m o t e s 0 that people the s u n b e a m s ,specks

Or likest hovering dreams,

The fickle pensioners 0 of Morpheus' 9 train.attendants

But hail thou G o d d e s s , sage and holy,

Hail, divinest Melancholy,

W h o s e saintly visage is too bright

To hit 0 the sense of human sight;affect

And therefore to our weaker view,

O'erlaid with black, staid W i s d o m ' s hue.

Black, but such as in esteem,

Prince M e m n o n ' s sister1 might b e s e e m ,

Or that starred Ethiope q u e e n 2 that strove

To set her beauty's praise above

T h e sea nymphs, and their powers offended.

Yet thou art higher far d e s c e n d e d ;

T h e e bright-haired Vesta long of yore

To solitary S a t u r n bore;3

His daughter she (in Saturn's reign

S u c h mixture was not held a stain).

O f t in glimmering bowers and glades

He met her, and in secret shades

Of woody Ida's inmost grove,

While yet there was no fear of Jove.4

C o m e pensive nun, devout and pure,

Sober, steadfast, and demure,

All in a robe of darkest grain,ilor

Flowing with majestic train,

And sable 0 stole of cypress lawn 5black

Over thy decent shoulders drawn.

Come, but keep thy wonted 0 state,usual; wanted

With even step and m u s i n g gait,

And looks c o m m e r c i n g with the skies,

Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:

T h e r e held in holy p a s s i o n still,

Forget thyself to marble, till

With a sad leaden downward cast,serious

T h o u fix them on the earth as fast.

And join with thee c a l m P e a c e and Q u i e t ,

S p a r e Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,

And hears the M u s e s 6 in a ring

Aye round about Jove's altar sing.continually

And add to these retired Leisure,

T h a t in trim gardens takes his pleasure;

But first, and chiefest, with thee bring,

H i m that yon soars on golden wing,

G u i d i n g the fiery-wheeled throne,

T h e c h e r u b Contemplation;7

An d the m u t e Silenc e hist alon gbeckon

'Less Philomel8 will deign a song,

In her sweetest, saddest plight,

S m o o t h i n g the rugged brow of night,

While Cynthia9 checks her dragon yoke

Gently o'er th' a c c u s t o m e d oak;

Sweet bird that shunn'st the noise of folly,

M o s t musical, most melancholy!

T h e e chantress oft the woods a m o n g ,

I woo to hear thy evensong;1

And missing thee, I walk u n s e e n

On the dry smooth-shaven green,

To behold the wandering m o o n ,

Riding near her highest noon,

Like one that had been led astray

T h r o u g h the Heaven's wide pathless way;

And oft as if her head she bowed,

S t o o p i n g through a fleecy cloud.

Oft on a plat 0 of rising ground,plot

I hear the far-off curfew sound,2

Over s o m e wide-watered shore,

Swinging slow with sullen roar;

Or if the air will not permit,

S o m e still removed place will fit,

W h e r e glowing e m b e r s through the room

Teach light to counterfeit a gloom

Far from all resort of mirth,

Save the cricket on the hearth,

Or the bellman's 0 drowsy charm,night watchman's

To bless the doors from nightly harm;

Or let my lamp at midnight hour

Be seen in s o m e high lonely tower,

W h e r e I may oft outwatch the Bear,3

With thrice great H e r m e s , or unsphere4

T h e spirit of Plato to unfold

W h a t worlds, or what vast regions hold

T h e immortal mind that hath forsook

H e r m a n s i o n in this fleshly nook;

And of those d e m o n s 5 that are f o u n d

In fire, air, flood, or underground,

W h o s e power hath a true consent 0correspondence

With planet, or with element.

S o m e time let gorgeous Tragedy

In sceptered 0 pall 0 come sweeping by,royal I robe

Presenting T h e b e s , or Pelops' line,

Or the tale of Troy divine. 6

Or what (though rare) of later age

E n n o b l e d hath the buskined stage.7

But, O sad virgin, that thy power

Might raise M u s a e u s 8 from his bower,

Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing

S u c h notes as, warbled to the string,

Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,

And m a d e Hell grant what Love did seek.

Or call up him9 that left half told

T h e story of C a m b u s c a n bold,

Of C a m b a l l , and of Algarsife,

And who h a d C a n a c e e to wife,

That owned the virtuous 0 ring and glass, 0potent I mirror

And of the w o n d r o u s horse of brass,

On which the Tartar king did ride;

And if aught else great bards beside

In sage and solemn tunes have sung,

Of tourneys and of trophies hung,

Of forests and e n c h a n t m e n t s drear,

W h e r e mor e is m e a n t than meet s the ear.

T h u s , Night, oft see me in thy pale career,

Till civil-suited morn1 appear,

Not tricked 0 and frounced 0 as she wasadorned I curled

wont,accustomed to be

With the Attic boy to hunt,

But kerchiefed in a comely cloudly

While rocking winds are piping loud,

Or ushered with a shower still,gentle; yet

W h e n the gust hath blown his fill,

E n d i n g on the rustling leaves,

With minute-drops from off the eaves.

And when the sun begins to fling

His flaring b e a m s , me, G o d d e s s , bring

To arched walks of twilight groves,

And shadows brown that Sylvan2 loves

Of pine or m o n u m e n t a l oak,

W h e r e the rude ax with heaved stroke,

W a s never heard the nymphs3 to daunt,

Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.

There in close covert 0 by some brook,hidden place

W h e r e no profaner eye m a y look,

Hide me f r o m day's garish eye,

While the b e e with honeyed thigh,

That at her flowery work doth sing,

And the waters m u r m u r i n g

With such consort 0 as they keep,harmony

Entice the dewy-feathered sleep;

And let s o m e strange mysterious dream,

Wave at his wings in airy stream,

Of lively portraiture displayed,

Softly on my eyelids laid.

And as I wake, sweet m u s i c breathe

Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by s o m e spirit to mortals good,

Or th' unseen genius 0 of the wood.indwelling spirit

But let my due feet never fail

To walk the studious cloister's pale,enclosure

And love the high e m b o w e d roof,

With antic pillars massy proof,fancifully decorated; antique

And storied windows 4 richly dight, 0dressed

C a s t i n g a dim religious light.

There let the pealing organ blow,

To the full-voiced choir below,

In service high, and a n t h e m s clear,

As may with sweetness, through mine ear,

Dissolve me into ectasies,

And bring all heaven before mine eyes.

And may at last my weary age

Find out the p e a c e f u l hermitage,

T h e hairy gown and m o s s y cell,

Where I may sit and rightly spell 0speculate

Of every star that Heaven doth show,

A n d every herb that sips the dew

Till old experience do attain

To s o m e t h i n g like prophetic strain.

T h e s e pleasures, Melancholy, give,

And I with thee will choose to live.5

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