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The Passion

I.

Ere-while of Musick, and Ethereal mirth,

Wherwith the stage of Ayr and Earth did ring,

And joyous news of heav'nly Infants birth,

My muse with Angels did divide to sing;

But headlong joy is ever on the wing,

In Wintry solstice like the shortn'd

Soon swallow'd up in dark and long out-living night.

II.

For now to sorrow must I tune my song,

And set my Harpe to notes of saddest wo,

Which on our dearest Lord did sease er'e long,

Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse then so,                  Which he for us did freely undergo.

Most perfect Heroe, try'd in heaviest

Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight.

II.

He sov'ran Priest stooping his regall

That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,

Poor fleshly Tabernacle entered,

His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies;

O what a Mask was there, what a disguise!

Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide,                        Then lies him meekly down fast by his Brethrens side.

IV.

These latter scenes confine my roving vers,

To this Horizon is my Phoebus bound,

His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,

And former sufferings other where are found;

Loud o're the rest Cremona's Trump doth sound;

Me softer airs befit, and softer

Of Lute, or Viol still, more apt for mournful things.

V.

Befriend me night best Patroness of grief,

Over the Pole thy thickest mantle throw,                            And work my flatterd fancy to belief,

That Heav'n and Earth are colour'd with my wo;

My sorrows are too dark for day to know:

The leaves should all be black wheron I write,

And letters where my tears have washt a wannish white.

VI.

See see the Chariot, and those rushing wheels,

That whirl'd the Prophet up at Chebar flood,

My spirit som transporting Cherub feels,

To bear me where the Towers of Salem stood,

Once glorious Towers, now sunk in guiltles blood;                    There doth my soul in holy vision

In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatick fit.

II.

Mine eye hath found that sad Sepulchral

That was the Casket of Heav'ns richest store,

And here though grief my feeble hands up-lock,

Yet on the softned Quarry would I

My plaining vers as lively as before;

For sure so well instructed are my tears,

They would fitly fall in order'd Characters.

II.

I thence hurried on viewles wing,                                    Take up a weeping on the Mountains wilde,

The gentle neighbourhood of grove and

Would soon unboosom all their Echoes milde,

And I (for grief is easily beguild)Might think th'infection of my sorrows bound,

Had got a race of mourners on som pregnant cloud.'It appears from the beginning of this poem, that it was composed after, and probably not soon after, the ode on the Nativity.(stanza 4:

These latest scenes...):

So it is in the second edition of 1673; in the former of 1645 it is 'These latter scenes.'(stanza 4:

Loud o'er the rest Cremona's trump doth sound;...):

He means Marcus Hieronymus Vida, who was a native of Cremona, and alludes particularly to his poem, 'Christiados Libri sex.'(stanza 6:

That whirl'd the prophet up at Chebar stood,...):

As the prophet Ezekiel saw the vision of the four wheels and of the glory of God at the river Chebar, and was carried in the spirit to Jerusalem; so the poet fancies himself transported to the same place.'~ Th.

Newton,

Milton's Works, 2nd edition, 1753.

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John Milton

John Milton (9 December 1608 – 8 November 1674) was an English poet and intellectual who served as a civil servant for the Commonwealth of Engla…
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