THE APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT.-Milton.
Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heav'n first-born, Or of th' Eternal coeternal beam,
May I express thee unblamed! Since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear'st thou rather, pure etherial 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 revisit now with bolder wing, Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight Through utter and through middle darkness borne, With other notes than to th' Orphean lyre
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night;
Taught by the Heav'nly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to re-ascend, Though hard and rare, thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sov'reign vital lamp; but thou Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs, Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt, Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief Thee, Sion, and the flow'ry brooks beneath, That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget Those other two equaled with me in fate, So were I equaled with them in renown, Blind Thamyris, and blind Mæonides,
And Tyresias, and Phineus, prophets old: Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n and morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me, from the cheerful rays of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank
Of Nature's works to me expunged and razed; And wisdom, at one entrance, quite shut out. So much the rather thou, celestial Light, Shine inward, and the Mind through all her powers, Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight.
Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet Not to be wronged by a mere mortal touch: Nor can the wonders it records be sung To meaner music, and not suffer loss. But when a poet, or when one like me, Happy to rove among poetic flowers, Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, Such is the impulse and the spur he feels, To give it praise proportioned to its worth, That not to attempt it, arduous as he deems The labor, were a task more arduous still.
O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true. Scenes of accomplished bliss! which who can see,
Though but in distant prospect, and not feel His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy? Rivers of gladness water all the Earth,
And clothe all climes with beauty: the reproach Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean, Or fertile only in its own disgrace, Exults to see its thistly curse repealed. The various seasons woven into one, And that one season an eternal spring,
The garden fears no blight; and needs no fence, For there is none to covet, all are full. The lion, and the libbard, and the bear, Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon Together, or all gambol in the shade
Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. Antipathies are none. No foe to man
Lurks in the serpent now: the mother sees And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand Stretched forth to dally with the crested worm, To stroke his azure neck, or to receive The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. All creatures worship man, and all mankind One Lord, one Father. Error has no place : That creeping pestilence is driven away:
The breath of Heaven has chased it. In the heart No passion touches a discordant string, But all is harmony and lové. Disease Is not: The pure and uncontaminate blood Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age One song employs all nations; and all cry, "Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us." The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other, and the mountain tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy; Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous Hosannah round. Behold the measure of the promise filled; See Salem built, the labor of a God!
Bright as a sun the sacred city shines; All kingdoms and all princes of the earth Flock to that light; the glory of all lands Flows into her; unbounded is her joy,
And endless her increase. The rams are there Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there : The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there. Praise is in all her gates: upon her walls, And in her streets, and in her spacious courts, Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there Kneels with the native of the farthest west; And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand, And worships. Her report has traveled forth. Into all lands. From every clime they come To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, O Sion! an assembly such as Earth
Saw never, such as Heaven stoops down to see.
ADAM AND EVE'S MORNING HYMN. .-Milton.
These are thy glorious works! Parent of good! Almighty! thine this universal frame,
Thus wond'rous fair: Thyself how wond'rous, then, Unspeakable! who sit'st above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels! for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing. Ye in heaven! On earth, join all ye creatures, to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. Fairest of stars! last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. Thou Sun! of this great world both eye and soul, Acknowledge him thy greater: sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st. Moon! that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st, With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies! And ye five other wandering fires! that move In mystic dance, not without song! resound His praise, who out of darkness called up light. Air, and ye elements! the eldest birth Of nature's womb; that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix
And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations! that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honor to the world's great Author rise; Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored sky, Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, Rising or falling, still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud! and wave your tops, ye pines With every plant, in sign of worship, wave. Fountains! and ye that warble, as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise. Join voices, all ye living souls. Ye birds, That singing, up to heaven's gate ascend, Bear on your wings, and in your notes his praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread or lowly creep! Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise- Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still, To give us only good; and, if the night
« SebelumnyaLanjutkan » |