THE NIGHTINGALE.

NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are stil,

Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May;
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love; O, if Jove's will Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:

Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

JOHN MILTON.

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT.

|VENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose

bones

Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,
Forget not in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rolled
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow
O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway

The triple tyrant; that from these may grow
A hundred-fold, who, having learnt thy way,
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

JOHN MILTON.

AWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,

Now that the fields are dank, and ways are

mire,

Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire

Help waste a sullen day, what may be won

From the hard season gaining? Time will run

On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,

Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?

He who of those delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

E

JOHN MILTON.

WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO

THE CITY (Nov., 1642).

APTAIN or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,
Whose chance on these defenceless doors may

seize,

If deed of honour did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms :
He can requite thee, for he knows the charms
That call fame on such gentle acts as these;
And he can spread thy name o'er land and seas,
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.
Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower:
The great Emathian conqueror bid spare

The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
Went to the ground; and the repeated air

Of sad Electra's poet had the power

To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.

JOHN MILTON.

ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF
MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON.

HEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee

never,

Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God,

Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load

Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever.
Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour,
Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod,
Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever.

Love led them on; and Faith, who knew them best,
Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest,
And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes
Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest,
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

JOHN MILTON.