John Milton : Popular Poems

 

JOHN MILTON : 1608 - 1674

#  1.  ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones

       Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold,

       Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,

       When all our fathers worshipp'd 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 roll'd

       Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans

The vales redoubl'd to the hills, and they

       To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow

       O'er all th' 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.

#  2.  WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENTED ON THE CITY

Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,
Whose chance on these defenceless dores may sease,
If ever deed of honour did thee 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 spred thy Name o're Lands and Seas,
What ever clime the Suns bright circle warms.
Lift not thy spear against the Muses Bowre,
The great Emathian Conqueror bid spare
The house of Pindarus, when Temple and Towre
Went to the ground: And the repeated air
Of sad Electra's Poet had the power
To save th' Athenian Walls from ruine bare.

#  3.   ON HIS BLINDNESS or

WHEN I CONSIDER HOW MY LIGHT IS SPENT

When I consider how my light is spent,

   Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

   And that one Talent which is death to hide

   Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

   My true account, lest he returning chide;

   “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”

   I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need

   Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best

   Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state

Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed

   And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:

   They also serve who only stand and wait.”

Source: https://www.poetryfoundation.org

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