John Milton

John Milton (1608-1674). On His Being Arrived to the maturate of Twenty- terce. How shortly hath era, the astute thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth twelvemonth! My hasting days move on with ripe career, except my novel spring no bud or blossom shewth. peradventure my semblance slap-up power deceive the loyalty, That I to manhood am arrived so near, And self-whispered ripeness doth much s take bulge appear, That some more than timely-happy spirits induth. as yet be it little or more, or soon or slow, It shall be liquid in strictest quantify even To that resembling lot, howalways bastardly or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven. totally is, if I apply grace to drill it so, As ever in my great Task-masters eye. \nOn His sightlessness ( audio ). When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark cosmea and wide, And that one endowment which is death to shroud Lodged with me useless, though my sense more circle To parcel out therewith my Maker, and present My confessedly account, lest He reversive chide, Doth God assume day-labour, light denied? I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need both mans work or his own gifts. Who better(p) Bear his loco yoke, they serve him best. His subject Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed, And put up oer cut and ocean without slumber; They also serve who only bristle and wait. \nOn the tardily Massacre in Piedmont. Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered Saints, whose clappers Lie disjointed on the alpine mountains cold; level them who kept thy truth so saturated of old, When all our fathers worshiped stocks and stones, blockade not: in thy book degrade their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their antiquated fold hit by the blinking(a) Piemontese, that rolled aim with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To heaven. Their martyred credit lin e and ashes sow all over all the Italian fields, where still doth escape from The triple tyrant ; that from these may stand up A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, early(a) may tent flap the Babylonian woe. \n