At thy appearance, Fear itself grows bold;
Thy sun-shine melts away his cold:
Encourag'd at the sight of thee,
To the cheek colour comes, and firmness to the
Even Lust, the master of a harden'd face,
Blushes if thou be'st in the place;
To Darkness' curtains he retires,
In sympathizing Night he rolls his smoky fires.
When, Goddess, thou lift'st up thy waken'd head, Out of the Morning's purple bed,
Thy choir of birds about thee play,
And all the joyful world salutes the rising Day.
The ghosts, and monster sprites, that did presume A body's privilege to assume,
Vanish again invisibly,
And bodies gain again their visibility.
All the world's bravery that delights our eyes,
Is but thy sev'ral liveries;
Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st,
Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou
A crimson garment in the rose thou wear'st;
A crown of studded gold thou bear'st:
The virgin lillies in their white,
Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light.
The violet, Spring's little infant, stands,
Girt in thy purple swaddling bands;
On the fair tulip thou dost dote;
Thou cloth'st it in a gay and party-colour'd coat.
With flame condens'd thou dost the jewels fix,
And solid colours in it mix:
Flora herself envies to see
Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she.
Ah, Goddess; would thou couldst thy hand withAnd be less liberal to gold;
Didst thou less value to it give,
Of how much care, alas, might'st thou poor man relieve!
To me the sun is more delightful far,
And all fair days much fairer are;
But few, ah wondrous few there be,
Who do not gold prefer, O Goddess, ev'n to thee.
Through the soft ways of heav'n, and air, and sea, Which open all their pores to thee,
Like a clear river thou dost glide,
And with thy living stream through the close channels slide.
But where firm bodies thy free course oppose,
Gently thy source the land o'erflows;
Takes there possession, and does make,
Of colours mingled, light, a thick and standing lake.
But the vast ocean of unbounded day
In th' Empyrean heav'n does stay;
Thy rivers, lakes, and springs below,
From thence took first their rise, thither at last
HAIL, holy Light, offspring of Heav'n first-born, Or of th' Eternal co-eternal beam!
May I express thee unblam'd? 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 ethereal stream,
Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the sun,
Before the heav'ns 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,
Escap'd the Stygian-pool, though long detain'd
In that obscure sojourn; while in my flight
Through utter and through middle darkness borne,
With other notes than to the 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 veil'd. 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 hallow'd feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget
Those other two equall'd with me in fate,
So were I equall'd with them in renown,
Blind Thamyris, and blind Mæonides;
And Tiresias, 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 or 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, for the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with an universal blank
Of Nature's works, to me expung'd and ras'd,
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.
O SAY what is that thing call'd light,
Which I must ne'er enjoy?
What are the blessings of the sight?
O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;
I fell him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make,
Whene'er I sleep or play;
And could I ever keep awake
With me 'twere always day.
With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne'er can know.
Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy:
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.
VERSES WRITTEN FOR, AND GIVEN IN PRINT, TO
A BEGGAR.
O MERCY! Heaven's first attribute,
Whose care embraces man and brute,
Behold me, where I shivering stand;
Bid gentle Pity stretch her hand
To Want and Age, Disease and Pain,
That all in one sad object reign.
Still feeling bad, still fearing worse,
Existence is to me a curse;
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