Lyra Heroica Part 4

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 G.o.d exact day-labour, light denied?'

I fondly ask: but patience, to prevent That murmur soon replies: 'G.o.d 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.'

_Milton._

XVI

EYELESS AT GAZA

This, this is he; softly a while; Let us not break in upon him.

O change beyond report, thought, or belief!

See how he lies at random, carelessly diffused With languished head unpropt, As one past hope, abandoned, And by himself given over, In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds O'er-worn and soiled.

Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he, That heroic, that renowned, Irresistible Samson? whom unarmed No strength of man or fiercest wild beast could withstand; Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid; Ran on embattled armies clad in iron, And, weaponless himself, Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery Of brazen shield and spear, the hammered cuira.s.s, Chalybean-tempered steel, and frock of mail Adamantean proof: But safest he who stood aloof, When insupportably his foot advanced, In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools, Spurned them to death by troops. The bold Ascalonite Fled from his lion ramp; old warriors turned Their plated backs under his heel, Or grovelling soiled their crested helmets in the dust.

_Milton._

XVII

OUT OF ADVERSITY

O how comely it is, and how reviving To the spirits of just men long oppressed, When G.o.d into the hands of their deliverer Puts invincible might To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor, The brute and boisterous force of violent men, Hardy and industrious to support Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue The righteous and all such as honour truth!

He all their ammunition And feats of war defeats, With plain heroic magnitude of mind And celestial vigour armed; Their armouries and magazines contemns, Renders them useless, while With winged expedition Swift as the lightning glance he executes His errand on the wicked, who, surprised, Lose their defence, distracted and amazed.

_Milton._

XVIII

HEROIC LOVE

My dear and only love, I pray That little world of thee Be governed by no other sway But purest monarchy; For if confusion have a part, Which virtuous souls abhor, And hold a synod in thy heart, I'll never love thee more.

Like Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone: My thoughts did evermore disdain A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all.

But, if thou wilt prove faithful then And constant of thy word, I'll make thee glorious by my pen, And famous by my sword; I'll serve thee in such n.o.ble ways Was never heard before; I'll crown and deck thee all with bays And love thee more and more.

_Montrose._

XIX

GOING TO THE WARS

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field, And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore: I could not love thee, Dear, so much Loved I not Honour more.

_Lovelace._

XX

FROM PRISON

When Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair And fettered to her eye, The G.o.ds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses crowned, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty.

When, linnet-like confined, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my King; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, Enlarged winds that curl the flood Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage: If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone that soar above Enjoy such liberty.

_Lovelace._

XXI

TWO KINGS

The forward youth that would appear Must now forsake his Muses dear, Nor in the shadows sing His numbers languishing.

'Tis time to leave the books in dust, And oil the unused armour's rust, Removing from the wall The corselet of the hall.

So restless Cromwell could not cease In the inglorious arts of peace, But through adventurous war Urged his active star;