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M i I to n.

Milton.

Unter den jugendlichen Arbeiten dieses großen epischen Dichters (geb. 1608. gest. 1674.) giebt es zwei vortreffliche kleine poetische Gemåhlbe, L'Allegro und Il Penferoso, wos rin er die verschiednen Gesichtspunkte, aus welchen der Fröhliche und der Schwermüthige die Gegenftånde der Natur und des Lebens ansehen, und die dadurdy ganz vers schieden gestimmten Empfindungen beider meisterhaft ausges drůdt hat. Vornehmlich suchte er, wie Dr. Johnson bez merkt, zu zeigen, wie aus der Reihe mannichfaltiger Gegens ftånde und Eindrücke jede von diesen beiden Gemüthsftims mungen diejenigen auffasst, wodurch ihr am meisten gewills fahrt, wodurch ihre herrschende Empfindung am meisten un: terhalten wird. Man sehe die schöne Zergliederung, welche er (Lives of the Engl. Poets, Vol. I. p. 227. fl.) von beiden Gedichten, in dieser Hinsicht, giebt. Nur das Stolsrit der Schreibart scheint ihm nicht abstechend genug zu seyn; denn auch in der Sprache des Frohlichen berricht ein gewiffer schwermüthiger Gang. Wenn aber dieser Mangel auch wirklich gegründet ware; so hat ihm doch båndel durch seis ne herrliche Stomposition, und besonders durch den glücklis chen Gedanken abgeholfen, die von ihni aus beiden Stücken gewählten einzelnen Stellen wechselsweise auf einander fol: geu zu lassen.

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Hence, loathed Melancholy,
of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born
In Stygian cave forlorn.
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and lights

unholy!
Find out some uncouth cell,
Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous

wings
And the night-raven fings;

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There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd

rocks
As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian defert ever dwell!
But come thou goddess fair and free,
In heav'n ycleap'd Euphrofyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirthy
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two fifter Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
Or whether as some fager fing,
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a-Maying,
There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses wafh'd in dew,
Filld her with thee a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonnair.
Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee
Je est and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek
And lowe to live in dimple fleek,
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his fides.
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give the honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-tow'r in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ;
Then to come in spite of forrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,

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1

Trough

Milton.

Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine:
While the cock with lively din
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before:
Oft lift'ning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the flumb'ring morn,
From the side of some hoar hill
Through the high wood echoing fhrill:
Some time walking not unseen
By hedge-row elms, on hilloks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great fun begins his state,
Rob'd in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman near at hand
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milkmaid fingeth blithe,
And the mower whets his fithe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Strait mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
Whilst the landscape round it measures,
Ruflet lawps, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren breast
The lab'ring clouds do often rest,
Meadows trim with daisies died,
Shallow brooks and rivers wide.
Towers and battlements it fees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps fome beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighb’ring eyes,
Hard by a cottage-chimney (mokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met
Are at their favoury dinner set
Of herbs, and other country-messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;

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Hillton , And then in haste her bow'r she leaves,

With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or if the earlier season lead
To the tann'd haycock in the mead,
Sometimes with secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecs found
To many a youth, and inany a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a luni hine holyday,
Till the live-long day-light fail;
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How fairy Mab the junkets eat,
She was pinch’d, and pulld, she said,
And he by friars lantern led
Tells how the drudging Goblin fwet,
To earn his cream-bowl duly let,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy fail hath thresh'd the corn,
That ten day-lab'rers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Basks a the fire his hairy strength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whisp'ring winds soon lulld asleep.
Tow'red cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold.
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while both contend
To win her grace, whom all commend,
There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear,

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And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask and antique pageantry,
Such fights as youthful poets dream
On summer. eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Johnson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakspeare, fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in foft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting foul may pierce,
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton head, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden foul of harmony;
That Orpheus self may heave his head
From gold en flumber on a bed
Of heap'd Elysian flow'rs, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite fet free,
His half regain'd Furydice.
These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live,

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