Four Poems by John Milton(约翰弥尔顿４首诗)

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L'ALLEGRO, IL PENSEROSO, COMUS, AND LYCID

L'ALLEGRO, IL

PENSEROSO, COMUS,

AND LYCID

By John Milton

L'ALLEGRO, IL PENSEROSO, COMUS, AND LYCID

L'ALLEGRO

HENCE, loathed Melancholy, ............Of Cerberus and blackest

Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn ............'Mongst horrid shapes, and

shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell, ............Where

brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven

sings; ............There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, As ragged

as thy locks, ............In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But come, thou

Goddess fair and free, In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, And by men heart-

easing Mirth; Whom lovely Venus, at a birth, With two sister Graces more,

To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore: Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic

wind that breathes the spring, Zephyr, with Aurora pIaying, As he met her

once a-Maying, There, on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses

washed in dew, Filled her with thee,. a daughter fair, So buxom, blithe,

and debonair. Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful

Jollity, Quips and cranks and wanton wiles, Nods and becks and wreathed

smiles Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek;

Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.

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

thee 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-tower in the skies, Till

the dappled dawn doth rise; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my

window bid good-morrow, 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 listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the

slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood

echoing shrill: Sometime walking, not unseen, By hedgerow elms, on

hillocks green, Right against the eastern gate Where the great Sun begins

L'ALLEGRO, IL PENSEROSO, COMUS, AND LYCID

his state, Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries

dight; While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrowed land,

And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And

every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine

eye hath caught new pleasures, Whilst the landskip round it measures:

Russet lawns, and fallows grey, Where the nibbling flocks do stray;

Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest;

Meadows trim, with daisies pied; Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; Towers

and battlements it sees Bosomed high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some

beauty lies, The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. Hard by a cottage

chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and

Thyrsis met Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs and other country

messes, Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses; And then in haste her

bower she leaves, With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; Or, if the earlier

season lead, To the tanned haycock in the mead. Sometimes, with secure

delight, The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round,

And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid Dancing

in the chequered shade, And young and old come forth to play On a

sunshine holiday, Till the livelong daylight fail: Then to the spicy nut-

brown ale, With stories told of many a feat, How Faery Mab the junkets

eat. She was pinched and pulled, she said; And he, by Friar's lantern led,

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat To earn his cream-bowl duly set,

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed

the corn That ten day-labourers could not end; Then lies him down, the

lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at 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 whispering

winds soon lulled asleep. Towered 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, And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask and antique

L'ALLEGRO, IL PENSEROSO, COMUS, AND LYCID

pageantry; Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by

haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock

be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-

notes wild. And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs,

Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes

with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out With

wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes

running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony;

That Orpheus' self may heave his head From golden slumber on a bed Of

heaped Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear

Of Pluto to have quite set free His half-regained Eurydice. These delights

if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

L'ALLEGRO, IL PENSEROSO, COMUS, AND LYCID

IL PENSEROSO

HENCE, vain deluding Joys, ............The brood of Folly without

father bred! How little you bested ............Or fill the fixed mind with all

your toys! Dwell in some idle brain, ............And fancies fond with gaudy

shapes possess, As thick and numberless ............As the gay motes that

people the sun-beams, Or likest hovering dreams, ............The fickle

pensioners of Morpheus' train. But, hail! thou Goddess sage and holy! Hail,

divinest Melancholy! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of

human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid

Wisdom's hue; Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon's sister might

beseem, Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove To set her beauty's praise

above The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended. Yet thou art higher far

descended: Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore To solitary Saturn bore;

His daughter she; in Saturn's reign Such mixture was not held a stain. Oft

in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of

woody Ida's inmost grove, Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. Come,

pensive Nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure, All in a robe

of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train, And sable stole of cypress

lawn Over thy decent shoulders drawn. Come; but keep thy wonted state,

With even step, and musing gait, And looks commercing with the skies,

Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: There, held in holy passion still, Forget

thyself to marble, till With a sad leaden downward cast Thou fix them on

the earth as fast. And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that

oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about

Jove's altar sing; And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens

takes his pleasure; But, first and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon

soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The Cherub

Contemplation; And the mute Silence hist along, 'Less Philomel will deign

a song, In her sweetest saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of

Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er the accustomed

L'ALLEGRO, IL PENSEROSO, COMUS, AND LYCID

oak. Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most

melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among I woo, to hear thy

even-song; And, missing thee,I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven

green, To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon, Like

one that had been led astray Through the heaven's wide pathless way, And

oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud. Oft, on a

plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound, Over some wide-

watered shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar; Or, if the air will not

permit, Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through

the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, Far from all resort of mirth,

Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm To bless the

doors from nightly harm. Or let my lamp, at midnight hour, Be seen in

some high lonely tower, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, With thrice

great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or

what vast regions hold The immortal mind that hath forsook Her mansion

in this fleshly nook; And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood,

or underground, Whose power hath a true consent With planet or with

element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping

by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what

(though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskined stage. But, O sad

Virgin! that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower; Or bid the

soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears

down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek; Or call up

him that left half-told The story of Cambuscan bold, Of Camball, and of

Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife, That owned the virtuous ring and

glass, And of the wondrous horse of brass On which the Tartar king did

ride; And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have

sung, Of turneys, and of trophies hung, Of forests, and enchantments drear,

Where more is meant than meets the ear. Thus, Night, oft see me in thy

pale career, Till civil-suited Morn appear, Not tricked and frounced, as she

was wont With the Attic boy to hunt, But kerchieft in a comely cloud

While rocking winds are piping loud, Or ushered with a shower still,

When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With

L'ALLEGRO, IL PENSEROSO, COMUS, AND LYCID

minute-drops from off the eaves. And, when the sun begins to fling His

flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves,

And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak,

Where the rude axe with heaved stroke Was never heard the nymphs to

daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. There, in close covert, by

some brook, Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from day's garish

eye, While the bee with honeyed thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing,

And the waters murmuring, With such consort as they keep, Entice the

dewy-feathered Sleep. And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his

wings, in airy stream Of lively portraiture displayed, Softly on my eyelids

laid; And, as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, Or the unseen Genius of the wood.

But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale, And

love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied

windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing

organ blow, To the full-voiced quire below, In service high and anthems

clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into

ecstasies, And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my

weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy

cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew,

And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To

something like prophetic strain. These pleasures, Melancholy, give; And I

with thee will choose to live.

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L'ALLEGRO,ILPENSEROSO,COMUS,ANDLYCID1L'ALLEGRO,ILPENSEROSO,COMUS,ANDLYCIDByJohnMiltonL'ALLEGRO,ILPENSEROSO,COMUS,ANDLYCID2L'ALLEGROHENCE,loathedMelancholy,............OfCerberusandblackestMidnightbornInStygiancaveforlorn............'Mongsthorridshapes,andshrieks,andsightsunholy!Findoutsomeuncouthcel...

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Four Poems by John Milton(约翰弥尔顿４首诗)

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