THE INSTABILITY OF MORTAL GLORY. TRIUMPHING chariots, statues, crowns of bays, TO ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING. THOUGH I have twice been at the doors of Death, Here Damon lies, whose songs did sometimes grace IN PRAISE OF A SOLITARY LIFE, ADDRESSED BY SIR ROBERT KERR, SUBSEQUENTLY EARL OF ANCRAM, TO WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDen. SWEET solitary life! lovely dumb joy, That needst no warnings how to grow more wise By other men's mishaps, nor thee annoy, Which from sore wrongs done to one's self doth rise, The morning's second mansion, truth's first friend, Never acquainted with the world's vain broils, Where the whole day to our own use we spend, And our dear time no fierce ambition spoils. Most happy state! that never takes revenge For injuries receivèd, nor dost fear The court's great earthquake, the grieved truth of change; Nor none of falsehood's savoury lies dost hear; Nor know'st Hope's sweet disease, that charms our sense, Nor its sad cure-dear-bought Experienee ! the son of a Scrivener, was born in the parish of All Hallows, in the city of London, on the 9th of December, 1608. He passed his youth in intense study. Poetry, as it soothed the later and afflicted days of his life, gilded also his early hours. He entered Cambridge, but remained there for a very short time; his parents destined him from a child to the service of the church, but this did not suit his principles. Some short time after he travelled abroad, and visited the much injured Galileo; at the period of Milton's visit, Galileo was seventy-five years old, blind, and had been twice imprisoned by the Inquisition for supposed heresy. But what a fine and interesting picture the handsome and youthful Milton, the blind and venerable Galileo-how affecting the interview: what unfeigned and reverential awe must he have felt in the presence of this great and good old man. Often must Milton have recalled to his mind in after years that interview, when he himself old and blind, was composing his immortal poem. The above interview is beautifully described in a sonnet, by the late Dr. Drake. "The west'ring sun had shed his farewell ray That great and god-like man in act to pray : The beams of heaven glowed on his tresses gray, But his shrunk eye-balls sought their light in vain:- O, be it mine! exclaimed the youthful bard, When fallen on evil days, to copy thee, And, whilst contending for truth's fond regard, Ask light from heaven, nor heed what men decree! It shall be thine, a seraph voice replied, Pass but a few short years, and be your fates allied?" While abroad, Milton acknowledged the influence of Lenora Baroni, La Bella Adriana; the music of her voice, as well as the beauty of her person, he has celebrated in his Italian sonnets. Lenora was also a poetess, and composed many songs; her talents were various, and her charms captivating. She was celebrated by many poets, among whom our Milton shines conspicuous, and by them immortality has been given to her name. On his return to England, he entered deeply into politics. Above soliciting office, he remained in his occupation of Schoolmaster until 1649, when he received an appointment in the Foreign Office. He was married three times;-his first wife was utterly unworthy of him: the second, his "espoused saint," was speedily taken from him: the third, the youthful partner of his advanced years, devoted herself to him, with the tenderest solicitude, until his death, on Sunday the 8th of November, 1674. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. O, NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh: As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why: Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I. TO CARLO DIODATI. DIODATI, e te'l dirò con maraviglia, Quel ritroso io ch'amor spreggiar solea Gia caddi, ov'huom dabben talhor s' impiglia. M'abbaglian sì, ma sotto nova idea E degli occhi suoi avventa si gran fuoco TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING SONNET, BY COWPER. CHARLES and I say it wondering-thou must know TO LEONORA BARONI. GIOVANE piano, e semplicetto amante, Poi che fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono, De pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e buono ; Tanto del forse, e d'invidia sicuro, Di timori, e speranze al popol use, Quanto d'ingegno, e d'alto valor vago, E di cetra sonora, e delle muse : Ove Amor mise l'insanabil ago. |