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Informationen zum Autor John Milton Klappentext An authoritative new edition of Milton's essential verse John Milton, who abandoned early plans of becoming a clergyman to become a poet, was a master of almost every type of verse-from the classical to the religious, from the lyric to the epic. His writing reflected his radical views and his profound understanding of politics and power. This collection includes such early works as the devotional "On the Morning of Christ's Nativity," "Comus," and the pastoral elegy "Lycidas." For more than seventy years, Penguin has been the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world. With more than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-date translations by award-winning translators. Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity This is the month, and this the happy morn Wherein the Son of Heav'n's eternal King, Of wedded maid, and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did sing That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious form, that light unsufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of majesty Wherewith he wont at Heav'n's high council-table To sit the midst of trinal unity, He laid aside; and here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, Heav'nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, To welcome him to this his new abode, Now while the heav'n, by the sun's team untrod, Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? See how from far, upon the eastern road, The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet: O run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at his blessèd feet; Have thou the honour first, thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel choir, From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire. The Hymn It was the winter wild, While the Heav'n-born-child, All meanly wrapped in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to him Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw, Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But he her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; She crowned with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing. And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around: The idle spear and shield were high up hung; The hookèd chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood, The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng, And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sov'reign Lord was by. But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kissed Whispering new joys to the mild Oceàn, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave. The stars with deep amaze Stand fixed in ...
