. Select Minor Poems of John Milton . bore; His daughter she — in Saturns reign 25 Such mixture was not held a stain. Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Idas ^ inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of Jove. 3c 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 35 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: 40 There, held
. Select Minor Poems of John Milton . bore; His daughter she — in Saturns reign 25 Such mixture was not held a stain. Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Idas ^ inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of Jove. 3c 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 35 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: 40 There, held in holy passion still,Forget thyself to marble, tillWith a sad leaden downward castThou fix them on the earth as join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, 45 Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,And hears the Muses ^ in a ringAye round about Joves altar^ sing :And add to these retired Leisure,That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; 50 But, first and chiefest, with thee bringHim that yon soars on golden wing, 134. -36. ^34-. Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, . .All in a robe of darkest with majestic train. // Penseroso, 31 +. IL PENSEROSO. 8l Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,* The Cherub ^ Contemplation ; And the mute Silence hist along, 55 Less Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest, saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia ^ checks her dragon yoke Gently oer the accustomed oak. 60 Sweet bird, that shunnst the noise of folly,Most musical, most melancholy !Thee, chauntress, oft the woods amongI woo, to hear thy even-song;And, missing thee, I walk unseen 65 On the dry smooth-shaven green,To behold the wandering moon,Riding near her highest one that had been led astrayThrough the heavens wide pathless way, 70 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 75 Swinging slow with sullen roar ;Or if the air wi
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