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John Milton

Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 15

Afford a present to the Infant God?

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,

To welcome him to this his new abode,

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From the golden alms of Blessing man had coin’d

9 lines
hich was worse ? France had shown a light to all men, preach’d ‘aGospel, all men’s good ;Celtic Demos rose a Demon, shriek’d and slaked the light with blood. Hope was ever on her mountain, watching till the| day begunCrown’d with sunlight—over darkness—from’ the still unrisen sun.