The Poetics of Milton

Part 11 - Lycidas

In the autumn of 1637, John Milton learned of the death of a former schoolmate at Cambridge, Edward King, whose untimely death left unfulfilled the promise of his future life, and this thought struck Milton, as one of those who are left behind and wondering if our promise will be fulfilled. Milton’s mother, Sara, whose death had been only a few months earlier, must have also been on his mind at that time.

Perhaps Milton was thinking of his own life – ‘where I am now … I live in obscurity and cramped quarters’, and what he has been doing – ‘the wearisome labors and studious watchings wherein I have spent and tired out almost a whole youth.’

So when it was proposed that a book of memorials in verse for King be written by his former classmates, Milton agreed to join in the project, and he wrote a pastoral elegy, ‘Lycidas’. [you can read the whole poem at Internet Archive]

‘Lycidas’ reads as if written by a swain (or shepherd) mourning the loss of his friend - of his fellow shepherd (or perhaps, his fellow poet).

“Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more

Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,

I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,

And with forc'd fingers rude

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.

Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear

Compels me to disturb your season due;

For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,

Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.

Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew

Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.

He must not float upon his wat'ry bier

Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,

Without the meed of some melodious tear.” [lines 1 - 14]

And the shepherd wishes that he too may be so remembered when he passes away.

“Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well

That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring;

Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.

Hence with denial vain and coy excuse!

So may some gentle muse

With lucky words favour my destin'd urn,

And as he passes turn

And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud!” [lines 15 - 22]

While our shepherd mourns the loss of his friend, Lycidas - ‘thy loss to shepherd’s ear’, he wonders if the reward (meed) of a shepherd’s (or a poet’s) life is fame?

“Alas! what boots it with incessant care

To tend the homely, slighted shepherd's trade,

And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?

Were it not better done, as others use,

To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,

Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair?

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise

(That last infirmity of noble mind)

To scorn delights and live laborious days;

But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,

And think to burst out into sudden blaze,

Comes the blind Fury with th'abhorred shears,

And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise,"

Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears;

"Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,

Nor in the glistering foil

Set off to th'world, nor in broad rumour lies,

But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes

And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;

As he pronounces lastly on each deed,

Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed." [lines 64 – 84]

But then our shepherd hears Peter warn of the false shepherds – not of sheep, but of men.

“Last came, and last did go,

The Pilot of the Galilean lake;

Two massy keys he bore of metals twain

(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).

He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake:

"How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain,

Enow of such as for their bellies' sake

Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold?

Of other care they little reck'ning make

Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast

And shove away the worthy bidden guest.

Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold

A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least

That to the faithful herdman's art belongs!

What recks it them? What need they? They are sped;

And when they list their lean and flashy songs

Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw,

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,

But, swoll'n with wind and the rank mist they draw,

Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread;

Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw

Daily devours apace, and nothing said,

But that two-handed engine at the door

Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more". [lines 108 – 131]

And now, our shepherd says not to weep but to be glad because Lycidas is heaven bound.

“Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more,

For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,

Sunk though he be beneath the wat'ry floor;

So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,

And yet anon repairs his drooping head,

And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:

So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high

Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves;

Where, other groves and other streams along,

With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,

And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,

In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.

There entertain him all the Saints above,

In solemn troops, and sweet societies,

That sing, and singing in their glory move,

And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.

Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more:

Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore,

In thy large recompense, and shalt be good

To all that wander in that perilous flood.” [lines 165 – 185]

And Milton ends this poem with a comment that, like the shepherd, those of us who are left behind, will still wake to a new fresh day of promise.

“Thus sang the uncouth swain to th'oaks and rills,

While the still morn went out with sandals gray;

He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,

With eager thought warbling his Doric lay;

And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills,

And now was dropp'd into the western bay;

At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue:

To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.” [lines 186 – 193].

Milton decides that his years of study now require a field trip – a trip to the continent, a visit to the home of his Latin and Greek studies, to Italy and to Greece!

[next week - part 12 - a trip to Italy!]