The Minor Poems of John Milton

by John Milton, A Garth (Alfred Garth) Binding Jones (Creator)

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Genres: Poetry, Classics, Fiction

190 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1931

About the author

People best know John Milton, English scholar, for Paradise Lost , the epic poem of 1667 and an account of fall of humanity from grace.

Beelzebub, one fallen angel in Paradise Lost, of John Milton, lay in power next to Satan.

Belial, one fallen angel, rebelled against God in Paradise Lost of John Milton.


John Milton, polemicist, man of letters, served the civil Commonwealth under Oliver Cromwell. He wrote in blank verse at a time of religious flux and political upheaval.

Prose of John Milton reflects deep personal convictions, a passion for freedom and self-determination, and the urgent issues and political turbulence of his day. He wrote in Latin, Greek, and Italian and achieved international renown within his lifetime, and his celebrated Areopagitica (1644) in condemnation of censorship before publication among most influential and impassioned defenses of free speech and the press of history.

William Hayley in biography of 1796 called and generally regarded John Milton, the "greatest ... author," "as one of the preeminent writers in the ... language," though since his death, critical reception oscillated often on his republicanism in the centuries. Samuel Johnson praised, "with respect to design may claim the first place, and with respect to performance, the second, among the productions of the ... mind," though he, a Tory and recipient of royal patronage, described politics of Milton, an "acrimonious and surly republican."

Because of his republicanism, centuries of British partisanship subjected John Milton.

Reviews

[Demeter · Rating 3 out of 5]

I can’t get over Milton’s despicable personality

[Keith · Rating 4 out of 5]

John Milton’s Minor Poems are found in the fourth volume of The Harvard Classics, alongside Milton’s more famous poetical works Paradise Lost (1667), Paradise Regained (1671), and Samson Agonistes (1671). The word “minor” here refers not so much to the quality of the poetry as their short length compared to the aforementioned epic poems. Scholars have argued “Lycidas” (1637) is among the greatest and most complex poems in the English language. I loved it, along with “L’Allegro.”(1633) and “Il Penseroso” (1631). Admittedly, the poems do vary in quality. The works labeled as psalms, written between 1648 and 1653, struck me as rather dull. It is notable that Milton went completely blind in 1652 and likely was just beginning to compose poetry without sight when these were created. The Minor Poems give the reader a view into Milton’s development as an poet, warts and all, before he began undertaking his most ambitious works.

Quotes:
From “On the Morning of Christ's Nativity”:

And though the shady gloom
Had given day her room,
The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed,
And hid his head for shame,
As his inferior flame
The new-enlighten'd world no more should need:
He saw a greater Sun appear
Than his bright throne or burning axle-tree could bear.

*
From “L'Allegro”:

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep.
Tower'd cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold,
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while both contend
To win her grace, whom all commend.

*
From ““Il Penseroso”:

And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that Heav'n doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will choose to live.

*
“Sonnet 19: When I consider how my light is spent”, also titled “On His Blindness”:

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

*
From “Lycidas”:

But O the heavy change now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone, and never must return!
Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves,
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown,
And all their echoes mourn.
The willows and the hazel copses green
Shall now no more be seen
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.
As killing as the canker to the rose,
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
Or frost to flowers that their gay wardrobe wear
When first the white thorn blows:
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear.

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep
Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas?
For neither were ye playing on the steep
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream.
Ay me! I fondly dream
Had ye bin there'—for what could that have done?
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son,
Whom universal nature did lament,
When by the rout that made the hideous roar
His gory visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?

*
From “To Mr. Cyriack Skinner Upon His Blindness”, also titled “To the Same”:

Yet I argue not
Against Heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied
In liberty’s defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world’s vain mask
Content, though blind, had I no better guide.

*

The contents of the Delphi classics ebook version of the Harvard Classics’ “Miscellaneous Poems” of John Milton:
“On the Morning of Christs Nativity” (1629)
“The Passion” [unfinished] (1630)
“On Time” (1633-1634)
“Upon the Circumcision” (1634)
“At a Solemn Music” (1633-1634)
“An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester” (1631)
“Song on May Morning” (1632-1633)
“On Shakespear” (1630)
“On the University Carrier” (1631)
“Another on the Same.” (1631)
“L’Allegro.”(1633)
“Il Penseroso” (1631)
“Sonnets.”
“Arcades” (1633)
“Lycidas.” (1637)
“A Mask Presented At Ludlow-Castle, 1634.” [a stage piece sometimes titled as “Comus”]

The ebook version of the Harvard Classics also includes a section called “Poems Added in the 1673 Edition.”
“Anno Aetatis 17. On the Death of a Fair Infant Dying of a Cough.” (1625-1626)
“The Fifth Ode of Horace. Lib I.”
“Sonnets.”
“On the New Forcers of Conscience Under the Long Parliament.”
“On the Lord Gen. Fairfax At the Seige of Colchester.”
“To the Lord Generall Comwell May 1652.”
“To Sr Henry Vane the Younger.”
“To Mr. Cyriack Skinner Upon His Blindness.”
PSAL. I. Done into Verse, 1653
PSAL. II Done Aug. 8. 1653. Terzetti.
PSAL. III. Aug. 9. 1653
PSAL. IV. Aug. 10.1653.
PSAL. V. Aug. 12.1653.
PSAL. VI Aug. 13. 1653.
PSAL. VII. Aug. 14. 1653.
PSAL. VIII. Aug. 14. 1653.
APRIL, 1648. J. M. NINE OF THE PSALMS DONE INTO METRE,

PSAL. LXXX.
PSAL. LXXXI.
PSAL. LXXXII.
PSAL. LXXXIV.
PSAL LXXXV.
PSAL. LXXXVI.
PSAL. LXXXVII
PSAL. LXXXVIII

**


[Image: Cover of the Delphi Classics’ The Harvard Classics]

Citation:
Milton, J. (2018). Miscellaneous poems. In Charles W. Eliot (Ed.), The Harvard classics (1st edition) [eBook]. Delphi Classics. pp. 1890-2072. https://www.delphiclassics.com/shop/t... (Original works published 1637-1673)

Title: The Minor Poems - referred to as Miscellaneous Poems in The Harvard Classics
Author(s): John Milton (1608-1674)
Year(s): 1628-1673
Series: The Harvard Classics (1909): Volume 4 - Delphi Complete Harvard Classics and Shelf of Fiction
Genre: Poetry
Date(s) read: 2/26/25 - 3/2/24
Book #55 in 2024
**

[Mark Johnson]

Including Lycidas and Comus

[Nathan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Interesting assortment of topics. Hovering between 3 and 4 stars.

[Lukerik · Rating 5 out of 5]

“...on the green terf fuck the honied fhowres.”

“There I fuck the liquid ayr”

The effs r esses. Printed on handmade paper and bound in vellum, this is Noel Douglas's 1926 replica of Milton's 1645 Poems. When I bought it the pages were still uncut. A real experience to handle and read it and as close as I should think I'll ever come to the real thing. The poems aren't too bad either.

Milton is a poet very interested in form. Exact metre and rhyme and all without mangling the language. Some brilliant turns of phrase and the soundscapes of the poems are just superb. I single L'Allegro out for special praise. As soon as I'd finished it I went straight back to the beginning and read it again. Very rare for me to immediately reread a poem of that length.

Milton is a readable poet, because he has the gift, but also I think because there is no emotional content to bind you up. Take the poems about people who have died. He seems incapable of expressing his own grief or making you feel grief. But he wants to reach for that effect, I think. His choice to translate Psalm 136 is particularly telling. If you've ever been lucky enough to hear that Psalm sung plain you will know what a vast emotional impact it can have, but of all the psalms it must have the highest ratio of rhetoric to personal input from the psalmist. Your emotional response is a rhetorical trick. I'm not complaining: I like rhetoric. Milton is a performer and I look forward to reading Paradise Lost.

[Warren · Rating 5 out of 5]

Lycidas;
"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."