An Undergraduate Poem

From out the darkness of the vanished years, The voice of Milton peals; his mighty song Rings down the centuries, its note still strong As when it burst upon our fathers' ears.

Amid the unnumber'd harmonies that swell From bards of earth to break round heaven's throne, His part, clear heard amid the mingled tone, Rolls full and solemn, like a deep-voiced bell.

A spirit strong with more than mortal strength, When in life's battle he had borne his share, He passed from out the tumult and the care, And climbed upon the mountain tops at length.

There, with blind eyes turned to the Promised Land, Waiting the dawn of an unending day, His soul went forth in that tremendous lay The eternal heights and breadths and depths which spanned.

Poor, lonely and forgot, though he endured The bitter thought of labour spent in vain, And saw invaded by a godless train The land whose liberty he deemed assured;

Yet not for that did he "abate one jot Of heart or hope"; scorning to cringe or cower, Steadfast he stood like some majestic tower, That feels the tempest's blast, but wavers not.

From rulers of the earth he asked no grace, Nor leaned upon the love of human heart, Lofty and passionless he drew apart, And communed with the Highest face to face.

Far from the din and toil of mortal kind His spirit's barque was borne; serene and high He brooded on the unfathomed mystery Of thoughts that burden the Eternal Mind.

For Freedom he had stood, in her defence His best had given; where'er the fight was keen, Ever amid the foremost had he been Down-bearing tyranny's battalions dense.

For that he left his ease and hopes of fame; Endured the heat and burden of the day; And while his lyre mute and forgotten lay, Laboured to clear from wrong his country's name.

And now, that task fulfilled, his voice once more Breaks forth into a fuller, richer song, "Not changed to hoarse or mute," sublime and strong, The noblest heard among the sons of men.

A strain full worthy of his subject high-- Sin, Death, and Hell, and our eternal woe; The gloomy majesty of Heaven's great foe, Hurling defiance to the vaulted sky;

The work of Christ, Immortal Son of God, The warring hosts of fiends to darkness hurl'd, Creation and the birth of this round world, And man brought low beneath th' Almighty rod.

His throne is set where the immortals are, Where Dante, crowned with laurel, smiles serene, And Virgil wears his garland ever green, And Homer shines undimmed, a fadeless star.