English Literature. John Milton's "Il Persenoso"... SADNESS which means UNHAPPINESS

HENCE vain deluding joyes,
The brood of folly without father bred,
How little you bested,
Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toyes;
Dwell in som idle brain,	5
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams,
Or likest hovering dreams
The fickle Pensioners of Morpheus train.	10
But hail thou Goddes, sage and holy,
Hail divinest Melancholy,
Whose Saintly visage is too bright
To hit the Sense of human sight;
And therfore to our weaker view,	15
Ore laid with black staid Wisdoms hue.
Black, but such as in esteem,
Prince Memnons sister might beseem,
Or that Starr'd Ethiope Queen that strove
To set her beauties praise above	20
The Sea Nymphs, and their powers offended.
Yet thou art higher far descended,
Thee bright-hair'd Vesta long of yore,
To solitary Saturn bore;
His daughter she (in Saturns raign,	25
Such mixture was not held a stain)
Oft in glimmering Bowres, and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,
Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove.	30
Com pensive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, stedfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestick train,
And sable stole of Cipres Lawn,	35
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Com, but keep thy wonted state,
With eev'n step, and musing gate,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:	40
There held in holy passion still,
Forget thy self to Marble, till
With a sad Leaden downward cast,
Thou fix them on the earth as fast.
And joyn with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,	45
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring,
Ay round about Joves Altar sing.
And adde to these retirèd Leasure,
That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure;	50
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring,
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheelèd throne,
The Cherub Contemplation,
And the mute Silence hist along,	55
'Less Philomel will daign a Song,
In her sweetest, saddest plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While Cynthia checks her Dragon yoke,
Gently o're th'accustom'd Oke;	60
Sweet Bird that shunn'st the noise of folly,
Most musicall, most melancholy!
Thee Chauntress oft the Woods among,
I woo to hear thy eeven-Song;
And missing thee, I walk unseen	65
On the dry smooth-shaven Green.
To behold the wandring Moon,
Riding neer her highest noon,
Like one that had bin led astray
Through the Heav'ns wide pathles way;	70
And oft, as if her head she bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a Plat of rising ground,
I hear the far-off Curfeu sound,
Over som wide-water'd shoar,	75
Swinging slow with sullen roar;
Or if the Ayr will not permit,
Som still removèd place will fit,
Where glowing Embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,	80
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the Cricket on the hearth,
Or the Belmans drousie charm,
To bless the dores from nightly harm:
Or let my Lamp at midnight hour,	85
Be seen in som high lonely Towr,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphear
The spirit of Plato to unfold
What Worlds, or what vast Regions hold	90
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook:
And of those Dæmons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true consent	95
With Planet, or with Element.
Som time let Gorgeous Tragedy
In Scepter'd Pall com sweeping by,
Presenting Thebs, or Pelops line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.	100
Or what (though rare) of later age,
Ennoblèd hath the Buskind stage.
But, O sad Virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musæus from his bower
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing	105
Such notes as warbled to the string,
Drew Iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold,	110
Of Camball, and of Algarsife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That own'd the vertuous Ring and Glass,
And of the wondrous Hors of Brass,
On which the Tartar King did ride;	115
And if ought els, great Bards beside,
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of Turneys and of Trophies hung;
Of Forests, and inchantments drear,
Where more is meant then meets the ear.	120
Thus night oft see me in thy pale career,
Till civil-suited Morn appeer,
Not trickt and frounc't as she was wont,
With the Attick Boy to hunt,
But Cherchef't in a comly Cloud,	125
While rocking Winds are Piping loud,
Or usher'd with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the russling Leaves,
With minute drops from off the Eaves.	130
And when the Sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me Goddes bring
To archèd walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves,
Of Pine, or monumental Oake,	135
Where the rude Ax with heavèd stroke,
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
There in close covert by som Brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,	140
Hide me from Day's garish eie,
While the Bee with Honied thie,
That at her flowry work doth sing,
And the Waters murmuring
With such consort as they keep,	145
Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep;
And let som strange mysterious dream,
Wave at his Wings in Airy stream,
Of lively portrature display'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid.	150
And as I wake, sweet musick breath
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by som spirit to mortals good,
Or th'unseen Genius of the Wood.
But let my due feet never fail,	155
To walk the studious Cloysters pale,
And love the high embowèd Roof,
With antick Pillars massy proof,
And storied Windows richly dight,
Casting a dimm religious light.	160
There let the pealing Organ blow,
To the full voic'd Quire below,
In Service high, and Anthems cleer,
As may with sweetnes, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into extasies,	165
And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peacefull hermitage,
The Hairy Gown and Mossy Cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell	170
Of every Star that Heav'n doth shew,
And every Herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To somthing like Prophetic strain.
These pleasures Melancholy give,	175
And I with thee will choose to live. A very long a pompous poem is one of the Milton's masterpieces, the most important piece of work after "Paradise Lost" and "L' Allegro".  It present a quite opposite mood than "L'Allegro", which is passive, it is a very serious, doubtful state of human mind, in which, there is no creation, no movement ahead, in contrary, all stands still, barren and lifeless, as it had never been born.  Still, alike as in "L'Allegro", the dichotomy of souls, minds is present, exposed.  Sadly, the reader will not find joyful, happy, vigorous spirit in the poem.  Melancholy governs the poem, the apostrophe is directed to its "grace". It is almost like a Queen, unbeatable, undefeated, when it finds its way to human soul, it doesn't want to give it up. Milton wants to tell us that is it much more likely to be passive and sad than to find a hint of happiness. Sometimes, indeed, it is true, sometimes, it is not.  In this poem, the Goddess of Sadness determinate everything, even, the wind of joy, which goes far, far away.  "...Swinging slow, with sullen roar..." The pace of life is slow, it is extremely melancholic. Omnipresent "... Curfeu sound ...", represents the sound of the countryside, gives the signs of upcoming twilight, there was a time when people made a flock of sheep out into the shed, the day is over, passed by, all surrounding starts appearing as grey, deserted, empty. "...The fickle pensioners of Morpheus train ... but hail thou Goddess sage and holy..." It describes the miserable state of a soul, it is a poem of darkness, contemplating Morpheus, the god of dreams.  "...With minute drops from off the Eaves.  130 And when the Sun begins to fling   His flaring beams, me Goddes bring   To archèd walks of twilight groves..." Twilight aspires to the night, which is tranquil, transcend, very quiet, during the night, those who feel need, contemplates, it is perfect moment for contemplation.  Night wants to befriend, wants to perceived mildly, mostly by presenting a unique creatures which live only during the night -  flaring, supernatural creatures,  the Night gives our imagination to bloom, to create them and make the night time less hostile, restless.  While reading 'Il Persenoso", there is a feeling of being not only in a dream, but also in a temple or a church.  The origins of the poem's title is to complete, to be in a temple.  Milton has got a perfect pitch, contemplation as cosmology catches lots of sounds, tones, music is everywhere.  As in peaceful Hermitage.  All is harsh, the mood, the tone, the atmosphere of the poem, the night, and the fabric the minks' clothes were made of. Not scare Us, yet, to make Us serious, ascetic. In the poem there are lots of elements of contemplation;  "... casting a dim, religious light..." "...to the full-voiced chair below ..." "... In the service high and anthems clear..." "...dissolve me into ecstatic..." "... and bring all haven before mine eyes..." "...find out the peaceful hermitage..." "...The hairy gown and mossy cell..." "... There let me peaking organ blow..." "... Where I may and rightly spell..." In this context there is a study of religious issues, a contemplation.  The poem is full of dark elements;  "Ore laid with black staid Wisdoms hue" - it reflects pure melancholy and sadness.  "...Com pensive Nun, devout and pure,   Sober, stedfast, and demure,   All in a robe of darkest grain..." It is  description of colors of darkness.  The nightingale the poems praises and describes, is not a cheery friend, mostly because it traditionally sings mournful songs.  "... And the mute Silence hist along,   55 'Less Philomel will daign a Song,   In her sweetest, saddest plight,   Smoothing the rugged brow of night..." What John Milton says is one predominant, undeniable fact, the life with Melancholy, sadness is wasteful. Useless. Milton ends the poem with the following statement ... "... these pleasures, Melancholy give and I with thee will chose to live ..."