'So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity,
That, when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liveried angels lackey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt;
And in clear dream and solemn vision
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear,
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants
Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind.
And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence,
Till all be made immortal.' I was so absorbed by the beauty of the poetry, and the exquisite grace
and feeling with which it was repeated, that my eyes were riveted on
your sister; nor could I withdraw them, even when she ceased to speak.
Thus abstracted, I was perfectly unconscious that a gentleman was
standing close to the great orange-tree, so that the rays of the full
moon rested on his uncovered head: his hair was parted in the centre,
and fell on his shoulders at either side, and his deportment was of
mingled dignity and sweetness. 'John Milton!' exclaimed Lady Claypole,
rising; 'I knew not,' she continued, 'that you had been so near
us.'--'The temptation was great, indeed, madam: a poet never feels that
he has true fame, until lips such as yours give utterance to his lines.'
He bowed low, and I thought coldly, over Lady Claypole's extended hand.
She walked into the conservatory, and called on me to follow. How my
heart throbbed! how I trembled! I felt in the almost divine presence of
one whose genius I had worshipped with a devotion which, enthusiastic as
it was, I am not even now ashamed of. I longed to fall at his feet, and
implore his blessing; to kiss the hem of his garment; and thought, in my
foolishness, that inspiration might be communicated by his touch. I
pushed back my hair, so that I might not lose a word he uttered, or the
least look he gave. 'His sight was so impaired,' he said, 'that the
light of day occasioned him much pain; and of late he had been so
useless to his Highness, that he feared to intrude too often into his
presence.' Lady Claypole made some remark, which in truth I little
heeded, for I longed again to hear the poet speak; nor did I remain
ungratified. In answer to some observation, he stated, 'he was well
aware that much of what he had written would not meet with the
indulgence she had graciously bestowed upon his verse; for, though they
both valued freedom, they widely differed as to the mode of its
attainment.' To this the Lady Claypole made no reply; and presently we
had issued from the conservatory, and stood for a few moments on the
terrace. 'How beautiful!' said your sister, as she raised her eyes to
the glorious heavens, sparkling with countless stars, whose brilliancy
was showered on the now sleeping earth--'Yes, beautiful!' repeated
Milton; and his voice, so musical, yet melancholy, thrilled to my inmost
soul: 'Beautiful!' he said again, as if the word was pleasant in his
ears; 'and yet the time is coming fast when I shall behold that beauty
no more--when I shall be more humbled than the poor insects upon which I
may now heedlessly tread--they creep, but see; I shall be a thing of
darkness in the midst of light--irrevocably dark!--total
eclipse!--without the hope of day! Your pardon, Lady; but is it not
strange, that life's chiefest blessing should be enthroned in such a
tender ball, when feeling is diffused all over us?'--'The Maker must be
the best judge,' replied your sister.--''Tis true,' he said; 'and the
same hand that wounds can heal. I will not sorrow, if I can refrain from
grief, though it is hard to bear; yet often, when I look upon my
daughters, I think how sad 'twill be when I no more can trace their
change of form and feature. And this deep affliction comes upon me in my
manhood's prime:--life in captivity--all around me grows darker each
fair day I live. A bunch of violets was given me this morning; their
fragrance was delicious, yet I could not discern the little yellow germ
that I knew dwelt within their dark blue petals, and I put them from me
because I could not see as well as smell:--'twas foolish, but 'twas
natural. The moon at this very moment looks so sallow--pale--and you,'
he bowed to us as he spoke, 'and you, even you, ladies, appear both dim
and cold!' I thought he laid more emphasis on the word cold than on
the other words, perhaps in allusion to the political differences
between Lady Claypole and himself: your sister thought so too.--'You do
us wrong,' she observed warmly; 'never, never cold to John Milton!
never, indeed never! This sad affliction, if it should continue, (which
the Almighty in his mercy forbid!) will create for you new worlds; when
all its treasures are destroyed, you will but close your eyes on earth
that you may look through heaven.' What would I not have given for such
a rewarding smile as played upon without disturbing his features! Your
sister, surprised into an enthusiasm that was not in keeping with her
usually subdued deportment, turned aside, and taking me by the hand,
presented me to him, saying, 'Here, sir, is a little girl, who, though
she has only numbered sixteen summers, has learned to value Milton!'
What do you think I said, Frances? Nothing:--that might have
passed--but what do you think I did? I fell on my knees, and kissed his
hand! I am almost ashamed to repeat such frowardness, though done in all
the purity of truth;--not that I think he was displeased."